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JD: [Playing harmonica]
LEVAR: February is Black History Month and for many Americans images of slavery, the
Civil Rights Movement, and Dr. Martin Luther King fill our minds and dominate the media
this month, but our history is so much more than that. We are a culture deeply rooted
in family, in music and traditions of all kinds. And so, JD and I wanted to share one
of our favorite stories with you and your family. Didn't we, JD?
JD: Yes, we did.
LEVAR: And so 'The Music in Derrick's Heart' by Gwendolyn Battle-Lavert. Illustrated by
Colin Bootman.
The heat lay on Derrick's front porch like a wool coat. It didn't bother him. He was
waiting for Uncle Booker T. The old man had promised to teach him the harmonica this summer.
All of a sudden Derrick saw a slim, dark man strutting down the road. His eyes flashed
as dark as his patent-leather shoes. His head bobbed a bit from side to side. "Mama, he's
coming!" shouted Derrick.
Mama called out, "Uncle Booker T, I'm sure glad you're here. You know Derrick. He holds
you to a promise."
Uncle Booker T said, "A promise is a promise. These old hands still got a few good songs
left in them. Papa taught me well. Come on, son! We'll take a trip around the neighborhood.
You can't be poking around. Summer ain't as long as it seems."
Derrick and Uncle Booker T scampered away, away, away. The moved with rhythm in the street.
Uncle Booker T played gold and silver notes. Cheek to cheek. Face to face. Their noses
testing the air. Twisting and turning. Turning and twisting. The music got in their hands
and feet. They made a circle of the town.
As the sun was going down, they made it back to Derrick's front porch. Uncle Booker T put
his old harmonica in Derrick's hands. That's when the lessons began.
Derrick blew strange, wild notes. Uncle Booker T moaned, "Slow down! Don't rush! Tadpoles
don't turn into frogs overnight. Papa told me, 'Booker T, music is something you hear
with your ears. But you've got to feel it with your heart.' So slow down! Take your
time. I'm going to let you keep this old harmonica every night."
Long after Uncle Booker T was gone, Derrick practiced, practiced, practiced.
His mama called, "Derrick, put that harmonica away. It's time to go to sleep."
Derrick went to sleep with the harmonica clenched in his hand.
As the days grew hotter, Derrick's and Uncle Booker T's feet grew slower and slower. Sometimes
they sat on Big Mama's front porch. She always had a big platter of homemade teacakes and
a pitcher of squeezed lemonade.
"Booker T," said Big Mama, "play my favorite hymn. I need a song to lift my spirits."
Uncle Booker T closed his eyes. He put the harmonica to his lips. He concentrated so
hard it hurt to watch him. Soft and slow. Slow and soft.
If there was a breeze, the big pecan trees in the yard surely blocked it. But Big Mama
didn't care about the heat. She waved her weatherworn fingers through the steamy air.
Every now and then she moaned in time with the beat.
"Oh, glory! Hallelujah!"
"Big Mama," said Derrick. "Why you cry! Is Uncle Booker T's music hurting you?"
Big Mama clapped her hands together. "Lordy, no! Your uncle Booker T's songs just set my
soul on fire," she said. "I'm thinking of all our kinfolk who have gone on to glory.
If Booker T keeps on playing like that, we going to have church right here."
Uncle Booker T said, "I just play the songs I know."
That night after he practiced, Derrick slept with the harmonica taped to his heart.
Some days Derrick sat on the stoop while Uncle Booker T played his song. He said, "My song
is a happy song. There ain't no words. Just sweet, sweet music."
Uncle Booker T cocked his head to one side. You would have thought there was a wind the
way his body swayed back and forth. When he finished, his hands were wet with sweat.
Afterward, the lessons continued. Uncle Booker T's skillful hands guided Derrick's across
the harmonica.
Before bed, Derrick practiced. He slept with the harmonica on top of his head.
From sun up to sun down. From street to street. Twisting and turning. Turning and twisting.
All day long, after every song, Derrick asked, "Uncle Booker T, do I have the feeling yet?"
Uncle Booker T always replied, "Don't rush! Take your time."
On Mondays they went to Aunt Agnes'. It was her wash day. The white sheets on her clothesline
snapped and popped in the noonday sun.
"Oh, Booker T! You got to play me some jazz," said Aunt Agnes.
