2/19/12
The untimely death of a remarkable angel, the legendary, Whitney
Houston occurred on February 11th. I keep thinking that this shouldn’t have happened, but it
did.
Her music brings me back to the early 80’s when I moved to
Bleecker Street. I lived in a
modest duplex apartment on the fifth floor with a small outdoor balcony. Standing on the balcony, I could see the
neon sign of Village Gate across Thompson Street, the marquee of the
Circle-in-the-Square downtown theater, where Al Pacino starred in “American
Buffalo,” and under my building stood the Bleecker Street Cinema. I recall listening to the recordings of
Cissy Houston, Sarah Vaughn, Nancy Wilson and Aretha Franklin. They were the reigning divas of
jazz, gospel and blues. In 1983, I watched Cissy and her daughter Whitney sing
together on the Merv Griffin show.
I clearly remember it as a major moment in music history. Whitney received her big break into the
mainstream and became an overnight sensation. My favorite Whitney song is her
rendition of “The Greatest Love of All”.
I loved the song when George Benson first introduced it. Whitney’s heartfelt interpretation of
the lyrics connects wholly to the core of the meaning. I danced to her music at the clubs, and
watched as a fan her career ascend to the top.
What most impressed me about Whitney Houston is her
grace. She came from music
royalty. Her mother, Cissy Houston
is an accomplished singer, who chose her family over her career, her cousin is
Dionne Warwick and her godmother is Aretha Franklin. Whitney Houston is an embodiment of music. She treated others with human dignity,
and generously shared her wealth as a philanthropist. She spoke up against Apartheid when it was not popular to do
so, and befriended Nelson Mandela.
She dedicated her rendition of “The Greatest Love of All” to him. Her signature song, “I Will Always Love
You” vocally soars with such perfection that it transcends time.
I could only speculate about her drug and alcohol
addiction. It seems that her life should
not have turned out the way it did. She appeared to have had a fatal attraction
to the thrill and danger of sudden fame.
Consequently, she avoided her responsibility to herself and her
gift. She chose to marry Bobby
Brown, chose to stay in a bad marriage for 15 years. Having her beautiful daughter, Bobbi-Kristina with Brown may
have prolonged the inevitable breakup.
She chose alcohol, pills, pot and cigarettes to cope with her emotional
problems. She got
swept away from her family and church values. The fatal mistake is that she neglected to take care of her
inner being, which is easier said than done.
I watched the four-hour funeral service. The people in her life who cherished
her by their words and music moved me to tears. The church service provided an invitation to her
beginnings. Her family tastefully shared
that with the world. We must be
grateful for that invitation.
Whitney Houston’s death rocked my memories of my time on
Bleecker Street. After 30 years,
Bleecker Street between MacDougal Street and La Guardia Place lost all of its
quaintness from the yesteryears.
The charm and the artistic vibrancy disappeared. Banks, CVS, Duane Reade, and a high-rise
condo replaced The Village Gate, Circle-in-the-Square Downtown, and The Bleecker
Street Cinema. Now, Le Figaro Cafe
closed too. How could this be?
