...my Heart May Have Been In It

What I Miss Today More Than Anything Else - I Don't Go To Church As Much Anymore - But That Old-time Religion, That Old Singing, That Old Praying Which I Love So Much. That Is The Great Strength Of My Being, Of My Writing.

Don't Tell Me To Believe. Don't Tell Me To Believe In The Same God Or Laws That Men Believe In Who Commit These Murders. Don't Tell Me To Believe That God Can Bless This Country And That Men Are Judged By Their Peers. Who Among His Peers Judged Him? Was I There? Was The Minister There? Was Harry Williams There? Was Farrell Jarreau? Was My Aunt? Was Vivian? No, His Peers Did Not Judge Him, And I Will Not Believe.

Only When The Mind Is Free Has The Body A Chance To Be Free. Yes, They Must Believe, They Must Believe. Because I Know What It Means To Be A Slave. I Am A Slave.

I Have Learned As Much About Writing About My People By Listening To Blues And Jazz And Spirituals As I Have From Reading Novels. The Understatements In The Tenor Saxophone Of Lester Young, The Crystal, Haunting, Forever Searching Sounds Of John Coltrane, And The Softness And Violence Of Count Basie's Big Band - All Have Fired My Imagination As Much As Anything In Literature.

I Want You To Show Them The Difference Between What They Think You Are And What You Can Be.