By day, I'm a father of seven and husband of one. By night, I'm an author, a biographer, and a prog rocker. Interests: Rush, progressive rock, cultural criticisms, the Rocky Mountains, individual liberty, history, hiking, and science fiction.
Time it’s time to live Time it’s time to live through the pain
Time it’s time to live, now that it’s all over Time it’s time to live Time it’s time to live through the pain Now that it’s over, now that it’s over
Kissing a gray garden
Shadow and shade Sunlight treads softly
As bad as bad becomes It’s not a part of you
Contempt is ever breeding Trapped in itself Time it’s time to live Time it’s time to live through the pain Time it’s time to live, now that it’s all over Time it’s time to live Time it’s time to live through the pain Now that it’s over, now that it’s over, now that it’s over
As bad as bad becomes It’s not a part of you
The wicked and the weeping Ramble or run Time it’s time to live Time it’s time to live for living Time it’s time to live, now that it’s all over Time it’s time to live Time it’s time to live for living Time it’s time to live, now that it’s all over Now that it’s over, now that it’s over
I can see night in the day time Into the woods I quietly go It takes all the strength I have in me These are the woods The night of the soul Painful to see Love without action Painful to see years of neglect Achin’ to see all that they see Still telling lies to the remains of respect Creatures we are worth defending It takes the right word said from the heart Given to you without ending Given to you, the purpose of art Thousands of plans, I’ve made many I wonder just how many plans I have made Feelin’ this mood overtake me Finally to see the truth as it fades Out of these woods will you take me Out of these woods, out of the strom Sinless child can you save me Guilty man, freedom is yours
Here’s to the babies of a brand new world Here’s to the beauty of the stars Here’s to the travellers on the open road Here’s to the dreamers in the bars Here’s to the teachers in the crowded rooms Here’s to the workers in the fields Here’s to the preachers of the sacred word Here’s to the drivers at the wheel Here’s to you my little love With blessings from above Now let the day begin Here’s to you my little love With blessings from above Now let the day begin Let the day begin Here’s to the winners of the human race Here’s to the losers in the game Here’s to the soldiers of the bitter war Here’s to the wall that bears their name Here’s to you my little love With blessings from above Now let the day begin Here’s to you my little love With blessings from above Now let the day begin Let the day begin Let the day begin Let the day… start Here’s to the doctors and their healing work Here’s to the loved ones in their care Here’s to the strangers on the streets tonight Here’s to the lonely everywhere Here’s to the wisdom from the mouths of babes Here’s to the lions in the cage Here’s to the strugglers of the silent war Here’s to the closing of the age Here’s to you my little love With blessings from above Now let the day begin Oh! Here’s to you my little loves With blessings from above Now let the day begin Here’s to you my little loves With blessings from above Now let the day begin Here’s to you my little loves With blessings from above Now let the day begin Let the day begin Let the day… start
ELEMENTAL MUSIC UNEARTHS BILL EVANS IN NORWAY FOR RSD BLACK FRIDAY RELEASE AS EXCLUSIVE TWO-LP SET ON NOV. 29
Master Pianist’s Energetic 1970 Performance at the Kongsberg Jazz Festival Arrives as a Deluxe CD Version on Dec. 6
Comprehensively Annotated Set Includes Interviews with Evans, Bassist Eddie Gomez and Drummer Marty Morell, and Norwegian Pianist Roy Hellvin; Reflections on Evans’ Art by Keyboardists Aaron Parks and Craig Taborn; and Notes by Evans Scholar Marc Myers
Elemental Music will release Bill Evans in Norway, a brilliant 1970 trio concert captured at the Kongsberg Jazz Festival, as an exclusive RSD Black Friday two-LP set on Nov. 29.
The 180-gram vinyl package, mastered by Matthew Lutthans at the Mastering Lab and pressed at Memphis Pressing, will be succeeded by a deluxe CD version on Dec. 6.
This latest Evans archival find by the team at Elemental Music, produced for release by the award-winning “Jazz Detective” Zev Feldman, is being issued in cooperation with the Bill Evans Estate. The package includes a rare interview with Evans conducted by Norwegian critic and impresario Randi Hultin at the Kongsberg Jazz Festival; new interviews with bassist Eddie Gomez and drummer Marty Morell, members of the pianist’s longest-lived trio, who supported him at the festival; an interview with Norwegian pianist Roy Hellvin, who was in the audience at the performance; reflections on Evans’ art by pianists Aaron Parks, Craig Taborn, and Eliane Elias; and concert photographs by Arthur Sand.
