America the Beautiful

First out, Johnny Carson slips out of the auditorium into the Concourse and is suddenly surrounded by little children. Everywhere. Filling the concourse. The small type who trip adults and then scream like you kicked them.

Carson tries to stop, but it is like a river of the little tykes. 

Not the river he was hoping to see.

Unable to fight the current, he joins the flow.

Carson is  swept along to the John Street Theatre like an Easter Island statue carried to its resting place.

Martha Washington is waving the children in. “Rescue me!” he wants to say.  But he says nothing and she just gives him a small smile and waves him along. 

With the children, he disappears through a bright red giant frame into a 60-foot tunnel of candlelight. The busy street fades away behind him.  The Theatre.  Where rules disappear and fantasy rules. 

In 1774, the Continental Congress — the rebels — forbade theatre.

All theatres in the rebelling colonies were ordered closed. 

The freedom fighters didn’t like what people were saying on stage.

Liberty was more important than freedom.

The oppressive thumb of liberty. 

Who in the herd is heard?

The rebelling colonies had no theatre. 

But theatre was continued in Manhattan which was controlled by the British.

Throughout the war, the John Street Theatre was famous for its satires against the Yankees, such as The Boston Blockade —  a farce penned by General John Burgoyne that caricatured George Washington as “an uncouth figure… wearing a large wig and a rusty sword.”

As they enter the theatre, the children flow around Johnny Carson.  Semi-circles spreading out as far as Johnny Carson can see.   Like waves in raindrops.  He sits stiffly in front of them — though he cannot tell if he is on trial or an honored guest. 

Behind the children, on a silver screen, is George Washington.  Black-and-white, the film flickers and stops, rolls and flashes, but it is George Washington sitting at a table with a quill scratching into lambskin while his slave, William Lee, wipes his brow with a dirty rag and flies and mosquitoes torment them both.

The children sit. 

Johnny Carson stays standing.  He thinks.  His body keeps telling him that  he is sitting on a Pope’s chair, his weight distributed on the shoulders of millions.  He wants to get down, but any movement he makes increases their burden. 

He feels a grief so deep in his body, it never reaches his eyes.  It trembles with sad rage, like a mother over the senseless death of another son.  

Then, softly, Doc Severinsen’s orchestra begins to play.

The children stand and sing:

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber ways of grain.
For purple mountain majesties
above the fruited plain..

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for hearts that meet,
With mercy, grace, and cheer, 
A common path where strangers join, 
And walk as neighbors dear.

America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in brotherhood,
and liberty in thy law!

O beautiful for those who give,
Not seeking wealth or fame,
Whose daily deeds of gentleness
Uplift our common name.

America! America!
May grace refine thy gold,
’Till every gain is nobleness,
And love is wealth untold.

O beautiful for futures bright,
Where every child is free,
A land of justice, love, and hope
…A home of liberty.

America! America!
God gave so much to thee…
A land of justice, love, and hope…
A home for liberty.

The theatre is silent.  No one even coughs.

The children remain standing, each holding a single candle.

Behind them, the picture still rolling and dissolving, George Washington and William Lee are still in their tent, a candle glowing, bitten by mosquitoes and tormented by flies.

Then a voice says:

The beauty of genuine brotherhood and peace is more precious than diamonds or silver or gold.

Hate cannot drive out hate. 

Only love can do that.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness, 

Only light can do that.

We now stand in tumultuous times when the values of our country are forgotten and collapsed into one–line insults and fences erected for every adjective. 

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality.

Goodness, though temporarily defeated, is stronger than any evil triumphant.

The ultimate measure of your humanity is not what you say you believe. 

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience,

but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.

Now is a time of controversy.

Peace defined by substance, not silence.  By justice for all.

Injustice anywhere is a threat to peace everywhere.

This will be a long struggle.  We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.

I urge you:

Power without love is reckless and abusive,

and that love without power is sentimental and anemic.

Make a career of humanity. Commit yourself to the noble struggle for equal rights. You will make a better person of yourself, a greater nation of your country, and a finer world to live in.

Righteous power and compassionate strength must go hand in hand.

And, while you’re at it:  Give humanity a warm embrace for me.

The screen behind them becomes bright and full of reds and blues and oranges and the Burfies say in unison:  “I’m the Headless Horseman.  And I approve this massage.”