JUST FOLLOW HER MUSIC

By Edwin Cooney

The passing of Mary Travers of Peter Paul and Mary fame is somehow more gripping than the recent passing of celebrities of even greater prominence.

I wasn’t a fan of folk music or of that particular trio, however, there was something very real about Peter, Paul and Mary. Other entertainers were more dynamic and sensational, but, professional as they indeed were, Peter, Paul and Mary sang, it seemed, like you and me. They sang songs about magic dragons, hammering hammers, the blowing wind, and love under the lemon tree — ballads of peace, justice, wisdom, and love.

I could imagine sitting in a group with them around a roaring camp fire. We would be singing songs and telling stories as we all ate toasted marshmallows and drank Kool-Aid. As twilight turned to darkness and the crickets accompanied the silence of ever approaching night, we would vow to repeat this happy time again and again.

Peter, Paul and Mary were starkly real. Hence, Mary’s passing becomes starkly personal. Where, we may well ask, is Mary now? Might we one day go where she has gone? If we do, or even when we do, might it be more pleasant and perhaps even more placid because Mary is there?

The truth is that, as I enter my mid-sixties, I often wonder what experience lies beyond this world for me and for those I know and love. My guess is that you do, too.

Just the other day, I asked two friends what they thought the “beyond” might be like. One of them, a devout Christian, thinks that we’ll join God in the spirit world and that we will be possessed with a sense of awareness. Another friend insists that the “I” of our personhood is immortal and will do as it chooses once our bodies cease to exist. He believes that if our “I” is willing, it will enter another human being, and if it isn’t, it will do as it chooses for as long as it chooses.

Limited in comprehension as most of us are as to what form our mortality may take, what we can grasp, if we allow ourselves, is that our inevitable passing is as natural as our birth was and therefore doesn’t have to be terrifying. We also know that part of our nature is to defend, cherish, and cling to what we know. What we know best is, of course, life and a pleasant life is what we work, struggle, hope, and pray for.

From the time we are children, one of the first mysterious concepts we try to grasp is death. Grandma or Grandpa may suddenly die or, even more frightening to children, a brother or sister may be taken by accident or illness. Parents and even clergy struggle to assure children that there is nothing to fear, but from there on, it seems, these same authorities too often use death as a weapon to threaten and exert control. Hence long before our childhood passes, fear -- rather than acknowledgment or acceptance -- of our mortality can overwhelm us.

Naturally, we seek to preserve and enhance our lives and the lives of those precious to us. We never feel satisfied that people we love and cherish live comfortably enough, happily enough, or long enough. Their lives enrich our own and so we want them to have the best and the very best to us usually means life.

Fifty years ago last February, three young “stars,” met their untimely deaths. The Big Bopper (Jiles Perry Richardson Jr.), Buddy Holly (Charles Hardin Holley) and Ritchie Valens (Richard Steven Valenzuela) seemingly had far to go and much to live for. Young people everywhere wondered why the fiery plane crash that took their lives had to happen and, of course, there was no satisfactory answer. If their passing was demoralizing, their examples undoubtedly energized entertainers yet unborn to live the dreams young Richardson (age 28), young Holly (22), and the still younger Valens (17) never fully experienced.

Mary Travers’ legacy along with that of Peter Yarrow and Noel “Paul” Stookey may primarily be in the music. My guess, however, is that her enduring legacy is the sense of peace her music offers you and me.

As I comprehend the force of nature and “nature’s God” (as Thomas Jefferson might put it), Mary Allin Travers is now back where she was on Sunday, November 8th, 1936, the day before she was born. She resides now and forever in a state without fear, anxiety or pain, and, above all, surrounded by love and peace.

If we would join her when that time comes for us, we need only to honor every remaining day of our lives without fear and, above all, to follow Mary’s music.

RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,

EDWIN COONEY