Greetings,
Friday, May 18, 2012, brought the deaths of two elderly gentlemen whose
lives were lived worlds apart, geographically, socially, culturally, and
ethnically. Yet, they were related by
far deeper and more meaningful intangibles.
The Rev. Marion Bascom, 87, died after a lifetime of
leadership as a pastor, in ecumenical relations, in community activities, and
in civil rights. He was born in Pensicola, Florida, where he preached as a child. He was a graduate of Howard University’s School of Divinity. He came to Baltimore having served pastorates in Florida to become pastor of Douglas Memorial Community Church in 1949, and served there until his retirement in 1995. For many years he was chairman of the
Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance in Baltimore, which is where I came to know him.
In his home state and in Baltimore he experienced first hand the trials and suffering
of segregation. However, those hardships
and negative experiences did not make him bitter, rather he learned forgiveness
and gained a forthright strength which enabled him to work effectively to
overcome those problems and to be a real part of making a better world for all
people. His faith in and service to God was absolute, and he did not change his
perspective or methods or manner whether he was with old friends and family or
with the powerful leaders of the state or nation. He always remembered his calling from God,
and everything he did was done to fulfill that calling. He almost never went far from his home in Baltimore, but his influence was wide-spread.
My connection with Marion is a long story, but I will just say that it started
with my church activity as a young person dealing with housing problems in West Baltimore, an issue of great importance to him also. As a young person I not only enjoyed going to
Gwynn Oak Amusement Park, but several members of my family were employed
there, so there was a very personal connection to the Park over many years. Through my home church and activities at Western Maryland College I became involved with the broader civil rights issues
beyond housing, including the efforts to end segregation at Gwynn Oak and the
other amusement parks, locally and nationally.
The summer of 1963 was a pivotal time for the civil rights movement and
for me personally. It began with the
protests at Gwynn Oak, calling for integration.
On Thursday, July 4th the protest was large and ultimately
effective. Marion was the principle speaker at the rally, and led us
in being arrested for refusing to disperse.
He said, "I have nothing to lose but my chains. And if I do not preach at my pulpit Sunday
morning, it might be the most eloquent sermon I ever preached." It was my first experience with the long arm
of the law and our local jail. A month
later we would be in the crowd while Marion met with A. Philip Randolph and Martin Luther King,
Jr. on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
Throughout his life, Marion Bascom served God by
proclaiming the Truth, by bringing life and joy and understanding to the people
of the world regardless of their condition or circumstances, and by making love
a reality in the midst of the angers, frustrations, and hatreds of
society.
On that same Friday, across the sea
in Germany, Dietrich
Fischer-Dieskau, almost 87, died. He was
by virtual acclamation one of the world’s great singers, from the 1940s to his
official retirement in 1992, and an influential teacher and orchestra conductor
for many years thereafter. He was also a
formidable industry, making hundreds of recordings that pretty much set the
modern standard for performances of lieder, the musical settings of poems first
popular in the 18th and 19th centuries. His output included the many hundreds
of Schubert songs appropriate for the male voice, the songs and song cycles of
Schumann and Brahms, and those of later composers like Mahler, Shostakovich and
Hugo Wolf. He won two
Grammy Awards, in 1971 for Schubert lieder, and in 1973 for Brahms’ “Schöne
Magelone.” In addition he was an
outstanding opera singer. Versatility
was not the least of Mr. Fischer-Dieskau’s assets. He tackled everything from
Papageno in “The Magic Flute” — who knew that a goofy bird catcher could have
immaculate diction? — to heavier parts like Wotan in “Das Rheingold” and
Wolfram in “Tannhäuser.” He recorded more than three dozen operatic roles, Italian
as well as German, along with oratorios, Bach cantatas and works of many modern
composers, including Benjamin Britten, whose “War Requiem” he sang at its
premiere in 1962.
