From Maurine Proctor: With this article we welcome Michael McLean as a regular writer on Meridian Magazine. We thought he would be just the spark we needed to brighten our days during these economic tough times. I was about to say that he was one of my oldest living friends, but then I realized that made him sound like he was about 107. What I really mean is that he is an old, old friend. (No, still sounds like he’s 107) I’ll say it this way. I’ve known Michael since we were just young’uns. He was the new producer of Music and the Spoken Word and he called me up to be a writer for the show. He was creative and funny even then—and he’s only gotten better over the years. Welcome Michael.
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I know I shouldn’t have been that surprised, but when I finally got word that in the midst of the global economic downturn, I was NOT going to be receiving a songwriter bailout package from the government, I was pretty disappointed. Apparently, unlike Chrysler and GM, I am NOT too big to fail. So, like most of you, I’m figuring out other ways to make it through the on going financial crisis. As I’ve been thinking about the challenges many of us are facing it occurred to me that what might be needed, even more than financial assistance, is emotional and spiritual support. Something more like an INSPIRATIONAL STIMULUS PACKAGE.
As I’ve tried to imagine what might be included in such a stimulus package I’ve decided this:
I’m a songwriter. If this is your first introduction to Michael McLean and you really don’t know much about me, you’re probably much too polite to ask, but the answer is, NO , I haven’t written any “hits” that you’ve heard on radio or TV. Nevertheless I’ve been lucky enough to pay the light bill and feed the family with the support of a wonderfully loyal and generous fan base who’ve let my music be a part of their lives since my first collection of songs was released in 1983.
This is the first of what I hope will be a long contribution to Meridian…the sharing of my songs, and the stories behind them, that I hope will help brighten someone’s day and make getting through tough times a little easier. Now I don’t actually think that listening to these songs of mine will fix everything in your life or instill you with perfect hope simply by humming along. But I want to offer something, limited as it may be, that says: “Hey, you’re not alone.”
When I was growing up my mother told me the only problem with life is that it doesn’t have any background music…like movies. Wouldn’t it be great, she imagined, if for every experience romantic or heartbreaking, triumph or tragedy, there was an orchestral score to musically define the moment and to propel us onward (or at the very least help us process what was really happening in our lives).
Maybe that’s part of the reason I became a songwriter. Perhaps I’ve been trying to do in my own life what my mom wished could have happened in hers. Who knows? All I do know is that the songs I’ve been writing for over three decades have taught me great lessons, and in my series of contributions to Meridian, I’d like to share those stories AND give you a chance to listen to the songs that accompany them, should you be so inclined.
I may not know exactly what you’re going through or how I can help you, but I’d like to join you in your journey, even if it’s only through a few words and an MP3 of the music.
So, here’s the deal. Every couple of weeks I’m going to be posting a story about one of my songs along with an MP3 of that particular song. If you find a particular story and song speak to you, please feel free to download it. If none of them happen to connect with you, but you know someone who’s struggling and might need their message, please feel free to invite them to Meridian and check it out.
As an aside I’d like to mention that if you do choose to pass any of these stories and songs along and add a note of your own to the one you’re sharing them with, the very fact that you were thinking about them and wanting to lift their burden a bit will probably prove to be FAR more inspirational than any of these songs could ever hope to be.
Oh, one more thing. If you’re wondering why I’m doing this, or what I’m really after I think that as you listen to the songs I’m sharing along with the stories you’ll have a sense of who I am and what my songs have taught me and what I’d like to pass along on this amazing journey called life.
So let’s get started.
Who Will be the Real Hero
We got on the bus together and took the fifteen minute ride downtown to see OLE’ YELLER. To our way of thinking, it was the greatest movie about a dog ever made. Lassie had it’s moments, and Rin Tin Tin was a staple of Saturday Morning Television, but nothing was as good as Ol’ Yeller. And there was no one as fun to see it with as my cousin, Mark.
Mark was older than me by a couple of years, and when you’re a kid you tend to look up to those who are a little bit older as if they’re a lot older and smarter than you are, and that can be intimidating. But when the older cousin treats you like an equal, invites you to go to the movies on the bus with him, without grown ups, you’re bonded forever.
There was something pure about my cousin; not stuffy or self righteous or weird, just pure. He wasn’t natural to this earth. I always felt like he was a friendly alien, on loan from another planet populated by gentle souls with strong spirits and deep faith. He made this place his home for a while, but this wasn’t where he belonged. He probably stayed as long as he did for the rest of us.
No one thought he’d live that long. Born with diabetes they didn’t think he’d see grade school. In grade school they doubted he’d make it through his teens. After he’d become an Eagle Scout, no one was predicting that he’d serve a two-year mission for his church, learn to be a skilled surveyor and a craftsman who built his own furniture.
