In 1972, Ray Charles issued the album, A
Message from the People, “ which contained his rhythm and blues version of
“America the Beautiful.”
Some wondered, given the desperate straits in
which so many people lived their lives in the inner cities of the United
States, why the genius of many genres committed himself to this vocal rendering
of the patriotic classic. Charles’s
answer could be found for anyone who listened to the whole album: This compilation combined hopeful social
commentary with protest songs in a manner that captured what so many of us felt
at the time:
We lived in a nation that was greater by
reputation than in reality but full of potential for bridging the gap between
those two “r” words.
As Barbara and I traveled forth on the big trip
and 1975 crossed into the bicentennial year of 1976, Charles reissued “America the
Beautiful” as a single to celebrate and challenge the nation to resolve the
cognitive dissonance that the conscientious should feel while living in a
nation of such splendor and such unfulfilled potential to be the oft-claimed beacon.
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Charles’s gem captured my take on the United
States and served as the perfect backdrop to the journey:
I was in love with the nation’s beauty, filling
a treasure chest of sight, sound, and spirit that I would empty into many classrooms
of my teaching future; and I was ever
watchful for the flaws in the gem that I sought to burnish with my unusual
blend of skepticism and hope.
By the time we pulled into Tucson, Barbara and I
had been on the road for nine months:
We had begun in the aftermath of familial visits
to Houston and Albuquerque in early June with a drive northward to Santa Fe and
Taos and a ride on the narrow gauge railway running from Silverton to Ouray across
the New Mexico–Colorado border. In
Colorado we drove up through the heart of the state from Ouray to Pike’s Peak,
taking our time in the magnificent mountain terrain along the Continental
Divide at elevations that reach to 13,000 feet and beyond. We swung westward into the valley country
enveloping Durango, then back eastward along I-70 to the ski country of Vail
and to the community of Georgetown for the Fourth of July. We visited Rocky Mountain National Park and
the area around Boulder, stopping as we tended to do along the way for a look
at the university of note, in this case the University of Colorado,
Boulder. In Denver, we bought many of
the items of utility that would make the van such a comfortable home: a Coleman stove, propane heater, and portable
toilet; we also purchased a storage
mount for placement atop the van to carry a few items that we did not use every
day.
Feeling very much enthralled with our launch and
well-prepared for the magnificent days ahead, we witnessed the mountains give
way to prairie as eastern Colorado beyond the Raton Pass spilled us forth into
Kansas.
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America the beautiful, America the flawed,
America the stunning, America the perplexing.
On we rambled:
to the presidential library and museum of Dwight
Eisenhower near Abilene, Kansas; a visit
with Al Deright in the Kansas City suburb of Shawnee Mission; visits to local steak houses and Gates and
Sons Barbecue for the culinary fare for which the area is famous; several hours at the Harry Truman
presidential library and museum in Independence, Missouri; a visit with Barbara’s best friend from high
school, Sharon Caton, who at the time lived in Liberty, Missouri, where Jesse James
spent an atypical night in jail.
Along the riverine country of the Mississippi we
investigated the Mormon settlement at Nauvoo;
took a ride on a flat boat and then explored the caves near Mark Twin’s
Hannibal; began our exploration of the
life of Lincoln at the point of his days as a legislator from Springfield. We had deep dish pizza and toured the world
class museums of art, history, and technology in Chicago. In Indiana, we perused the namesake campus at
West Lafayette; visited with Barbara’s
Uncle Charley; swung over to Monon,
where Barbara’s dad was born and raised, for a visit with her Aunt Lucy and a
trip to a riverine restaurant at Indiana Beach.
We took a driving tour of the University of Notre
Dame campus, spent several hours at a Polish Festival in Detroit, took a
revealing drive that contrasted inner city with suburban life in the city; and drove northward to cross over the
Canadian border at Windsor, Ontario.
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