On a cool Saturday morning, I set out on my bike on a local, Baton Rouge pilgrimage to sites I think of as sacred to me, to the area; perhaps even revered across the nation and around the world. As I peddled through Tara, I was greeted by a strong-enough north wind that I decided against doing a much longer ride. I knew the wind was going to play havoc not only with my speed around town, but also with my stomach, but we’ll come to that later. Weaving through the residential streets of Tara, Goodwood Villas, Goodwood, and Capital Heights, the sun was bright, and I couldn’t have been happier to be out in God’s creation.
In the middle of Capital Heights, at Ingleside Methodist Church, I took a right turn and headed due north, something I’ve never done before, but it was toward a destination I’ve had in mind for years. When I lived in Rockville, Maryland, I was surprised to discover that F. Scott Fitzgerald, one of my favorite writers, is buried in the yard of an inconspicuous Catholic church in the middle of that small town. When I lived there, I made a couple of pilgrimages and remember seeing pens and pencils left on the granite headstone — signs of other pilgrims searching for inspiration or offering tribute. Years ago, when I moved to Louisiana, I discovered that one of my favorite jazz pianists, Bill Evans, is buried in Roselawn Cemetery, in the heart of Baton Rouge. I had long planned to go see the site, but until this year I had never made the journey.
Bill Evans may not be a name familiar to you, but, borrowing a trite and understated phrase, “He’s kind of a big deal.” Actually, he’s a very big deal. Pianists around the world still look to his impressionist-influenced phrases and chord voicings for inspiration. My best description is that his piano chord voicings sound like fragile, shimmering glass wind chimes — somehow delicate yet lush and ethereal. His significant contributions to Miles Davis’s album Kind of Blue helped make it the best-selling jazz music album of all time, and an inspiration not only to countless jazz musicians, but also pop and rock bands such as the Allman Brothers, Pink Floyd, and U2. Across his career, he wrote countless jazz standards, worked with a who’s-who of musicians and drew huge crowds to his concerts wherever in the world he went.
Crossing Government Street and weaving back and forth through the neighborhood, past dilapidated and blighted homes and businesses, I got a little turned around when the cemetery wasn’t just in front of me. I pulled up my GPS and realized I had been caught in a classic Baton Rouge trick of mis-direction—the cemetery is on North Street and I was at North Boulevard. I had another few blocks to go. Getting my bearings, I continued north across Florida Boulevard, until I finally came to North Street and the gates of Roselawn.
It’s been a couple of years since I have been to this cemetery, and I don’t think I appreciated the beauty of this place when I was here in the past. Rolling down the unpaved main road, with rocks and gravel popping and snapping under my bike tires the only sound, I admired the beautiful and ancient live oaks lining the drive. According to my map, the burial site is at the back of the cemetery, just west of the mausoleum. I turned left at the end of the long drive and rolled a short distance and was surprised to see there, just off the edge of the roadway, under the spreading canopy of another ancient live oak, the headstones for Bill and his older brother, Harry.
I paused for a few moments and snapped a couple of pictures. There were no flowers, no musical staff paper, no music notes engraved in the headstones, no indications that Bill was a great musician (as was his brother Harry) or that anyone had been there in a while. The roots of the great live oak were heaving up Bill’s headstone and, I imagine, will eventually shift the other family stones one day. It seemed strange that a musician of such caliber is memorialized so minimally and far away from where he found fame. However, as I stood before their graves and remembered the story of the Evans brothers, I realized this isn’t just a story of great musicianship, but a story of greater brotherly love.
Some of you long-time residents of Baton Rouge may have bumped into Harry Evans years ago. He was a band director and school administrator in the Baton Rouge school system for most of his career. Though the Evans brothers grew up in New Jersey, they both came to Southeastern Louisiana University to study music. After leaving SLU, the happy-go-lucky Harry moved to Baton Rouge to teach music and start a family, while quiet, introspective Bill went on to New York where he played with jazz greats such as Miles Davis, headlined music tours, and turned the world on its musical ear. But they never lost connection. Bill often visited his brother in Baton Rouge, and one of Bill’s compositions, Waltz for Debbie, was written for his three-year-old niece. Unfortunately, Harry developed severe schizophrenia at a relatively young age, and he took his life in 1979. A year later, Bill, who struggled with addiction, passed away; Bill’s dying wish was to be buried next to his beloved brother.
As a younger person, I never understood my grandmother’s insistence that every Memorial Day, or Decoration Day as she called it, we drive her big, glacier-blue Chevy Impala to the next town and put flowers on family graves. Cemeteries gave me the willies, and my dad insisted that I not climb or play around the big stones, which looked like playground equipment to me. But, I’m older now and understand better the power that memory and place have over the silence of death.
I queued up “Blue in Green,” one of my favorite songs from Kind of Blue, on my phone as I rolled back to the front gate again, under the massive arms of the live oaks, and continued my pilgrimage to the next site. I was thankful for the incredible gift of music that Bill Evans shared with the world. I was mindful of the sense of family that bound Harry and Bill together.
Perhaps you will visit a gravesite of a loved one and give thanks for their living gifts.
Buen Camino!
Click here to listen to “Blue in Green.”
Rev. Dr. David Chisham
© 2021 All rights reserved.
David, your journey reflection today touched a chord with me- literally. I have been a longtime fan of Miles Davis but don’t recall hearing a pairing of him with Bill Evans. “Blue in Green” was truly a spiritual experience for me. Thanks for sharing. God’s blessings on you as you continue the journey. And safe biking. Tip