The LAST DANCE

It was a brisk, bright, Saturday morning in the heart of Philadelphia. As far as late January goes, it was what you might refer to as a “chamber of commerce” type of day. Still, there was a hint of spring in the air as if to tease winter’s soul with the promise that sunny and seventy-five would soon be here. In Philly, you can always tell when something’s abuzz or churning just below the city streets. There’s a next level, if you will, a different gear that goes well beyond the mundane. It’s an acute sense of awareness, as if everyone got the telepathic message. Put simply, Philadelphians always turn out and turn up… Big.

So it was that sunny morning. As I departed the Pennsylvania Convention Center on the first day of the annual Auto Show, I decided to walk to the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul. In part, because of the pleasant weather. Realistically, however, I knew I’d be one among many making the trek to the core of our city’s Catholicism. All to say goodbye and pay respect to someone who was larger than life. Someone who not only represented us all, but easily identified with every last one of us, no matter our race, religion or calling in life.

As I walked along the Ben Franklin Parkway, people were stirring and moving with purpose. Almost simultaneously, as the dome of the majestic cathedral came into view, the sound of music suddenly filled the air. Not the customary church bells you’d associate with such a grand house of worship. Not the sound of sad, sullen songs, either. The music I heard was uplifting and happy. It was good-time music that filled the air with celebration.

I took my place in line, just a few bodies deep at the beginning of 18th Street before turning eastbound onto the Parkway. There was no particular pecking order. The notables took their place alongside Marge from Margate, Pete from Pennsport, and Wendy from Wallingford. Soaking it all in for a moment, I couldn’t help but recall specific segments of Howard Cosell’s magnificent introduction to Frank Sinatra’s legendary ABC television special, The Main Event. With Cosell’s brilliance on full auditory display, over and over in my head it went:

“…people from all walks of life people who are young and people who are old here to see, hear, pay homage to a man who has bridged four generations and somehow never found a gap… Celebrities are here in profusion.”

It was all so very apropos.

As I neared the familiar stairs leading into the Cathedral, just beyond and to the north on 18th Street, seemingly synchronized with the upbeat music and the metered pace of the approaching mourners, a production truck flashed a compilation of photos on a large screen from atop the rig. Inclusive to the point where many of those pictured were now dutifully waiting in line to say goodbye.

Once inside, after a moment of prayerful reflection, and with tears in my eyes, I bid farewell to my friend one final time. I then took my place in a pew and allowed myself to get lost in the music of the Cathedral Basilica Schola’s beautifully haunting renditions of “Love is a Many Splendored Thing,” “Climb Every Mountain,” “Till Then” and “The Impossible Dream.” All, to the surprise of no one in attendance, a final request.

There were touching, even humorous, stories from loved ones, friends, local heroes, and singer Dionne Warwick. Befitting because everyone has their own tale to tell of the man who continuously brought us all together…no matter where… no matter when.

As services go, requiem masses in the Roman Catholic Church are extraordinary and glorious in a sense that the total solemnity is also uniquely comforting in a unified way. Simply stated, you never grieve alone. And never was that more evident than during the final procession out of the Cathedral on that January afternoon.

The Quaker City String Band awaited the congregation on the opposite sidewalk. As an honor guard meticulously removed and folded the city flag from atop the casket, the band played and sang the oft recorded song, “My Buddy.” With one last indelible memory yet to be made, “Oh Dem Golden Slippers” moved those who so desired to dance in the streets.

And this… This would be The Last Dance for our buddy, my friend, Gerald Joseph Blavat.

Rock in peace, Geator. PRH