He took out his horn and did a few more up, and
then he broke loose.
The crowd was captured after his second strength.
He played with all his heart and soul his song
for his Nina.
His fingers danced over his golden brass trumpet.
His king was making magical music.
It was late when he met Wallace, but he knew he
had begun to play and grow.
His mind and body both were free, he thought,
as he headed for Nina's place.
He had learned what it took to be a man, and
now he must strive for uplifting that man.
He thought to himself of Nina's lips, hair, and
body, who was no longer obsessed.
As he climbed the stairs to her place, he
thought this would be the last time he would
lay in her arms.
His horn would have to come first, at least for
a while.
Thank you.
For you is who are we?
Who are we? We are a people who have tried to
fashion a better way of life from the confusion,
from the hypocrisy, and from the misunderstandings.
We've tried to fashion a world that would hold
all the people with all the faces,
all the atoms, all the ease, and all their
countless generations, but who are we?
Who are we? We are a people who've gone to
school to learn the reasons why,
the answers to, the people who, the places
where, and the days when,
only to graduate from some of the finest
institutions in the world,
at the top of our class, and still be called a
people of genetic inferiority.
But who are we? Who are we? We are a people
with creative powers
that works to pull down mountains of evil and
level hilltops of injustice.
We are a proud people. We are a black people
who have injected new meaning and dignity
into the veins of this great civilization.
We are a people determined to let no man pull
us so low as to make us hate him.
But the question at hand is who are we?
Who are we? We are a people who have felt the
stinging darts of segregation.
We are a people who have seen our mothers and
fathers lynched at will,
and our brothers and sisters drowned at a well.
But who are we? Who are we? We are a people
who, in spite of the injustices
leveled against us by America, we still stand
tall and seen.
My country, Tis of thee, sweet land of liberty,
a fee I see.
But exactly who are we? Who are we? We are a
people who are symbolized
by the Commodores on the musical front, by
Sugar Ray Leonard in the boxing ring,
and by Andrew Young in the political arena. Who
are we?
Who are we? We are a people who have been
emancipated, liberated, integrated, separated,
and rejuvenated.
And still, America has difficulties in deciding
exactly where we fit
in the complex structure of our long-term plans.
Who are we? We are a people who are tired,
tired of being segregated from the economic
treasures America has to offer,
tired of being kicked about by the brutal foot
of oppression,
and tired of tolerating intolerable living
conditions, and so very tired
of waiting, watching, wanting, and wishing for
a better day.
But who are we? Who are we? We are a people who
have given all we've got to somebody,
for they have been by the back of Mrs. B.
And our community's leaders held fast to the
throne on the shoe of time
and insisted that education was the key to
achieving our ultimate destiny.
But when it didn't stop there, and in the 1980s,
when we realized that America had given us a
big share,
she wrote us a check guaranteeing those equal
rights under the law.
She wrote us a check guaranteeing us an
opportunity for economic prosperity
and operating America was a check guaranteeing
us freedom, justice, and equality.
But when we went to the lane to cast the check,
and staked our claim on our fair share of the
American dream,
the check was returned and stamped in
insufficient funds.
You know, we knocked at the doors of justice,
and they were not open to us.
And we called on the halls of freedom and
danger to our plea.
And it has crossed our community leaders all
the time,
political networks all across this nation,
which offers the right of any budget for the
law-making bodies of this country.
But when it didn't stop there,
when we see before the pilgrims landed at the
end, we were here.
Before the bend of Thomas Terrace and the extra
cost at the end of the story,
the congested words of the Declaration of
Independence, we were here.
For more than 2 centuries, the Hunts were where
they were in this country.
They made cotton king, and they filled the
homes for their slave masters.
They mixed all sorts of ins and outs of our
hearts, but still they were working.
Now, if the inexpressible privileges of slavery
could not stop us,
then sure then, we can overcome the oppressions
that we face at the end of this very administration.
But we changed our plan.
Well, you see, we have carved a tunnel through
the dark mountains of disappointment.
But we face those disappointments because we
realize that our destiny as a people is tied up
with the destiny of America.
And in time, not too distant tomorrow,
each man would be joined not by the color of
his skin, but by the content of his character.
