A while back I saw that The Glenn Miller Orchestra was coming to Galveston, Texas to play in the 1894 Opera House. I joked with my husband that it would make a great Valentine’s Day gift to both of us since it was going to take place on February 11. He hesitated for a moment and his father joked that we would be out of place going to a venue featuring music from the World War II era but eventually my husband was nonetheless intrigued by the idea and invested in the tickets. 

When the day of the presentation came it rained cats and dogs and I was nursing the end of illness from flu that had kept me coughing and wheezing for over ten days. I worried that I would not be able to inhibit my croupy cough during the performance and wondered if I was going to be up to sitting for a couple of hours in my weakened condition. With great hope I filled my purse with cough drops and tissue and pulled my pallid self together for the drive from the Houston area to Galveston.

It was still damp and sprinkling when we arrived but I had experimented with the cough drops on the short journey and they seemed to be doing their magic. We arrived in time to dine at the Gumbo Bar where I enjoyed a hearty bowl of and chicken and sausage gumbo. The warm and spicy brew opened my sinuses and seemed to be just the medicine that I needed to boost my energy and soothe my throat. I was ready. 

The 1894 Opera House is a treasure. With its beautifully carved stairways, brass fixtures, carpeted floors and gleaming wooden accents it is a step back in time. I immediately knew that it was the perfect venue for listening to music from the nineteen forties when my mother began the decade as a teenagers and ended it as the very young mother of me. 

I had heard all of her stories about the music of her era and of course the Glenn Miller Orchestra was among her favorites. I knew the songs and cherished the times that my mother would magically become young again and dance across our living room floor to the strains of tunes that became as familiar to me as they were to her. I looked forward to enjoying the music even if none of the original members of the orchestra were still around. As the curtain opened the familiar strains instantly captivated me. 

For much of the concert I closed my eyes and imagined my mother listening to the radio with her family in the east end of Houston, Texas at 517 North Adams Street. I thought of her catching a bus on the corner to ride the few miles to downtown Houston where she learned how to dance from watching the movies. I imagined her wowing her friends when she jitterbugged like a sprite that was lighter than air at Eastwood Park. She would often smile and boast that when she danced the other teens formed a circle around her to watch her skills and applaud her with awe. 

I thought of her listening to Franklin Roosevelt as he attempted to calm the nation in those tumultuous times. Mama always teared up when recalling how grateful she and her family were for the compassion and leadership of the great man who not only eased them out of the dark years of depression but also through the frightening times of the war. She would forever think of his fireside chats as a panacea for the uncertainty that the nation was feeling. She would remember waving at Roosevelt in his open car when he passed by her street on a visit to Houston. He smiled at the crowd and somehow made her feel as though he was looking directly at her.

My mother said that her father, my grandfather, insisted on a kind of reverence for the president and his wife who became like loving parents for the people of the United States. She also boasted that everyone in the nation played a part in sacrificing to save the world from fascism. 

The price of the dedication to democracy not just here but around the world was all too often great loss. In my mother’s case it was the death of the fiancee to whom she had pledged her undying love before she met my father. She would speak of him many times and keep a photo tucked away among her most cherished keepsakes. 

I imagine my mother and all Americans finding great solace in the music of the Glenn Miller Band. It was uplifting and so classic that it is just as good today as it ever was, even to an audience of aging Baby Boomers. Like me they had learned to love the music from their parents. 

Several years back my best friend’s father had died. He was a jolly fellow and I knew how much she was going to miss him and his laughter. I went to his funeral mainly in her honor. I learned so much more about him during the service. At the end of the somber goodbye his granddaughter stepped forward and announced that he had asked that his leave taking be accompanied by some special music. Then she nodded as a worker at the funeral home pushed a button to fill the room with the sounds of In The Mood. 

Smiles burst forth on every face. Some people moved their feet or swayed in unison with the beat. There were even a few outbursts of applause. We understood the man’s message in that moment. We are good people who find ways to get through the most difficult of times. He was encouraging us to carry on.

I saw that again at the concert. For a couple of hours we were reminded of who we are as Americans. We all seemed to understand the need for unity in the fight for what is right and good. Our parents knew what to do. Now we must move forward just as they taught us by example to save the world from anyone who would dare to rule us with anger and hate. We have a job to do and we have the blueprint for how to do it in our history and in our music.