“Between Resonance Records and Elemental Music, I’ve had the good fortune of working with Evan Evans of the Bill Evans Estate for the past 14 years, and this will be my 12th production working with the family,” producer Feldman says. “These recordings come from the archives of Norway’s Kongsberg Jazz Festival, which was founded in 1964. It’s been a major breakthrough for us to have established contact with their team in 2023 and we’re very excited about this new relationship.”
Jak Kilby/Arena PAL
The Kongsberg appearance on June 26, 1970, found the Evans trio in especially stirring form. The pianist — who had recently begun to wean himself off a longtime addiction to heroin in a supervised methadone program — was especially sensitive to his audience’s tastes, and brought a fresh energy to his repertoire.
Myers notes, “Evans appreciated Norwegians’ reserve, modesty and politeness. He also was aware that their moods tended to be lugubrious in the winter, when there was less sunlight each day, and more gleeful in the summer, when the sun set around 11 p.m. While preparing the Kongsberg set list, he knew Norwegian concertgoers would have a deep connection to wistful songs such as ‘What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?,’ ‘Turn Out the Stars,’ and ‘Quiet Now.’ But as you listen, you’ll notice that the Bill Evans Trio took many of these traditionally somber songs at a more spirited clip.”
Evans himself said on the day after the date, “This is an excellent audience, and it’s weird to think that a little place like Kongsberg can hire musicians from all over the world just because they like jazz here. I admire the enthusiasm of the organizers, who do all of this without earning a penny for it….These days here in Kongsberg have really meant something to me. It’s a beautiful place, and I’ve been able to relax.”
The pianist’s rhythm section, both experienced hands at European touring, took their cues from the leader’s approach. Gomez says, “When we played in Kongsberg, we had just played at the Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland. The recording of that event was called Montreux II. And at that time Montreux was a very high-profile festival. Having passed that hurdle, we went on to Kongsberg, and that was a relief. I felt really relaxed, like, ‘Okay, this is good. It’s not like Montreux, there’s less pressure.’ And I think the outcome is a record that’s quite good.”
Adds Morell, “There’s nothing like playing jazz in Europe — Norway, Scandinavia. Bill was loved, and it was always a special treat, and an honor really, to play for those people, because he was appreciated so well. But then you go to Paris and London and other countries, and it was a similar vibe. And South America, too. Bill was revered all over the world.”
Hellvin says, “It was a great kick for me to hear the tape of this 1970 Bill Evans concert 54 years after being there. I can still remember the atmosphere created by the trio. The summer in Norway was unusually warm that year, but inside the Kongsberg cinema there was a special mood. I don’t think I’ve ever seen another audience so quiet and concentrated, especially during Bill’s rendition of Leonard Bernstein`s ‘Some Other Time.’ It really left us spellbound! To me, Evans was playing a little harder than usual, and with more attack on his up-tempo numbers.”
The players touched by Evans’ influence find the essence of the keyboardist’s genius expressed in a fresh way in the unique Kongsberg performance.
“I’ve come to realize that on Bill’s playing there is lyricism and sensitivity,” Parks says, “but also deep intelligence, and above all a great muscularity. There’s a tactile, grippy kind of thing to the way in which he approaches harmony. There’s a real vitality, and a sense of putting skin in the game, rhythmically. All of that can be felt on this Kongsberg concert.”
Taborn says, “The group playing in Kongsberg is really interesting for me, because I think the Marty Morell years are fascinating….With Morell, Bill is really on top a lot. He has a much brighter feel. He’s really pushing stuff. Even bringing the tempos up a little bit. This group is swinging along in a brighter way, which really brings out the more rhythmic side of Bill Evans.”
Summing up the impact of Evans’ enduring music, Elias says, “Bill Evans created his own musical universe in harmony, melody and rhythm and has influenced generations of musicians with his sound and conception of interplay. I consider him to be one of my important influences.”
So, I was at a Liberty Fund conference this past weekend in Philadelphia. It was directed by the rather awesome Hollywood screenwriter, Adam Simon. I’ve been at a number of conferences with Adam before, and he likes to refer to me as “his brother from a different mother.” Adam’s Jewish and from the left, and I’m Catholic and from the right. But, we really (as in really, really) like each other. Truly, we’re brothers from a different mother. I love the guy.
