FIVE BLIND BOYS

3 5 R F I V E B L I N D B O Y S S A N D R A M c P H E R S O N In the ho-hum fence-sitter-beige meeting-and-eating room, only after everyone who had su√ered enough – fallen, altar-called – came forward and was hand-blessed by the mother pastor, would the blind singers go on. With their opening notes, outside in the pines mockingbirds closed their eyes. Within, social lighting dimmed in harmony. The congregation looked to see if they who never watched their watchers back showed a secret way of reflecting. There were ears there who didn’t feel a voice. But they might draw with the sweep of a foot. Thirty years ago, I said after encore, I saw you sing. But we are none of the same boys, he said, defining. They do not sing anymore. We sing. We are the blind boys now. And they are because the shout of Brownlee passed young, the steep pitch of Woodard slid into sleep. And new blind hard gospellers came to croon here where no god ever withheld his jazz 3 6 Y but touched their shoulders to choose his next hands-up five glorifying hymn-powered men. And women, in alabaster dress, picked up the next shoutable song: If not two eyes, two wings. Note: These are the Five Blind Boys of Mississippi, in a performance in Woodland, California, May 26, 1994. ...