From the Desk of The DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank

Yesterday, I broke away late in the day and got a little bike ride in. I had no destination in mind, but I ended up making a little over a 100-mile loop. I made it over to Hattiesburg in light traffic and was the first vehicle at a stoplight. Now, you must understand that listening to music on a Harley with a full-face helmet on requires a little volume.  Normally at a stop, I turn it down a little because when the engine comes to idle and the wind isn’t a factor the music is loud. But on this occasion, I was the only one there, three empty lanes to my left and two to my right, so I let Clarence Carter boom out “Slip Away.”  Always adhering to safety principles of motorcycle riding, my head is constantly scanning my surroundings, especially at intersections. In a turn lane two over to my right, a car approached and came to a stop. I looked away, then back, and I noticed his window was down and his head was nodding with the music and he gave a slight wave.  He turned and the light changed and that was that. But later when I made it out of town and back on secondary roads, I reflected on the brief exchange between a white man in his mid-fifties on a motorcycle, and a man of African American persuasion of indeterminant age, but I would guess the mid to late ’40s. I thought of how people have so many differences these days and how everyone is so demanding of their seat at the table. I thought of how music is often an area of common ground.

This morning as I drank my coffee, I thought again of the man and his nodding head. I was taken back to October of 2005 or maybe 2006.  At the hospital where I am employed there seemed to be an inordinate number of staff whose birthdays fell in the month of October and it was common knowledge that my friend Stephanie and I both had birthdays on the seventeenth.

Someone suggested that since there were so many that we all chip in and have a big party. A collection was taken, a date was set, a venue was rented, and the party was on. Now I don’t remember the actual number of “honored” guests there were, but I’m thinking that there were 25-35 of us whose names were listed on a huge cake.

Now, though the number of people with October birthdays was probably closer to 50/50 with regards to the black/white ratio, there were maybe 4 or 5 in the “Caucasian” group who planned to attend and in the end, it was only Stephanie and me who showed up. I was the only representative of hospital management.  There were probably 50 or 60 vehicles in the parking lot when I drove up and it quickly dawned on me that I was alone. I had been in contact with Stephanie by phone and informed her that the two of us might stand out in the crowd and we debated on whether we would go in. When she arrived, we both acknowledged that it would be really, really, really rude not to at least make an appearance, and possibly considered a little bit racist, because, after all, our names were on the cake.

Inside, man, I was shocked.  Shocked to find that we were, in fact, the ONLY two white people in attendance and shocked that there were so many people there. I’m guessing 180 to 200 people, maybe more. There were 3 or 4 rows of tables, probably 50 feet long, and the DJ was just getting started. Stephanie and I were welcomed and made our rounds, and found seats. I was on one side and she was five seats down and on the opposite side of the table.

I spoke to several friends there and coworkers. I got some cake and chips and settled back in my seat beside my long-time BLT maker friend from the dietary department, Brenda Ervin. I always told Brenda that if I won the lottery, I was going to hire her to cook me a BLT every morning. Anyway, I ate my cake and chips and began to think of a way of making an early escape, because the music was current Hip-Hop and I just wanted to get my cooler of beer and leave. I was really beginning to get miserable.

After what seemed like an eternity, there was a pause in the music and Brenda yelled at the DJ. She said, “Look around. Do you see any kids? You better play some good music!” Shortly, a new song started and the energy in the room changed almost immediately. After the second song, people were loosening up, and I made an observation.  I looked down at Stephanie and I yelled above the music, “Stephanie, if you don’t want to look out of place, just start bobbing your head!” She looked around and noticed as I had, every head was bobbing to the music. Everyone thought that was hilarious and for the next two and a half hours, there wasn’t a bad song. I drank a lot. I danced a lot and I had a fantastic time.  Specifically, I remember that there was an older couple; I’m guessing they were in their mid-sixties and they were nicely dressed.  A song came on and I paused to watch them dance, and as they moved together to the music, I just smiled and thought, “Man, these two have been dancing together for a long, long time.”

Monday rolled around and we all made it back to work. We talked and laughed, and told off on one another to those who had been “no-shows” at the party. The Marion General Hospital family grew a little closer that night and of course, Stephanie and I were in high praise because we made the effort to show up.

Now I reflect on that night and think of so many of those Marion General family members who have gone. Some lost to natural changes in employment. The takeover by a larger hospital decreased our numbers, some retired, and some, like my friend Brenda, who we lost to cancer a few years back. Looking back, I can only think of maybe three or four of us who attended that party and who are still employed at Marion General. Sooner than I think, and if the good Lords sees fit, I will be the last surviving Marion General employee to have attended that epic party. I will always remember the defining moment when music brought a group of people together to enjoy an evening of fellowship and celebration, and how, except when I was on the dance floor, there was no distinction between races in the building.