We loved our trips to the Windy City and the bonding that we shared.
By Scott Selmer
I was raised in a small midwestern industrial town of Beloit on the border of Illinois and
Wisconsin, a town exactly 101 miles from what every black person in my hometown
used to refer to as Chi-town, pronounced as Shy-Town. That was the cool way all of us
down boys would refer to Chicago.
And when we were hanging with the boys and in a good conversational flow, one of us
down little dudes might drop in, Windy City, just to impress.
Truth be told, however, not me nor any one of my friends had ever traveled more than a
dozen miles beyond the city limits of Beloit.
All of us were poor and being raised by a single parent. We had neither car nor money
nor opportunity to travel.
The exception came when our church would gather all the children whose parent could
come up with the money for an annual bus trip to Chicago for a day of fun and
picnicking.
Sometimes I and my younger brother went on these trips. Some deacons, ushers and
chaperoning mothers would always occupy some of our travel time in song. The songs
we sang going down to Chicago were upbeat because we kids had a lot of energy in
anticipation of the fun that lay ahead
But what I remember most were the songs we’d song on the return leg of these trips.
The song we sang going down to Chicago were upbeat songs because we kids had a
lot of energy in anticipation of the fun that lay ahead.
But what I remember most were the songs on the return leg.
They were more somber because we were exhausted from our day. The temper and
tone were much more serious. We sang, “Taste and See” and “Kumbaya,” which are
actually hymns.
Taste and See
Refrain.
Taste and see, taste and see
the goodness of the Lord.
O taste and see, taste and see
the goodness of the Lord, of the Lord.
I will bless the Lord at all times.
Praise shall always be on my lips;
my soul shall glory in the Lord
for God has been so good to me.
Refrain
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Oh Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s singing Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s singing Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s singing Lord, kumbaya
Oh Lord, kumbayah
The lyrics are more extensive than written here and you can find them in just about any
hymnal.
Even though, I was a poor child from a large one-parent family raised in industrial town
in the Midwest, it was the spirit of those songs and others like them together with the
love of my mother and that inspired me to strive to achieve.
Many years later, I find that music still stirs me and inspires me.
When I first began practicing law, I would often put on Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest
Love of All” to pump up for battle on the first day of any jury trial. I blasted it as I drove to
the courthouse.
This worked as my secret weapon because the song was all about self-esteem and the
belief in oneself to confront the challenge ahead with courage and confidence.
There were many times when, growing up a poor black child in America, I have felt
small and overwhelmed in my life. I can say that those feelings of doubt and inadequacy
manifest even though I am much older now.
When these feelings occur, I try to find a song or some music to comfort me. For me,
finding the right music diminishes the pain. If I’m lucky, music washes away my feeling
of inadequacy.
There is power in words when combined with music. This power is often magnified 10,
20…a hundred-fold in its impact on me and the way it empowers me.
And for that power music gives me, I am grateful.