Anthony
Tommasini of The New York Times,
wrote in Dietrich’s obituary, “I get such a kick from a New Yorker cartoon by William Hamilton that appeared in 1975. A Manhattan couple, obviously divorcing, are
packing up things and sorting through recordings. In the caption the glowering wife says: ‘Just
a minute! You don’t get three years of
my life and the Dietrich
Fischer-Dieskaus!’
“How
poignant that seems today. What could be more central to a person’s well-being
than Fischer-Dieskau recordings?”
However,
life was not without it’s great trials for Fischer-Dieskau. Born in Berlin in 1925, his father was a classical
scholar and a secondary school principal with fairly liberal ideas about
education reform and life in general. He
was the youngest of three sons, and his father died when he was 12. Dietrich was known as a very shy child, but
he did like to entertain, making his own puppets, and putting on his own puppet
shows for the family, sometimes for an audience of one: his physically and
mentally disabled brother, Martin, with whom he shared a room.
Before
adolescence Dietrich was inducted into a Hitler Youth group where he was
appalled by the officiousness as well as by the brutality. And he had just finished secondary school and
one semester at the Berlin Conservatory when, in 1943, he was drafted into the
Wehrmacht and assigned to care for army horses on the Russian front. He kept a diary there, calling it his
“attempt at preserving an inner life in chaotic surroundings.”
While
in Russia he learned that the Nazi
authorities had taken his brother to a “home” for the disabled, and, as they
did with all of the people there, killed him as a “defective.” Eventually he was diverted
to Italy,
along with thousands of other German soldiers. There, on May 5, 1945,
just three days before the Allies accepted the German surrender, he was
captured and imprisoned. It turned out to be a musical opportunity: soon the
Americans were sending him around to entertain other P.O.W.’s from the back of
a truck. The problem was, they were so
pleased with this arrangement that they kept him until June 1947. He was among the last Germans to be
repatriated. Still, he was only 22 when
he returned for further study at the Berlin Conservatory. He didn’t stay long. Called to substitute for an indisposed
baritone in Brahms’s “German Requiem,” he became famous practically overnight.
As he said, “I passed my final exam in the concert hall.”
Because of his youth, Mr.
Fischer-Dieskau had been in no position to make his own choices in the 1930s
and ’40s, so he didn’t encounter the questions about Nazi ties that hung over
many a prominent German artist after the war.
He made his operatic debut in 1948, and his career grow by leaps and
bounds. He became know as the
outstanding performer of art songs, especially the German lieder of Schubert,
Schumann, Wolf, Beethoven and Mahler, indeed, creating a whole new interest in
the form.
Still, life was not easy. He married and had three sons by his first
wife, but she tragically died from complications after the birth of their
youngest. He was devastated, and it
affected his life for many years.
However, he became very close to his sons and remained so until his
death.
He rarely left Europe,
despite the great demand, and when he did it was almost always for
recitals. Like most people outside of Europe,
I knew him only through his recordings, except for one recital I was by
accident able to attend at Carnegie Hall in the 1980’s. It is an accepted truth to say that a
performer in person than on recordings, and I don’t know how he could have been
more thrilling than he was that day, but his talent was such that it truly did
come across in his recordings, both opera and lieder, especially with his usual
accompanist Gerald Moore. His “Winterreise”
cycle is not only to die for, it truly transports one to the highest heaven,
where God is listening raptly.
Both Rev. Bascom and Mr.
Fischer-Dieskau were shaped by personal discrimination and hardships. Evil, indeed, knows no boundaries. Both were blessed with great abilities and
both used them to the utmost, becoming outstanding leaders, conveyors of Truth,
teachers of Truth and inspirers of generations of people across all
barriers. Both made the Truth which is
God not only real, but an enjoyable blessing – something to be desired, sought
after, and emulated in every person’s life, with every person using their
God-given gifts to bring the reality of God to life every day.
Their lives will always be a
blessing for me, and countless others.
Yours & His,
DED