And at the end of the story, love and
Brotherhood would shine all across our great nation,
and all of this by this day we see.
And perhaps, my friend, just perhaps,
perhaps, maybe, just perhaps, maybe. (applause)
Lord, this day is so sad.
Eagle flies on Friday.
And Saturday, Saturday I go out to play.
Saturday, Saturday I go out to play.
I go to church and I bow down on my knees and I pray.
And this is what I say, y'all.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy on me.
I said I cried, oh Lord, have mercy.
I said I'm trying to find my baby.
Lord, won't somebody please send her home to me.
Ladies and gentlemen, let's give Robert Sandler
the pace of blues.
You got the blues too happy.
Robert Sandler, ladies and gentlemen, Robert Sandler.
I said I cried, Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy on me.
I said I cried, oh Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy on me.
I said I'm trying to find my baby.
Lord, won't somebody please send her home to me.
Lord, have mercy on me.
Thank you , very much.
Okay, we'll try one more.
Some more blues.
Lots of times people have the tendency to say,
I don't like the blues.
It's starting to rain, it's only starting to rain.
And I'm as lost as a man can be.
I lost my woman.
Every time it starts to rain, baby, I realize
what you mean to me.
If you read my letter, baby, you sure must have
read my mind.
Oh, you wouldn't have left me, baby, sitting
here all alone crying.
I like this part.
Jelly, jelly, jelly.
Jelly stays on my mind.
Jelly, jelly, jelly.
Jelly stays on my mind.
Jelly roll, kill my papi.
Jelly, jelly, jelly.
Well, good evening, everybody.
I just got here from California a couple of
hours ago, so I haven't really gotten my
balance, I would say, but those of you who may
remember two years ago, I think the first
offering that Brother Curtis King was
responsible for putting in motion, and you'll undoubtedly
remember Dr. Eva Jesse, who sits there.
You've probably been introduced to her.
I can't help but reflect on the wonderful
years, sort of golden years in my life that
I've known her, and she's been so wonderfully
supportive of my efforts and very intelligently,
and we all need that, and I think fundamentally
that's why we're here, to participate in
a growing cultural movement is very important
to a people.
We know that, and that's why we're here.
Thank you.
Okay, everybody, I'm going to do a cue for
Symphony in Black, wave your hands, everybody.
I want to see everybody stand up, too.
Okay, now those of you who heard before, blues
had that universal blend.
Listen to my song, You Know the Music, from
Mamba's Kitchen.
The lyrics were tuned because the stove was hot
and the kitchen wasn't always hers.
Listen to my song, You Know the Music.
She sang her way out of the kitchen to the
church house, never needed a hymnal,
closed her eyes to sing, pray, and sometimes to sleep.
Listen to my song.
Serenely sweet calling to Jesus, shout, Lord,
save my soul or give me a piece of the rock.
In times like these, I need more than what I've
got. Listen to my song.
You know the music.
Gentle rock by the cradle seat, weary eyes were
wide in wonder.
To this world has brought a new voice of silent thunder.
Listen to my song.
You know the music.
From wonders, watching child's day care, hear, chant.
From backyards and playgrounds, safe swings,
voices that will grab, be heard,
and make decisions and change the destiny of people.
Listen to my song.
You know the music.
Clap hands, stomp feet, or dance, because the
music moves with a determined persuasiveness.
Listen to my song.
You are the music. (applause)
The first section.
More to come.
Looking out my window, so many things to see.
Looking out my window, wondering where I will
probably be.
Saw a young girl walking.
Laughed at the son. Saw a young girl wondering
if there was more to come.
Saw that child die just because he had none.
Saw that mother wondering if there was more to come.
Ain't it a crying shame that the poor are born?
I wonder if they're wondering if there is more
to come. (applause)
The next section is called, I speak of love.
Feeling its realness.
Reading a book, straddle legs, nothing to do, I
align, don't workshop.
You call, and I respond to the sound of your voice.
You touch, and I respond to the movement of
your fingers.
We kiss.
Tongues start in and out sending messages our
bodies comprehend and reply.
Start moving and trying the rhythms, sweat
rolling down our wrong bodies.
And we make love.
Feeling its realness, you, me, us.
Yes, it's all made. (applause)
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