Yesterday was Eve's life celebration at the Hillside Club in Berkeley. By 1:20 Graeme took the microphone, welcomed the hundred and sixty or so guests, and began what turned out to be a most unusual ceremony, one filled mostly with musical performances, all punctuated by reminisces and testimonials. Eve worked at the Berkeley Art Museum and there was no shortage of kind words about her delivered by the director and her friend Julia, also a worker there. But in between the kind words Graeme wanted the guests to know what brought him and Eve together—a mutual love of Indian music, recorded on a CD and played through loudspeakers and Chinese opera music, performed by a singer/dancer on stage.
The love of Indian music was what brought Graeme to London, as he produced hundreds of shows featuring Indian musicians, among them the famous sitar player, Ravi Shankar. It was the love of Indian music, too, by the Beatles' guitar player, George Harrison, who invited Graeme to his house on Christmas Eve. "Graeme, this is Patty, and this is my mum."
But it was the love of the Beatles that brought Eve and me together. I sat by her bedside on New Year's Eve and tried to play all the Beatles songs I knew by heart. She whispered to Graeme, "Play While My Guitar Gently Weeps", the last words we heard from her. It was natural then, for Graeme to ask me to play that again at Eve's service yesterday. I practiced for two weeks, put on fresh strings, polished the spruce soundboard, and then, after the opera performer finished, I brought over the microphone, a little stool, my step, and last, my beautifully polished, recently restrung Martin D42. "I'm the second white guy in this family," I said, "marrying even before Graeme and Eve. My wife Jadyne's father Henry was Eve's mother's younger brother." I then told those assembled that in Eve's honor I would like to play "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."
The first two or three seconds went okay, but as mistake after mistake piled up, I stopped and apologized. "I'm sorry," I saId, "I'm just a bit nervous." I started again, but unlike the ice skaters who fall, get up, then continue their program, I made even more grievous mistakes. "I'm sorry," I said again, "but I can't really do this." People applauded. I turned red. I put my guitar back on the stand, climbed down the steps, then sat down beside Jadyne. I closed my eyes. The program continued. I looked longingly at the door, barely three steps away.
I had given my phone to Jadyne. Since she was sitting in the front I thought that it would be a nice memory if she would take a couple photographs of me. She did. Or, at least she tried. She took two photographs of the floor at her feet. We all make mistakes.
More speeches. More music. A pianist played two pieces. A May concert dedicated to Eve was announced. Two violinists, one from the SF Symphony, and a friend who flew over from Germany played. More piano. More speeches.
The final two pieces were by three symphony members—a violinist, a violist, and a cellist.
I couldn't wait for the service to end. I wanted out. Finally, as all came to an end I rose, picked up my guitar, and was met by two very kind people, each of whom expressed their appreciation for my efforts, that in my words and emotions I revealed how personal and important it was to me. I thanked them, then came home.
Last night I wrote this:
"We learn so much about ourselves...I have been practicing "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" for some time now...I made a few efforts to play it yesterday before recording it and posting it on YouTube...I went to Eve's service today...there were a hundred people there...many professional musicians...I was fine until I got on stage...I told anecdotes about how Eve and I related about several things, but mostly the Beatles...I told them about sitting by her bedside, playing one song after another, and how her last words to us were, "Play While My Guitar Gently Weeps."...I then tried to play it...I couldn't...I played the first few seconds or so very badly, then tried to start over...a few seconds later I told every I couldn't do it...I couldn't do it...I was both too emotional and too nervous..I left the stage and sat down next to Jadyne...I closed my eyes and listened to the rest of the service, some remembrances, three pieces by a concert pianist, a duet by two members of the SF symphony, then a two-pat finale by three more from the symphony—a violinist, a cellist, and a violist...two people thanked me afterwards for the effort, recognizing that not only was I not a professional musician, but that they saws that within my stories a connection something that was missing in the other pie"ces by the other musicians...I was embarrassed...I'm okay now...we never stop learning."
This morning I wrote Graeme a letter:
"You arranged and put on a lovely service for Eve yesterday, and I was very touched to have been included. Obviously, I was disappointed not to have been able to perform the song. From my performance you wouldn’t have guessed that I had practiced quite some time, even recording it on YouTube on Saturday. I hadn’t played in front of more than one or two friends in forty years, and I had no idea that I would be unable to do so yesterday.
But this wasn’t about me. It was about Eve, your love for each other, and the many connections, both spoken and performed, by those who have meant so much to both of you. If we get can get away from my “unperformance" and focus on something that I hoped you and the other guests recognized—that both of you are dear to me and Jadyne, and that we feel Eve’s loss ourselves while we continue to feel for you, too."
He wrote back...
"Darrin our remodeling assistant, and who helped in clearing out my office for the hospital bed, phoned last evening and we both agreed that your performance was so real, and emphasizes the human side of yesterday. If your performance had been perfect it would not have been the same. I am sure most felt the same."
Whew.
Graeme concluded, referring to George Harrison, Eve, Indian music, and all..."Thanks for the touching comments. Darrin who had set up the chairs for the expected 150 from RSVPs, said at least 160 came. The two sons of Ali Akbar Khan and their mother surprised me because I knew their younger sister was about to go into labor. Eve and I remember when daughter Medina was about four, her coming at stage at the large Marin Center to crowning her father king. He was the last living famous court musicians. Yesterday they asked what favourite ragas Eve had ... for the May 25 concert at BAMPFA. And I said if George had not given the burst of interest in Indian music here in 1966, literally none of us would we have be here. Their mother would never have met their father and me Eve. True karma."
True karma, indeed.