If you don’t know, Liberty Fund, which has been around since 1960, long before I was born, the institute hosts week-end conferences with, roughly, fifteen participants. This past conference, in Philly, was me and fourteen participants and two observers. We were talking about screwball comedies from the 1930s and 1940s–It Happened One Night, Philadelphia Story, the Awful Truth, Bringing Up Baby, etc–along with philosophy from Hannah Arendt and Stanley Cavell. We were trying to figure out if we could find anything deep and philosophical about the nature of rights and our right to pursue happiness in Hollywood films.
I loved all 14 of the participants, but I was especially taken with the humor and wit of Wesley. That’s all I knew about him–he was Wesley. I was told by the other participants that he had written four novel and was also big in music.
On the final night–after at least one Aviation cocktail (my favorite)–I asked Wes about his music tastes. It turned out that we both love progressive rock, and he’s even a huge fan of Jerry Ewing and PROG magazine.
I then asked him his stage name. And, much to my surprise, he told me that he was John Wesley Harding. Holy Moses, a total favorite! I was stunned and thrilled.
Here he is, way back in the early 1990s on MTV, with Adam Simon directing:
Dear Spirit of Cecilia readers, it’s time to dig into some prog/anti-prog/a-prog. Is Radiohead prog or not? I’m sure this question has been debated before. Let’s just say, Radiohead did something unique and did something unique several times. First, with Ok, Computer in 1997 and, then, again, in 2000 with Kid A. The following dialogue reflects our thoughts about such innovation and creativity in the world.
Brad: Well, I’m happy to begin this conversation. In the mid 1990s, I had heard the single, “Creep.” Strangely, I was more familiar with the live Tears for Fears cover version than I was with Radiohead’s original, but I still knew the song pretty well. To this day, I like the song, but I don’t love it. And, if push comes to shove, I prefer the TFF version. The unedited, R-rated Radiohead version of the song does nothing for me.
The mid-1990s were kind of wild for me, in terms of my profession as well as in my life. I didn’t get married until 1998, when I was 30. For part of the mid 1990s, then (single), I was working in Bloomington, Indiana, while working on my PHD (I loved Bloomington and my job there), and, for part of it, I was working in Helena, Montana (a city I loved, in a job that I hated; well, let me clarify. I was working at the Montana Historical Society which I hated, but I was also teaching at Carroll College, which I loved).
One day in Helena, I went to a local alternative shop (comics, music, etc.) to buy the latest issue of The Batman Chronicles. On display, though, they had OK Computer, advertised as a “neo prog classic.” Despite money being tight, I bought the album, went back to my apartment, and was suitably blown away by it. Though I love Kid A more, I still have great fondness for Ok, Computer and always will. Though “Karma Police” was the big single from the album, it’s the beginning of “Subterranean Homesick Alien” that I love the most.
From there, I went back and bought the first two Radiohead albums–Pablo Honey and The Bends. I also bought the two eps–by special order–My Iron Lung and Airbag. For what it’s worth, it was the two non-prog songs from the early albums–”Blowout” and “Street Spirit” that most intrigued me.
Tad: Brad, thanks for kickstarting this conversation about two albums that I like a lot. I got into Radiohead around the time of The Bends. I thought that record was wonderful, because I have always had a soft spot for Beatlesque power pop. I didn’t really enjoy OK Computer, because I felt that they had betrayed their pop roots! Of course, with the passage of time and greater perspective, I love it now (except for Fitter, Happier).
When Kid A was about to be released, I remember they put out Everything In Its Right Place as a teaser on Amazon, I think (this was years before YouTube, remember!). I listened to that one track obsessively – I couldn’t get enough of it! But when the entire album was finally released and I got a chance to listen to it, I was completely turned off. To my ears, they had completely abandoned melody and replaced it with abrasive noise. It was literally years before I would return to it and give it another chance.
I guess I have a love/hate relationship with Radiohead. I spent the past couple of days listening to Kid A and Amnesiac (along with the bonus tracks on their 2009 respective reissued editions). There are moments of incredible beauty on both albums: Everything In Its Right Place, Optimistic, Pyramid Song, Knives Out, come to mind. But Thom Yorke’s vocals grate on me in so many places. He sounds querulous and whiny; it’s as if he can’t find any joy in life at all. “Catch the mouse/crush its head/throw it in the pot”…. Is that a rant against meat eaters? I don’t know, but he sounds so desperate!
