Gerald Wilson - Viva Tirado from “Live and Swinging at Marty’s on the Hill” featuring Charles Tolliver, trumpet; Hadley Caliman on tenor and Phil Moore III on piano.
As I begin my seventy-sixth journey around the sun, I can report that I am a happy man.
Sherrie and I had an amazing time last weekend savoring foods that aren't available in Guanajuato and exploring the vibrant streets of one of the world’s great cities. Mexico City has become my new New York. My first trip to Manhattan at the age of six to appear in the Peanut Gallery of the Howdy Doody Show on NBC-TV set my life in motion. Growing up, I eagerly anticipated moving to the city that never sleeps. When I finally arrived to attend NYU Film School in 1968, I stayed for thirty-three years, and lived an extraordinary life during an extraordinary time.
Both cities are chaotic maelstroms of humanity, where the streets pulse with a cacophony of cultures, each bite of food, every wild festival, and all the art a wild testament to diversity. History screams from every stone—Mexico City with its ancient Aztec ruins echoing the blood and glory of a lost empire, and New York City flaunting its iconic beacons the Statue of Liberty and the urban oasis of Central Park.
Mexico City is perched in a high-altitude valley, mountains looming like silent sentinels, the air thin but the vibe electric. New York City is sprawled at sea level on the east coast of the United States, where the ocean breeze carries whispers of dreams and desperation. Mexico City basks in a subtropical highland climate, mild and mellow all year long, while New York City ricochets between sweltering summers and icy winters, a bipolar beast of a city, wild and unyielding.
Today, I live a very different life in a very different place, in the Central Highlands, five hours on a luxury bus from Mexico City. While I'm still engaged in the same work, I'm now telling stories utilizing AI video. I was around at the dawn of the web, working for a dot-com in 1994. Thirty years later, I'm once again part of a world-changing development.
I feel very fortunate to be in this place at this time. Most of my contemporaries have retired, or at least slowed down greatly, and no longer working at their peak. I enjoy being challenged and have no plans to retire. I love what I do, so why stop? At seventy-five, I'm thrilled to be as busy as ever and much happier. I love my work, my soul mate, and my adopted home, Guanajuato, Mexico. However, gone are the fourteen-hour days, and thankfully, I no longer have deadlines looming, other than those I set for myself.
I’ve experienced many changes throughout this long earthly journey, for better and worse, but that's life. I've paid my dues to get here and like it or not, that's part of the journey. You can't escape the ups and downs of life; you just have to live it. I know I have. In the past five years, I successfully survived cancer and open-heart surgery. Seventy-five years ago, I'd be dead now. Instead, I'm riding the wild wave of some of the best times of my life.
This leads me to ponder the age-old question: why me? Is it luck or fate, or maybe a little of both, that brought world-class medical care into my life when I most needed it? Up until prostate cancer six years ago, my medical issues were minimal. But I also knew that life has a way of presenting life-and-death challenges at unexpected moments. Some people suffer a lot more than others. We all have to endure some suffering but for some, life is a tragedy.
All of this leads to a new perspective on life and a tremendous sense of gratitude if you're lucky to still be in the game. These bodies weren't built for permanent use; decay eventually sets in. Little things, annoyances in one's condition, begin to surface. That doesn't mean the end is near; it serves as a reminder that we must take care of ourselves if we want to be here, in the now. That, in itself, is a job.
When we're young, the infirmities of old age seem very distant. But eventually, they do arrive. And as the years begin to add up, we witness, repeatedly, the departure of many friends and relatives who were part of us, as well as treasured cultural icons. When you reach the half-century mark, many of the people you've encountered in your life are gone. And the pace accelerates every subsequent year.
When I was a kid in the middle of the twentieth century, after she read the morning paper my mother would ask, do you know who died? She always had the day’s passings on hand, as well as info about relatives who were on the edge, or just about to die. I didn’t really think about death as a kid. Of course I knew about it. My parents survived the depression and World War II and because we were Jews, of course I knew about the Holocaust and anti-Semitism in America. But we didn’t really discuss it. Of course by the time I was teenager, I found out first hand about the perils of being a Jew even in the America of the 60s. And lost my grandparents along the way.
When I go back to New York and walk the streets, it feels like a ghost town for me. So many people I've known and loved are among the dearly departed. In the city, certain blocks and locations trigger a flood of memories. I went back to the street of my last Manhattan residence, 101st Street and Broadway on the Upper West Side, seven years ago. Not one of the stores or restaurants in the neighborhood was the same.
Facebook is a time machine. People who are still here, whom I haven't been in touch with for decades, suddenly friend me. Some I've forgotten about. But I always respond because usually, it's just a "hi, how are you?” And most interestingly, a number of people who are gone live on Facebook. Even though they’re dead, new posts appear on their pages. Sometimes uncredited. Perhaps somewhere in the great beyond, they’re wired and participate remotely.
"I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens.” Woody Allen.
One day, I will die. Every one does. Everything does. But what really happens when we drop our bodies? The spirit, the essence of life, do they continue in another form? We live in the memories of our loved ones—through our actions and creativity. I’ve spent a lot of time in my life listening to music that’s important to me, a lot of it from artists who are long gone. Certainly, they live forever through their music.
I believe in reincarnation. We’re here, we die, hopefully we learn something during this lifetime, and we move on to the next experience, whatever and wherever that might be. I once asked Sonny Rollins, a spiritually evolved man, about this and he told me, “I don’t know, that’s above my pay grade.”
The buildup to my seventy-fifth birthday was intense. Turning seventy-five, three-quarters of a century on this planet, was a milestone of sorts. At times, my life has been a roller coaster ride. My mission now is to continue my work, to help as many people as possible, and to be happy. Living on the edge, as I always have, means being able to roll with the changes, no matter how gut-wrenching they might be. That’s not always so easy. But I’m a survivor. And for now, the journey continues. I live in gratitude.
I have learned many things in my life, some the hard way, and experience has brought me some wisdom. Thankfully, I’m still learning. That will never stop. So I look back in amazement and look forward with few expectations and a wild, reckless hope. The road ahead is a mystery, each twist and turn an adventure waiting to be lived. I'm strapped in, eyes wide open, ready for whatever chaos and beauty the universe throws my way. Here's to the unknown, the uncharted, the thrill of the ride.
Speaking of looking back, here’s something memorable from Sammy Davis, Jr., a song that obviously meant quite a bit to him, “What Kind of Fool Am I?” from the Broadway show, “Stop the World I Want To Get Off.”
I never got to see Sammy in person, but he was on TV during my childhood and I’ve always considered him to be one of the great entertainers. It’s rare for someone to go this deep in a performances. This clip showcases his incredible vocals at the end of a concert - no vocal hoarseness, just a microphone and a bit of reverb. His phrasing, range, clarity, nuances, acting and sheer beauty of his timbre are simply spellbinding.
Perfect Bret!!!
You have come through so much and deeply deserve the happiness you have! You're an inspiration!