Story and “selfie” photos by Gordon Berg
If we’re lucky, sometimes we get that one Christmas gift that sticks with us into January of the new year … and far beyond. For me that Christmas was 1968, when I was 18. The gift was The Beatles “White Album” or #0817032, for those who remember that each pressing in the first batch had a serial number.
Among the gems on that album that have stood the test of time: “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, “Back in the U.S.S.R.”, “I Will”, and a 2-minute, 20-second track that has comforted me through the decades. Of course, it’s Paul McCartney’s “Blackbird”.
This song was originally inspired by civil rights’ events unfolding in Little Rock, Arkansas in the 1960s and earlier. McCartney was specifically struck by the courage of the Little Rock Nine – the first nine black students to enroll in all-white Little Rock Central High School as a result of the Supreme Court decision to integrate schools. What impressed McCartney even more was that two of the students were girls – “birds,” as they called them in England back then – just teenagers. He imagined how scary that must have felt to them. He longed to give these young women, and others like them, a song of hope, strength and encouragement. So, from the civil rights movement here in the states, “Blackbird” was born.
Of course, as a white kid living in rural Michigan, I knew none of this song’s history. But its lyrics resonated with me.
Teenagers as a breed are often confused and uncertain. That was true for me back then. This song gave me comfort and hope. I needed to learn it. I tried to multiple times and failed. I was a decent fingerstyle guitar picker back then, but its style eluded me. Even more, the chords were all wonky. I gave up and moved on, still carrying the strength of the words with me…
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Flash-forward to 2020. A year not too dissimilar from 1968. Civil unrest. A contentious presidential election. And even a pandemic. Yes. A pandemic. The H3N2 virus killed one million people, globally.
This year found us all struggling with lockdowns, social distancing, masks, fear, paranoia, frustration and heartbreak from the loss of loved ones. For me, the emotional struggle meant the postponement of our son’s wedding. The geographic distance between us means not being able to see him and his fiancée for 14 months and counting.
So, like millions of others, we turned to video chats to stay connected.
And then, a miracle happened. My son offered to teach me how to “solo” on guitar. Through weekly lessons on Zoom, he taught me the guitar solo from Pure Prairie League’s “Amie” and George Harrison’s guitar solo from “Let It Be”.
And then, out of the blue during one lesson, he asked, “Hey, Dad. How would you like to learn ‘Blackbird’?”
My first instinct was to pass, but he encouraged me to try. Just like 52 years ago, it was a struggle. Yet, through his gentle encouragement, each week a new measure or two revealed itself to me. I was learning “Blackbird”!
After about six sessions, I was able to play it. It was clunky, but recognizable. A major achievement. What I didn’t know was what he had in mind for me.
A recital. Yes. A recital.
For those reading this who did the math earlier in this piece, I am 72. While I have performed in public over the years, I have never performed in a recital. It generates a whole new level of anxiety. Just ask any eight-year-old who’s done it. Plus, I would be the oldest person in this session. In fact, I bet I was older than any of the grandparents who tuned in to watch their granddaughters and grandsons perform.
That evening, student after student bravely performed what they had learned. There were guitarists, drummers and keyboardists. Each giving it their all. Then, it was my turn. My teacher introduced his father to everyone. I began playing “Blackbird.”
And in those brief two minutes, everything awful about this crazy, messed-up year melted away. I had played “Blackbird”.
Whew. Who could have predicted 52 years ago that it would take a pandemic to make this miracle happen? Who knew that I was only waiting for this moment to arise?
So, as a new year begins, may 2021 be filled with “Blackbird” miracles for all of us.
Gordon Berg is a descendent of Manistee’s Bergs, Swansons and Martinsons.
His debut book “Harry and the Hurricane” is about his father’s life as a young boy and how he survived The Great Miami Hurricane of 1926. Ask for it in your local bookstore or go online to www.HarryandtheHurricane.com