Also, Stanley Donwood’s artwork is extremely off putting to me. There is a condescension and disdain for normal people who are just trying to raise a family, earn an honest living, and not make waves. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, though. Tell me where I’m wrong, please!
Brad: Tad, thanks so much for your good thoughts. You and I almost always agree, so it’s really interesting to me when we diverge from one another. My views are almost completely opposite of yours, but I suppose timing has a lot to do with it. I mentioned earlier that I came across OK Computer really by chance – seeing it in a display in an alternative shop in Helena, Montana, of all places.
I was in my second year at Hillsdale when Kid A came out. It was the fall semester, and I remember so clearly getting the album. I not only played Kid A repeatedly, but I poured over the lyrics, the art, the booklet, anything that would offer even a smidgen more information about the band and the album. I absolutely loved it when I discovered there was a second booklet, locked under the cd tray.
I played Kid A so much–especially in the background during office hours–that it became a conversation piece with my students and me. So, the album is associated–for me at least–with extremely good memories.
And, I actually like Donwood’s artwork. I even own two books of his art, one of which I have proudly displayed on our living room bookshelf!
Carl: I know, for a fact, that I cannot be objective at all about either album! And there is some freedom in admitting that.
I can relate quite well, Tad, to two of your remarks: the one about having a “love/hate relationship with Radiohead” and your observation that “there are moments of incredible beauty on both albums…” Amen, amen!
For me, setting aside “Fitter, Happier,” which is either an act of genius or an act of cynical annoyance, I think OK Computer is one of the most beautiful, gut-wrenching albums ever recorded—regardless of genre. I don’t recall Radiohead being on my radar at all back in 1997, when I walked into CD World (R.I.P.) in Eugene, OR, and heard it on a listening station.
I was immediately transfixed by the album, which I bought and then listened to hundreds (no exaggerations) of times over the next couple of years. I would listen to it often while driving to and from Portland, from the fall of 1997 to spring of 2000, for MTS classes.
Oddly enough, the stark—but somewhat hopeful—lyrics seemed to go well with my studies, although I don’t know how to explain it. But, again, it was the sheer gorgeous quality of the album, with its amazing melodies, detailed arrangements, astonishing sonics, and the elastic voice of Thom Yorke. And the guitars! I soon bought both Pablo Honey and The Bends, and while the debut album was “okay,” I thought the sophomore release was a remarkable work, with several songs that rivaled what came along on OK Computer.
I mention the guitars because my first reaction to Kid A was simply, “What the hell is this?! Where are the guitars?!” It threw me for a loop so deep and big that I actually refused to listen to it for quite some time. For whatever reason, it did not connect with me at all.
Oddly enough, it was through some acoustic/instrumental covers of Radiohead songs—by pianists including Christopher O’Riley, Brad Mehldau, and Eldar Djangirov—that I warmed up to the album. And while it will never, for me, equal its predecessor, I now recognize just how great it is. Once again, it’s the beauty of the music—in songs such as “Morning Bell”, “Everything In Its Right Place”, and “How To Disappear Completely”—that comes to the fore.
Tad: Carl, you expressed my initial misgivings about Kid A so much better than I did. “Where are the guitars?” Yes!!! I also gained a greater appreciation for the songs on Kid A, composition-wise, through listening to Christopher O’Riley’s classical piano versions. I love the album now. As far as Donwood’s artwork, I just get such negativity from it, but that’s my personal reaction.
Looking back, it’s hard to understand these days just how influential Radiohead was. Everyone was compared to them. I don’t think there would be a Coldplay without Radiohead. Remember the British band Travis? They were a poppy, “safe” version of Radiohead. One of my favorite European groups is Kent, from Sweden. They were obviously heavily influenced by Radiohead.
What is amazing to me is how Radiohead kept their audience, no matter how left-field and out-there their music got. I also appreciate how innovative they were in marketing themselves. Remember when they released In Rainbows online, for basically free? They anticipated streaming music years before it existed.