Uncle Booker T started playing. Smooth and swinging. Short and choppy. Colorful notes
that Uncle Booker T dragged up and down the yard.
"Lord, I'd know that tune anywhere," said Aunt Agnes. "It don't come from nowhere, but
the heart. Come on, Derrick, let me show you how to swing."
Panting and puffing. Puffing and panting. They kicked up sweat under the hot summer sun.
Derrick's brown bare feet danced back to the days of old. Twisting and turning. Turning
and twisting.
When they stopped, the sheets looked like twisted ropes. Beads of sweat rolled down
Aunt Agnes' back.
"Ain't I something! I've danced to Duke Ellington from can't-see at night to can-see in the
morning. Now, y'all got to go. Supper's got to be cooked. These dry, twisted-up sheets
got to be pressed and folded."
That night Derrick was so tired from all the dancing he fell asleep blowing the harmonica.
One day Uncle Booker T and Derrick joined a marching band. They stopped in front of
a white frame house at the edge of town. Four barefoot boys came running out. They rattled
their aluminum pie pans, tambourines, and homemade drums.
***! ***!
***! ***!
Ching! Chang!
Zing! Zang!
Tall Jimmy, skinny Larry, and the twins, Kevin and Ken, kept time with the beat. Aunt Fannie
Mae trailed behind them, holding baby LaToya on her left hip and a picnic basket over her
right arm.
The boys shouted, "We've been waiting on you! What we going to play?"
Uncle Booker T said, "Just play what you feel."
The marching band never skipped a beat until they reached the neighborhood park. That's
where the music stopped and the play began. Derrick imagined running up and down the slide
like moving his fingers across the harmonica. Sometimes fast and sometimes slow. The boys
ran and never walked. Laughing, whooping, and yelling, they never talked.
After lunchtime, Uncle Booker T started playing a marching song. The boys picked up their
instruments. They marched double quick, turning somersaults, and hippity-hopping all the way
home. Derrick led the way.
***! ***! ***! ***! Ching! Chang! Zing! Zang!
Late one evening, neighbors sat on their porches gossiping, swatting mosquitoes, and listening
as Derrick practiced. He jumped up, closed his eyes, and rocked back and forth. Then
he started huffing and puffing.
Derrick said, "Uncle Booker T, do I got the feeling now?"
"Slow down and take your time!" laughed Uncle Booker T.
All summer, Derrick slept and ate with the harmonica. He didn't take a break until the
morning a cool breeze sent the leaves flying all around him.
Derrick waited and waited.
Uncle Booker T never came.
Derrick found Uncle Booker T on his front porch, a wool sweater on his thin body.
"Uncle Booker T, why didn't you come?" called Derrick.
"You forgot to pick up your harmonica."
"Son, old Arthur came to my door early this morning. He's all in my hands. No music today,"
moaned Uncle Booker T.
"Who's old Arthur?" asked Derrick.
"Your mama ain't told you about arthritis? I'm paining and aching," said Uncle Booker T.
Derrick looked down at Uncle Booker T's knotted and bent fingers. Suddenly Derrick knew what
Derrick pulled the harmonica out of his pocket. With a deep breath, he started playing notes.
Ever so quietly, ever so slowly. Then fast and faster. There were no words, just sweet,
sweet music. Derrick rocked back and forth as his hands scooted across the harmonica,
breathing new life into the metal.
When the song ended, Derrick opened his eyes and grinned. His hands were wet with sweat.
Uncle Booker T wiped tears from his eyes. He stood up and said, "All right! Yes, indeed!
Yes indeed!"
He hugged Derrick. Derrick didn't say a word. He knew.
"Derrick, this harmonica is yours," said Uncle Booker T. "It will never be just mine anymore.
Sometimes you got to pass along the things you love. Keep this old harmonica alive when
I'm gone."
Uncle Booker T and Derrick scampered away, away, away. Cheek to cheek. Face to face.
Their noses testing the air. Twisting and turning. Turning and twisting.
And though they'd traveled through the dusty streets many times before, it didn't seem
the same today. For now, nighttime was hours away and the day had a lot more music left in it.
Spend some time reading with your own family. Maybe even about your own cultural contributions,
history, and traditions. I'll see you next time.
Hey, JD! How about a duet? Huh?
JD: Ah, yes!
LEVAR: Okay, you start and I'll join in.
[Both play their harmonicas]