bryanjazz

I met LeRoy Whitfield 14 years ago. It was the spring of 1991, my last year in Chicago, that city which I love so much, yet which I felt compelled to leave then as my spirit called me out and onward into new territory. LeRoy and I got to know each other pretty well that spring, yet as the summer rolled through, and fall found me heading east, we lost touch as folks sometimes do, no matter how good the times are that they share. (Well, to be honest, we had some kind of falling out, as folks often do too. LOL) What I remember most about him from that period, besides his beautiful spirit and smile, was his dream and determination to become a leading journalist, perhaps the anchor of a major broadcast.

It was several years later before we connected again. It was at an AIDS conference in Miami. He now had locks, and it wasn't until half way through dinner that we realized when and where we had known each other before(!), which, in that moment, created a deeper bond between us than that of colleagues in the field that had brought us together again. Yet, it was AIDS and its impact on our community that did shape much of our discussion and sharing, as we were both working in the field, and he was also living with HIV. One of the things that I always admired about him, was not only his passion about addressing AIDS and the Black community, but also his commitment to challenging the conventional wisdom about it. Keith Boykin has an excellent remembrance of him and links to some of his writings on his website. More than just a workaholic, LeRoy took his work very seriously.

LeRoy's spirit also moved him into new territory...he moved to New York City in 2000. His career blossomed, and he became one of the nation's leading journalists on AIDS and the black community, writing for Vibe, HIV Plus and POZ (where he served as a while as senior editor). As the epidemic continued to grow in the Black community, he continued to witness it through his writings. And our conversations often turned to "what is to be done?" as the numbers continued to rise. There were no easy answers.

LeRoy and I also shared a great passion for many other things, two in particular: a deep love for Chicago and a joy for all things Apple...as in Macintosh. We giddily connected as hard core Mac fans, appreciators of the beautiful elegance of the Mac OS. There's a certain, ok, zealousness about us Mac users that elicits joy when we find out about each other. And LeRoy and I were no recent "switchers". We prided ourselves as having been Mac users for some nearly 20 years. We shared the joy if one of us got an upgrade. From various peripherals and third-party software to the performance of Tiger on the PowerBook, we loved to talk Mac. He was an early adopter, one of the first I knew of to try things, like Bluetooth to wirelessly sync devices. I relied on him for advice on gadgetry, from hardware to software, and we loved to speculate about the future of technology, especially Macs. He was the first person I knew to get an iSight, which later enabled me to see him in live video through iChat when I was in Ghana. Waaay cool!!

As far as Chicago goes, he always profoundly missed the place. There was a way he talked about the windy city which revealed that New York, with all of its offerings, was still missing a certain something from home. There is a certain grounded, down-to-earth quality that I connected to in Chicago and which I have seen in many of those from the city; a quality which I appreciated in LeRoy. Both of us were transplants to the East Coast, however, and our last time together was up in New York this summer, in Harlem, where he had finally found (after a long search) a very nice apartment on Striver's Row -- strewn with, among other things, an extensive collection of old Wired magazines he was wondering if he should keep, LOL (and a new cordless phone...always some new gadget). It was a beautiful, sunshiny day, and he mentioned getting out more. Our conversation was mostly serious, though not somber, as we walked around Harlem and talked about the future. He shared with me his decision to get a home health aide, and the difficulty leading to it. But, he was doing fine, he said. He was enjoying Harlem, beginning to feel good about it, he said. I sensed a spiritual weariness in him, though, and resignation. I wanted there to be something I could say or do, something I could give him, to take "it" all away...

It was always a pleasure to chat with LeRoy. And even better to see him. For a string of years we would always hang out on or near his birthday. As it so happened, the annual conference which reunited us usually took place around the date. I did not attend that conference these last few years, but I would generally give him a birthday shout out. I did not call LeRoy on September 19 this year. I thought about him that day and in the weeks that followed. It's interesting how someone can be so strongly on your mind, yet you don't reach out. It's funny how someone can be so strongly on my mind, yet I don't reach out...

LeRoy Whitfield left this plane of existence on October 9, 2005.

I always saw in LeRoy so much...so much passion, so much care and concern, so much love. I always felt that his voice was so much larger than what the world was able to hear. The following quote from Charles Mingus keeps coming to mind:

Here is a piece I wrote in 1939 and I wrote it like this because I thought in 1939 I would probably get it recorded some day. But when you have to wait 30 years to get one piece played----what do you think happens to a composer who is sincere and loves to write and has to wait 30 years to have someone play a piece of his music? That was when I was energetic and wrote all the time. Music was my life. Had I been born in a different country or had I been born white, I am sure I would have expressed my ideas long ago.

Charles Mingus, referring to his composition,
“The Chill of Death” on
Let My Children Hear Music

I know there were many, many compositions in LeRoy's consciousness that were not yet brought to life. Unfortunately, we won't have the next 30 years to see them blossom.

What we do have, though, is the memory of a beautiful man, a loving spirit, who through sharing his voice touched many lives, and who through sharing himself through friendship touched many hearts. He touched my heart deeply.

Ache.