A Muse I Hope I Amused

Hoping for something both local and personal to mark the 40^th anniversary of the Daily News’ “As I See It” column, my wish was granted in the shadow of William Lloyd Garrison’s statue across from City Hall last month.

And I regret it.

News of the passing of Sarah Bodge was as hard to register as her age, 87, was hard to believe, even by those who knew her.  And they are many.

For years, and right into early June just three weeks before passing, Sarah served at various local assisted living facilities.  Years ago, she helped establish the Salisbury Senior Center’s food pantry.

On this side of the Merrimack, Sarah established BodySense, a most popular beauty shop downtown, in 1973, and ran it until the mid-80s.  According to current owner Lisa Gianakakis, Sara remained helpful through the years, “a lovely, most considerate woman.”

Meanwhile, Sara volunteered her service on many of the Port’s civic boards.

In her prime, she was an acrobatic dancer who graced the stages of venues such as NYC’s Apollo, and ever since contributed her artistic vision to arts organizations that perform here in the Port.

I knew her as a long-time, frequent patron of the Screening Room, and without her ever knowing it, I turned her into something else.

Though “As I See It” is now 40—with the venerable Stuart Deane and I the only remaining members of the original cast—I never posted on social media until about ten years ago.

That coincides with the rise of the Tea Party that quickly combined the ugly undercurrents of white nationalism in the Republican Party which soon propelled a crude but charismatic huckster to power in 2016.

And which to this day presents a clear and present danger to this country—most immediately to Black and Jewish people each and every day.

Out of self-assigned necessity, I, a white guy, began writing about race.

At the time, I knew few Black folk.  After living seven years in the Dakotas, I’m more familiar with Native Americans than with African-Americans.

And so it was that Sarah Bodge became my muse.

Writers do this all the time.  Writing teachers coach students to think of someone whose opinion they value and who knows more than you about the subject.  Not someone close who thinks alike, but at some distance they sometimes talk to. 

A simple thumbs up would let me know I put enough emphasis in the right places.  Her comments filled in what I missed but could file away for next time.

Hoped I’d see her at the reading of Frederick Douglass’ “What to a Slave is the Fourth of July?” speech, but she passed four days before.

Unlike my commentaries on events in far-flung places, I’d be writing about an event we both attended.  The test was welcome, but like all tests, it makes one nervous.

Would she agree with me that the single line capturing what Douglass faced in 1852 is what we face today:

Where everything is plain, there is nothing to be argued.

Maybe that’s why I never heard Sarah argue, or express any impatience, much less anger. Even now I can’t picture her without a smile on her face.

Her quiet responses were enough to let me know where she stood—that if I wasn’t on the right track, I was at least headed in the right general direction.

Perhaps I should let it go at that.  Better that she be remembered as her many friends knew her, and as her daughter describes her: “my adorable, kooky, formidable mama.”

Still, I can’t help but be rueful thinking that the person for whom I write is no more.

Then again, a muse is inspiration.  Sarah’s reached me long before she hit “like” or added a comment.  It came long before I hit “send”—in this case before I left the shadow of Garrison’s statue.

Writers do this all the time.  It’s as we see it.

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