Learning from Bobby Powell

by Linda Hansen | More from this Blogger

A little boy usually doesn't care about reading music or singing a song from a Broadway musical, unless that little boy is Bobby Powell. He was the kid that never played on a little league team, ran with a football, or played tag during recess. Bobby contracted polio at an early age; he was left with a ravaged body and a set of heavy braces encompassing his withered legs. He and I attended the same elementary school back in the 1950's. We developed a friendship in the third grade. Bobby and I were both trying out for the talent show and found ourselves together in the auditorium after school, practicing our music. Bobby couldn't climb the steps on the side of the stage and there was no access ramp in those days. I would struggle to drag him onto the stage, his heavy braces definitely a hindrance to our goal of getting him up there. I can still see clearly in my mind's eye, this little boy standing on the stage behind the microphone singing with all his heart. Bobby's beautiful soprano voice resonated through the big, empty auditorium. I can close my eyes and hear the song, "Surrey With The Fringe on Top", from the play Oklahoma. Not only did he sound like he belonged in the Vienna Boys Choir, he was animated when he sang. He would sweep his arm out in an arch as he sang, "Chicks and ducks and geese may a scurry, when I take you out in my surrey". His head tilted to the notes and his shoulders subtly dipped and swayed as he sang, leading the listener to believe he really did take a romantic surrey ride with his girl. The unusual aspect of this picture, he had those metal crutches with the bands around them attached to each arm. When he lifted his arm, the crutch came with it. Bobby used those crutches as multitasking tools. Not only did they assist him in arriving at his destination, he used them to express emotion as he sang.

Years later, when the memory of Bobby would drift into my thoughts, I could still see him leaning on one crutch while the other was gently swaying and reiterating his lyrics, beautifully and naturally, as he sang. It looked more like an orchestra conductor's exaggerated baton than a tool needed to drag his lifeless legs along.

In the sixth grade my family moved and I transferred to another school. Bobby Powell and I lost touch but I never forgot that kid. He taught me a lot. Through observing him, I learned to make the best of what I have, to take a circumstance and improve it, to make a baton out of a crutch.

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Linda Hansen is a retired restaurant manager and stay at home mom.

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