He was my favorite cousin to ride bikes with as a kid. There was a look of perfect joy when he was soaring on his Schwinn Bicycle on a summer day, shaded by the leaves at Liberty Park. He saw things around him I think I missed, and he stayed a little longer at every place we stopped along the way, as if he wanted to drink in just a little more. It was like his whole soul was downloading crystal clear images into a memory bank he’d need to make withdrawals from in the future. Maybe it’s because he knew his lifelong illness would take his sight.
I never heard him complain about his blindness. I tried to get him to, just so I could feel better about my own outbursts of frustration for life’s injustices. But he wouldn’t go there.
“Of course I miss seeing, Mike. I was a surveyor by trade, I loved working with my hands. But now I see other things “Like what?”
“Like goodness. Like when I’m waiting for the bus people ask if I need a lift. They want to help. And I don’t have to see things that kill the spirit anymore. Violence on tv. Degrading, awful pictures. Not a part of my life.”
“But still…”
Mark finished unscrewing the bolts of the front wheel of a ten speed bike and placed them in a special place near his workbench.
“It’s teaching me patience, that’s for sure. Learning braille, finding a new career, figuring out how to keep track of things you can’t see. Like these wheel bolts. All courses in the school of life”
“I don’t think the line for those courses is very long, Mark.”
I found myself pacing around. Rocking back and forth. Checking my pocket for my keys. Looking at my watch. If he could see me it would have been clear that I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Even though he couldn’t see, he could tell.
I said, “I couldn’t do it. It’d kill me.”
“No.
You’d adjust. Who knows, you might even write better songs…look at Stevie Wonder.”
Mark was a gentle soul with gentle humor, but not a weak one. Not by a long shot. This guy was tough, physically and mentally. He’d disciplined himself to remember things, keep track, and he worked on keeping himself in shape. Hugging Mark was like wrapping your arms around a rock that hugged back. Even when they started amputating his toes, and then chunks of his foot, he stayed strong in spirit and body.
Besides being a top salesman for a mattress manufacturer, Mark had trained himself to repair ten-eighteen speed bicycles. He kept his shop in his basement. One day when I went to visit I called his name at the kitchen door and he invited me downstairs. I couldn’t find a light, I tripped and crashed and moaned…”It’s pitch black down here. Don’t you have a light?
I said it without thinking. Mark responded without missing a beat.
“What’s the matter, Cuz, you handicapped?”
He never complained, right up to the end. Of his three beautiful children, he only saw one…the other two, particularly his daughter who looks just like him, he would have to imagine.
He never complained. He kept trying to be all he could be, and never whined and moaned when his personal dreams were altered. He wasn’t perfect, it just seemed that way to me because so many qualities I’m still struggling to develop he mastered long ago.
When we let him go, I got to sing at his funeral. What an honor that was. As I sang, I saw him riding his bike with that sweet smile on his face. His eyes were open wide and he was drinking it all in again. He was going so fast the wind was blowing his hair back and billowing his jacket. He was going downhill. After a lifetime of climbing to the top of the mountain, it only seemed fair.
WHO WILL BE THE REAL HERO WHEN THE RACE HAS BEEN RUN
WHO WILL BE THE REAL HERO WHEN IT’S ALL BE SAID AND DONE
WILL IT BE THE ONE WHO GAVE US EVERYTHING HE HAD TO GIVE
THOSE WHO WOULD BE REAL HEROES KNOW HOW REAL HEROES LIVE
THERE’S A PART OF THEM THAT’S KNOWING
THERE’S A PRICE THAT MUST BE PAID
AND THEY KNOW THAT WHEN THE GOING GET’S ROUGH
A HERO’S MADE
HEROES KNOW IT’S NOT THE CHEERING OF THE CROWDS THAT GETS IT DONE
HEROES KNOW THE REAL VICTORIES IN LIFE ARE ONE ON ONE
THERE’S SO MANY SOULS IN NEED
WHO WILL HAVE THE STRENGTH TO LEAD AND
BE OUR REAL HERO WHEN THE RACE HAS BEEN RUN
WHO WILL BE OUR REAL HERO WHEN IT’S ALL BEEN SAID AND DONE
IT WILL BE THE ONE WHO GAVE US EVERYTHING HE HAD TO GIVE
AND IN OUR HEARTS, SOMEWHERE FOREVER
ALL THE REAL, HEROES LIVE
AND IN MY HEART, SOMEWHERE FOREVER,
OUR SWEET MARK WILL ALWAYS LIVE
Listen to hear Who Will be the Real Hero here.
Michael McLean