A Visit to My Roots

Lots of towns have them.  Like Chinatown, or Little Saigon there is often an Okie Town.  There are dozens of Okie Towns spread up and down the Grapevine in California.  Bakersfield is probably the biggest.  Tulsa, right here in Oklahoma, the home of the Okies, has one too.

Tulsa is a city made up of immigrants from all over the U.S. these days.  They know little about Oklahoma and could care less about Oklahoma customs and culture.  They spend a lot of their time griping about the fact they can't find a good bagel or chardonnay and that is their own fault because they just don't know where to look.  And, they spend even more time wishing they were back in the northern or eastern rust belt city where they found themselves unemployed.  Unfortunately, many insecure, self hating Okies pick up this attitude and shun their roots.  I have nothing but contempt for both groups.

In Tulsa, Okie Town is west of the river.  Most of my mom's family who came to Tulsa started out on the West Side.  Many of them still live there.  I visited the West Side last night and got the major dose of Okie Culture that I need from time to time to keep me grounded.

My visit started with a call from a much older cousin that I think of as an uncle.  I have come to care a lot about that old man. He is the last of my Mom's generation and tells me wonderful (and sometimes painfully dark) stories about the family history.  He is also a musician.  He called me last week and asked me if I wanted to grab an instrument and come help play a benefit for a family that had lost their home in a house fire.  I said I would certainly come to visit with him but wouldn't commit to playing.  I suspected they would have plenty of music without me which they did.

At any rate, 4:00 PM this afternoon found Sheila and I in the serving line in the Fellowship Hall of Summit Park Full Gospel Church in Southwest Tulsa.  For $7.00 per person they were serving beans and cornbread with or without chili and fixins and chicken and dumplings.  They were at least fifty cakes and pies to choose from.  The dining tables were full and the line kept moving steadily refilling the tables for at least an hour and a half.

Around 5:30 the sanctuary began filling up and musicians began tuning up.  There were musicians and singers from several churches around the area.  If you have never been around Okies it would be hard to describe the crowd.  Their clothes come from WalMart.  Their manners are shy and they are very polite in their way.  They work hard for a living and know a lot about trouble.  And, they are religious.  This night, the crowd and the musicians were pretty well an even mix of Pentecostals and FreeWill Baptists.

Pretty soon,  a couple of ladies took the pulpit, launched into a number and the band joined them.  If you have never heard country style Pentecostal music it is hard to describe.  There is a strong streak of country and bluegrass in it.  There is also blues and old fashioned rock there as well.  It is not simple music as many would suspect.  There are nuances to the harmonies and rhythms that are hard to describe.  I was amazed at the ease and flow of the music.  Several of the musicians were professional quality and they played with a grace and style that comes from genuinely enjoying what you are doing.  What is also amazing is the number of people who participate.  It seems that half or more of them play an instrument.  After the music started, the pastor walked up, strapped on a big Epiphone acoustic guitar and got down with the band for a while.  He played very well.  After a few numbers, my cousin Judy took the pulpit and literally rocked the house with an original gospel number she had written.

These photos are borrowed from the
other websites and are not an actual
photos of the service described in this
blog post.

Between the numbers there were testimonies.  The smiling pastor would call on a man or woman in the crowd and ask them stand up and testify about their faith.  And they did so with great earnestness and remarkable eloquence.  One person received a phone call that her children were broken down on the road in Arkansas on their way to North Carolina.  The services stopped and we all prayed for their safety.  A little while later, another one of my cousins who is suffering from cancer came forward.  The pastor and elders and others laid hands on him and anointed him with olive oil while we all prayed for him.  Other sick people then came.  Then there was more music.

All of the time, the ladies of the church were moving back and forth from the kitchen and fellowship hall busy at the chores of winding up the meal. Latecomers would arrive, seat themselves and be greeted on their way in.  Teenagers would slip in and out for a little quiet time or to leave for their Saturday night date.  To high church people it would seem disorganized and confused but it isn't.  If you understand the offices of the church as they see it and the culture of the community, you would have seen that everything was going just the way it was supposed to.  Was it noisy?  Yes.  Was it joyful at appropriate times?  Yes.  Was it sincere and touching when appropriate?  Yes.  Was The Lord worshipped?  Most certainly and in a manner that is hard for those with a less demonstrative style of worship to understand.

A writer whose name I have now forgotten observed that Okies are to the U.S. what the wandering Jews were to Europe in that they enrich the culture wherever they land. Many Okies make the terrible mistake of turning their back on their heritage.  While these genuine Okies may be a little rough around the edges they are also kind, hard working, gentle in their way, unbelievably resilient and remarkably complex in a way that outsiders cannot understand.  A lot of Okies go a long way from where they started but they make a terrible mistake if they break the ties to the culture that bore them.