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February 3, 2003
Three weeks ago, my father, Alonzo McDonald died. He was a complex man, and
traveled a difficult road, yet he accomplished a great deal in his life and
times. My father served in World War II, signing up for military duty on his
own accord. He was promoted to Staff Sergeant, a paratrooper to be exact, and
saw combat overseas, and I used to have a few pictures of him in the service,
including two fascinating letters that he wrote to his mother from the Army.
As with many veterans, the war wounded my father deep into his soul, I remember
my grandmother saying that he was never the same after returning from the Airborne
division in 1945.
After returning from the war, he returned to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and soon
married my mother, (who had already completed her Masters degree in Sociology),
and he finished his undergraduate studies at University of Pittsbrugh on a GI
bill in addition to working at night as a Pittsburgh Motorcycle Policeman. He
entered Dental School and was amongst a handful of African-Americans to graduate
from the University of Pittsburgh Dental School in the late 50's.
My Dad was a hard working man, I must say that about him, and with my mother’s
involvement in the Civil Rights Movement, he moved the family out to an affluent
suburb of Pittsburgh in the early 60’s. He had his own dental practice
and soon would be teaching oral surgery at the Pitt Dental school. He retained
a position as Associate Professor at the University of Pittsburgh Dental School
for 30 years.
My father worked hard and long hours, and always supported his family. My family
loved music, and thanks to my mother and father all of us studied a musical
instrument. Thanks to his love of classical musical, we started our studies
at an early age. My older sister studied violin, but had a dream of being a
doctor, and that dream became a reality when she graduated from Johns-Hopkins
Medical School. My younger sister plays piano and went on to obtain her degree
in International Studies. My brother is 8 years older than I, and had become
somewhat of a child prodigy on the trumpet. When I was a baby, he used to practice
the Haydn and Vivaldi concerto so much, that I can still hear it in my head.
At nine years old, I expressed an interest in the oboe, but the band director
thought it best to start out playing clarinet, so my Dad went out and bought
a used wooden Noblet clarinet (which is a good instrument, all the other kids
had a plastic one), and every Saturday, he would drive us to our lessons at
Carnegie-Mellon University, my brother with his trumpet, and me, with my clarinet.
Dad had played trumpet when he was young, and he also played classical piano,
and often he would accompany my brother and myself while we practiced our classical
repertoire. I remember we had been practicing the Von Weber Concerto No. 2,
and he was proud as the dickens, the day he and I performed the work at the
Homewood Baptist Church.
On Saturdays, he would take me on his hospital rounds and while on our way in
the car, the classical music would be piped in through the extra speakers he
had installed in his Chevy Blazer, and he would be moving his hands up and down
like he was conducting the symphony, and he would be singing, and then bellow
out to me, “Which composer is that?". I would guess Beethoven, and
usually be wrong because by 8th grade, I had been smitten by Louis Armstrong,
but I didn't want to let the cat out of the bag. By ninth grade, I told my father
that I wanted to learn saxophone (much to his chagrin, he always likened the
saxophone to a ship's horn), but he went out and bought me my first alto saxophone,
a old Conn instrument. I continued on clarinet in High School in the concert
band, but I joined the Jazz Band on saxophone. My father saw my dedication,
and the next year he bought a brand new Yamaha saxophone for me. In my senior
year, the Jazz Band participated in a Stage Band Contest at Duquesne University,
and I was awarded the Outstanding Jazz Soloist Award, but the day was made even
more memorable because my father had come to the performance and gave me a congratulatory
slap on the back when the awards were passed out.
The after math of the war and the difficulties of African-American life took
it’s toll on my father, but he is a survivor and I am extremely proud of
his accomplishments and I am pleased to be his son. Dad, God bless you and keep
you.
Marshall McDonald
Feb 26, 2003
I received an email from my High School buddy regarding my father's passing. With his permission, I would like to share it with all of you.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Marshall,
I am so sorry to hear about your father's passing. I always cringe when I
hear someone say, "I know how you feel," because it's bullshit-no
one can know how you feel. All I know is how I felt when my father died, and
I feel sorry for you to have to feel that pain.
Your tribute to him on your website was really well written; poignant, and
funny. I didn't know him very well, but the few times I met him were memorable.
One of the funniest lines I've ever heard came from your dad. Do you remember
the time I got my father's International Travelall (that big yellow boxlike
stationwagon) stuck in the snow in your driveway? I had come over to watch "Roots"
on t.v. After busting his ass getting me unstuck, he looked at us and said,
"Now let's go inside and watch my ancestors get the shit kicked outa them."
Classic Alonzo. On a more serious note, I credit your dad (and you) for giving
me a perspective that many, probably most, white Americans don't have. As a
white American, I can never ever know what it must be like to be black. Hearing
your dad speak about some of the adversity and hatred he faced solely because
of his skin color was shocking and enlightening to me as a teenager, and has
shaped my perspective as an adult.
Anyway, I just wanted you to know that you and your family are in our prayers.
GodSpeed, Alonzo, and thanks again.
Your Friend,
Steve.
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