Brad, I wish I had the same experience you had of stumbling across OK Computer and incorporating Radiohead’s music into your life. I think I feel the same way about earlier artists such Roxy Music, Depeche Mode, and New Order. I can’t imagine not having them available, and their music means so much to me on an emotional level. Listening to them still transports me to different times of my life.
Kevin: The confluence of artists assembled in the conglomerate called Radiohead is remarkable. It is rare for a musical group to emerge that gels together. It is yet rarer for one to collectively seek something new and striking, something visionary. It is the rarest of all to have one that can consistently break new territory in a way that feels always new.
In the summer of 1997, having just completed a recital and performer diploma in classical guitar, I began work on my second progressive rock album. I was seeking to break such new ground working on compositions, lyrics, instrumentation, arrangements. It was a joy and yet painful to continually do this work on my own while seeking sympathetic artists to this vision. In particular I was seeking a drummer who could capture the raw talent of my original co-conspiriator, my brother Colin.
Colin and I had literally grown together in our listening, writing, and performer during my latter school days at home. We didn’t need conversation to know when things worked—we just clicked. I didn’t realize just how rare this was until some years later when we did find a chance to regroup and perform again.
In 1997 we were thousands of miles apart and still living in the days when long-distance calls were as rare as they were expensive. But during one such rare call, I remember him mentioning that I had to get the new Radiohead album OK Computer. He knew my tastes. He knew my aversion to new music of the 90s—for the most part I found grunge to be over-blown and entitled. There were exceptions, but it all seemed unjustifiably angry and sulking and focused on screaming in the darkness because they couldn’t be bothered to look for the light switch.
OK Computer, he assured me, was “different. You have to give it a listen!”
The opening distorted guitar line of “Airbag” gripped my attention immediately. It was melodic but angular, technically adept but rough at the edges, weirdly familiar yet strangely weird. One thing was abundantly clear—these guys had it. The playing was exciting, inventive, and in-the-pocket— except when the haunting character android made its presence felt—and then it was oddly off-kilter, but consistently the band worked its magic together, as a multiple pulsing organism.
The album is brilliant and it set a new standard for creativity in the popular music realm. I could write a book on this album alone. Their use of texture, tone, timing, timbre, text, and contrast appears to flow effortlessly from their collective creative pen. These skills fully come to the fore on OK Computer, where there is a loose narrative (dare I say “Concept”) to the album. But equally on Kid A the stops and starts within and between tracks, the intros and endings, the attentiveness to sonic space. Historically there are moments of brilliance throughout the progressive rock catalog, but here, in Radiohead, was something for a new millennium. Even the contrast between OK Computer and Kid A is extraordinary.
Then there are the melodic and harmonic moments of sheer genius! The way the melodies weave from one section to another, the shift of harmonic focus from a single altered note, the blurring of lines between keys and major/minor constructions. You all know my fondness for Talk Talk’s latter work, which expresses through minimal chords and melodies and achieves artistic triumphs using very basic musical theorems combined with an incredible musical instinct. Radiohead uses maximalism in their approach and since it is a vision more of a collective than a single artist, the result is almost overwhelming to the senses. After a good listen to either of the albums of this essay I literally have to give my ears a rest—it’s so intense.
And yet, listening back, while I still love the creativity, the craft, the brilliance, the technical adeptness, I have to agree with Tad. The dark vision and tone and word with no hint of redemption anywhere suffocates. It’s one thing to work with chiaroscuro, the renaissance artistic technique of using darkness to emphasize the light. Radiohead accels at contrast from a sonic standpoint. I just wish the texts and the vision equally offered an understanding of the beauty of life and not only its tensions. I love the experience of Radiohead’s extraordinary works of human imagination, but in the end I crave the light.
Brad: All right, friends and neighbors, this concludes our discussion of Radiohead–and not just Radiohead, but classic Radiohead–OK Computer and Kid A. As is obvious, we don’t all agree, but we love one another! Here’s hoping you love us as well.
[Dear Spirit of Cecilia Readers, as some of you might know, our website is named not only for St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music, but also for my deceased daughter, Cecilia Rose. Today would’ve been her 17th birthday. We visited her grave just now, and, as my wife so wisely noted, in some ways, it’s been a hundred years since she died, and, in some ways, it’s been 24 hours.
I can be perfectly fine on August 7 and August 9, but I’m always rather down on August 8. Every year without exception. It’s like a huge weight is on my shoulders, and I can only describe this feeling as a form of depression.
