Henry Lee Black's "Memorial Service".
Last night the memorial "service" for Henry Lee Black took place in the gazebo in the park, near what is still called the "slave market," due to its history.
The candlelight vigil was supposed to start at 9 pm. I was playing my spot and heard accordian music twenty minutes prior to that time. I walked over and witnessed no less than 20 people, holding candles and in a circle. There was Ralph, the accordian player, seemingly at the "head" of the group.
The memorial was sponsored by a restaurant called JJ's, where Henry used to go every month, after he got his check. Henry purportedly loved their squiggly fries, or their twisty fries, or some kind of fries that they made. If you are ever in St. Augustine, please patronise JJ's. Henry had pretty good taste in fries, so you aren't likely to be disappointed.
20 people, in a circle, all of them taking time out of their active lives to pay their respects to a 72 year old black man with one foot mostly missing, who walked with a cane and carried a guitar, which he didn't know how to play, urinated into the nearest bush, and was very, very hard to understand when he spoke (until, of course, you start to learn his "language") .
Henry didn't care what anyone thought about him, safe to say. He had a long history of "urinating in public" charges. He had diabetes and couldn't make it to the restroom, so, he went in a nearby bush. A dog can do this, but not a human being created in the image of God. The human will be thrown into a cage, like Henry was.
They let Henry out of jail, after a 30 day stay. It is purported that his medication was witheld from him, due to technicalities probably related to the fact that he was homeless and flat broke. Henry had to walk the 5 miles from the jail, all the way back to Old Town in 98 degree heat, limping all the way, arriving in which he went to the spot where he slept, probably because he didn't feel good. The spot where he slept has a grand display of signs designed to keep people from sleeping there. There are "No Trespassing" signs –you have to have that, it’s the standard – "Keep Out" signs –for people who are less literate and likely to not understand "trespassing" – and there was a special and fancy sign, bearing the the official seal of the county sheriffs office, and basically signed by the Sherrif himself, hung prominately on the gate, stating that the trespasser was to go "up the river" for an ominous length of time. Henry slept there.
Pretty smart, if you think of it. The property owner, after affixing no less than five signs to fences, trees, buildings etc, would walk away thinking, "that ought to keep those niggers from sleeping here" and would never feel the need to check on his investment from time to time. Or, maybe the owner knew that Henry slept there and put up the signs to keep people from messing with him….NOT!
He arrived at his "secret" (wink wink) sleeping spot and sat down at a picnic table. He clutched his guitar, probably intending to go out and play (or "not" play, technically.) That is how his body was found: sitting at a picnic table, leaned over a bit, cradling his guitar. Within 24 hours, the gate there was covered with flowers and cards, and, supposedly nobody knew that he "lived" there. His cigar box that he used for tips was sitting on one of the tables, his guitar on another, and someone had placed a cigarette and a beer in a handy spot. The "Henry Black" gravestone picture, which I had printed out here at the library and given to Larry was prominently hung on the gate. There was so much clutter that you could hardly see the half dozen "No Trespassing" and "Keep Out" signs. (possible placed there by Henry himself, to keep people away from his meager posessions, but, who knows...not like we could ask him now...)
The mixture of people at the memorial was diverse. There were those that knew him from the street, yet there were business owners and nurses and people who had actual jobs who liked Henry. They liked Henry because Henry liked them. One person said "I could never love Henry as much as he loved me." For a black guy who grew up in the South and loved people, (yes, even white people!) so much, it makes one wonder how far society has fallen in 72 years.
We went around the circle, all having the opportunity to speak. Everyone spoke. I told of my first meeting with Henry, when I was new in town. He was using his cane to pull coins out of the wishing well near the cigar store. I handed him 50 cents and told him that he didn't even need to dry "these." Then, when I was playing music on Hypolita, Henry sat next to me. I was playing really well that night, the effect of playing 8 hours a day starting to reap benefits. "Oh, yeah, that's music," said Henry, who had known Ray Charles when he (Henry, not Ray) was a janitor at the Florida School For the Deaf and Blind, right next to this library where I sit now. My playing actually improved after the endorsment of a black man who could remember Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, and everything else since the 40's.
Thank you, Henry, God take care of your soul Henry, I love you Henry. You were a pain in the ass, Henry. You died a richer man than you might think, Henry. I'll see you in heaven Henry; have a cigarette, Henry.
He arrived at his "secret" (wink wink) sleeping spot and sat down at a picnic table. He clutched his guitar, probably intending to go out and play (or "not" play, technically.) That is how his body was found: sitting at a picnic table, leaned over a bit, cradling his guitar. Within 24 hours, the gate there was covered with flowers and cards, and, supposedly nobody knew that he "lived" there. His cigar box that he used for tips was sitting on one of the tables, his guitar on another, and someone had placed a cigarette and a beer in a handy spot. The "Henry Black" gravestone picture, which I had printed out here at the library and given to Larry was prominently hung on the gate. There was so much clutter that you could hardly see the half dozen "No Trespassing" and "Keep Out" signs. (possible placed there by Henry himself, to keep people away from his meager posessions, but, who knows...not like we could ask him now...)
The mixture of people at the memorial was diverse. There were those that knew him from the street, yet there were business owners and nurses and people who had actual jobs who liked Henry. They liked Henry because Henry liked them. One person said "I could never love Henry as much as he loved me." For a black guy who grew up in the South and loved people, (yes, even white people!) so much, it makes one wonder how far society has fallen in 72 years.
We went around the circle, all having the opportunity to speak. Everyone spoke. I told of my first meeting with Henry, when I was new in town. He was using his cane to pull coins out of the wishing well near the cigar store. I handed him 50 cents and told him that he didn't even need to dry "these." Then, when I was playing music on Hypolita, Henry sat next to me. I was playing really well that night, the effect of playing 8 hours a day starting to reap benefits. "Oh, yeah, that's music," said Henry, who had known Ray Charles when he (Henry, not Ray) was a janitor at the Florida School For the Deaf and Blind, right next to this library where I sit now. My playing actually improved after the endorsment of a black man who could remember Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, and everything else since the 40's.
Thank you, Henry, God take care of your soul Henry, I love you Henry. You were a pain in the ass, Henry. You died a richer man than you might think, Henry. I'll see you in heaven Henry; have a cigarette, Henry.
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