Weird how time works. I say this as a professional historian who thinks about the steadiness, the fluctuations, and the chaos of time on a daily basis.
Anyway, here’s a piece I wrote about her on what would’ve been her eleventh birthday. As much as I love the Catholic Church and God, I still can’t but be confused by His Providence. Cecilia Rose was always His, but I just can’t fathom why he would give Dedra and me charge over her, only to take her away at the last moment. All I can do is trust in Him and His ways.
Happy Feast of Little Cecilia Rose, our precious saint.
Yours, Brad]
HOPE ON A ROSE: Had things worked or happened differently, I would be celebrating the eleventh birthday of my daughter, Cecilia Rose Birzer, today. I can visualize exactly what it might be like. A cake, eleven candles, hats, cheers, goofiness, photos, and, of course, ice cream. I imagine that she would love chocolate cake–maybe a brownie cake—and strawberry ice cream. Her many, many siblings cheer here, celebrating the innumerable smiles she has brought the family. As I see her at the table now, I see instantly that her deep blue eyes are mischievous to be sure, but hilarious and joyous as well. Her eyes are gateways to her soul, equally mischievous, hilarious, and joyous. She’s tall and thin, a Birzer. She also has an over abundance of dark brown curls, that match her darker skin just perfectly. She loves archery, and we just bought her first serious bow and arrow. No matter how wonderful the cake, the ice cream, and the company, she’s eager to shoot at a real target.
She’s at that perfect age, still a little girl with little girl wants and happinesses, but on the verge of discovering the larger mysteries of the teenage and adult world. She cares what her friends think of her, but not to the exclusion of what her family thinks of her. She loves to dance to the family’s favorite music, and she knows every Rush, Marillion, and Big Big Train lyric by heart. She’s just discovering the joys of Glass Hammer. As an eleven-year old, she loves princesses, too, and her favorite is Merida, especially given the Scot’s talents and hair and confidence. She has just read The Fellowship of the Ring, and she’s anguished over the fate of Boromir. Aragorn, though—there’s something about him that seems right to her.
If any of this is actually happening, it’s not happening here. At least not in this time and not on this earth. Here and now? Only in my dreams, my hopes, and my broken aspirations.
Eleven years ago today, my daughter, Cecilia Rose Birzer, strangled on her own umbilical cord. That which had nourished her for nine months killed her just two days past her due date.
On August 6, 2007, she came to term. Very early on August 8, my wife felt a terrible jolt in her belly and then nothing. Surely this, we hoped, was Cecilia telling us she was ready. We threw Dedra’s hospital bag into the car as we had done four times before, and we drove the 1.5 miles to the hospital. We knew something was wrong minutes after we checked in, though we weren’t sure what was happening. Nurses, doctors, and technicians were coming in and out of the room. The medical personnel were whispering, looking confused, and offering each other dark looks. Finally, after what seemed an hour or more, our beloved doctor told us that our child—a girl, it turned out—was dead and that my wife would have to deliver a dead child.
We had waited to know the sex of the baby, but we had picked out names for either possibility. We had chosen Cecilia Rose for a girl, naming her after my great aunt Cecelia as well as St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music, and Rose because of St. Rose of Lima being the preferred saint for the women in my family and because Sam Gamgee’s wife was named Rosie.
I had never met my Aunt Cecelia as she had died at age 21, way back in 1927. But, she had always been a presence in my family, the oldest sister of my maternal grandfather. She had contracted tetanus, and the entire town of Pfeifer, Kansas, had raised the $200 and sent someone to Kansas City to retrieve the medicine. The medicine returned safely to Pfeifer and was administered to my great aunt, but it was too late, and she died an hour or two later. Her grave rests rather beautifully, just to the west of Holy Cross Church in Pfeifer valley, and a ceramic picture of her sits on her tombstone. Her face as well as her story have intrigued me as far back as I can remember. Like my Cecilia Rose, she too had brown curly hair and, I suspect, blue eyes. She’s truly beautiful, and her death convinced her boyfriend to become a priest.
The day of Cecilia Rose’s death was nothing but an emotional roller coaster. A favorite priest, Father Brian Stanley, immediately drove to Hillsdale to be with us, and my closest friends in town spent the day, huddled around Dedra. We cried, we laughed, and we cried some more–every emotion was just at the surface. I’m more than certain the nurses thought we were insane. Who were these Catholics who could say a “Hail Mary” one moment, cry the next, and laugh uproariously a few minutes later? Of course, the nurses also saw just how incredibly tight and meaningful the Catholic community at Hillsdale is. And, not just the Catholics—one of the most faithful with us that day was a very tall Lutheran.
Late that night, Dedra revealed her true self. She is—spiritually and intellectually—the strongest person I know. She gave birth with the strength of a Norse goddess. Or maybe it was just the grace of Mary working through her. Whatever it was, she was brilliant. Any man who believes males superior to females has never seen a woman give birth. And, most certainly, has never seen his wife give birth to a dead child. Cecilia Rose was long gone by the time she emerged in the world, but we held her and held her and held her for as long as we could. With the birth of our other six children, I have seen in each of them that unique spark of grace, given to them alone. Cecilia Rose was a beautiful baby, but that spark, of course, was absent, having already departed to be with her Heavenly Father.
For a variety of reasons, we were not able to bury her until August 14. For those of you reading this who are Catholic, these dates are pretty important. August 8 is the Feast of St. Dominic, and August 14 is the Feast of St. Maximilian Kolbe.
Regardless, those days between August 8 and August 14 were wretched. We were in despair and depression. I have never been as angry and confused as I was during those days. Every hour seemed a week, and the week itself, seemed a year. I had nothing but love for my family, but I have never been that angry with God as I was then and, really, for the following year, and, frankly, for the next nine after that. We had Cecilia Rose buried in the 19th-century park-like cemetery directly across the street from our house. For the first three years after her death, I walked to her grave daily. Even to this day, I visit her grave at least once a week when in Hillsdale. In the first year after her death, I was on sabbatical, writing a biography of Charles Carroll of Carrollton. Every early afternoon, I would walk over to her grave, lay down across it, and listen to Marillion’s Afraid of Sunlight. Sometime in the hour or so visit, I would just raise my fist to the sky and scream at God. “You gave me one job, God, to be a father to this little girl, and you took it all away.” In my fury, I called Him the greatest murderer in history, a bastard, an abortionist, and other horrible things. I never doubted His existence, but I very much questioned His love for us.
Several things got me through that first year: most especially my wife and my children as well as my friends. There’s nothing like tragedy to reveal the true faces of those you know. Thank God, those I knew were as true in their honor and goodness as I had hoped they would be. A few others things helped me as well. I reread Tolkien, and I read, almost nonstop, Eliot’s collected poetry, but especially “The Hollow Men,” “Ash Wednesday,” and the “Four Quartets.” I also, as noted above, listened to Marillion. As strange as it might seem, my family, my friends, Tolkien, Eliot, and Marillion saved my life that year. I have no doubt about that. And, nothing gave me as much hope as Sam Gamgee in Mordor. “Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.” As unorthodox as this might be, we included Tolkien’s quote in the funeral Mass.
A year ago, my oldest daughter—the single nicest person I have ever met—and I were hiking in central Colorado. We were remembering Cecilia Rose and her death. Being both kind and wise, my daughter finally said to me, “You know, dad, it’s okay that you’ve been mad at God. But, don’t you think that 10 years is long enough?” For whatever reason—and for a million reasons—my daughter’s words hit me at a profound level, and I’m more at peace over the last year than I’ve been since Cecilia Rose died. I miss my little one like mad, and tears still spring almost immediately to my eyes when I think of her. I don’t think any parent will ever get over the loss of a child, and I don’t think we’re meant to. But, I do know this: my Cecilia Rose is safely with her Heavenly Father, and, her Heavenly Mother, and almost certainly celebrating her birthday in ways beyond our imagination and even our hope. I have no doubt that my maternal grandmother and grandfather look after her, and that maybe even Tolkien and Eliot look in on her from time to time. And, maybe even St. Cecilia herself has taught my Cecilia Rose all about the music of the spheres. Indeed, maybe she sees the White Star. Let me re-write that: I know that Cecilia Rose sees the White Star. She is the White Star.
Happy birthday, Cecilia Rose. Your daddy misses you like crazy, but he does everything he can to make sure that he makes it to Heaven–if for no other reason than to hug you and hug you and hug you.
Spirit of Cecilia 
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