I’m grateful to Gen for publishing her outtake clip of me telling the story of Ang’s customer service call. Gen did her usual editing masterwork, making me sound coherent and fluent. It’s a good story, and I’m a bit proud of the way I was able to capture it. Of course, I have some edits I would make. I would want to relay more of the one-sided discussion. If only I could remember! It was the music scene that got me. They were in different cities (I think the rep was in Texas?)—but there were some common music happenings between the cities, or ones soon to take place. To hear Angelo talk, it seemed this was his most casual, oldest friend—someone he had spoken with yesterday, and thus could just pick up with where they left off about the plans and to-do list.
But I get ahead of myself: I’ve been fearing the task of trying to capture that tone of voice. There’s an essence there I want to share; it’s so important right now to get it right. I know I will get it right for the “club”—the “no explanation needed” group, those who had firsthand experience with Ang, and with the phenomenon I’m trying to capture. They will recall such moments, and say, “yeah, yeah”—and probably with a tear, like the one I’m shedding now.
Let me approach it from another angle: Angelo could be exuberant. As Terry described him, he was bullish—a bull in the china shop. In the documentary, my favorite characterization of his exuberance comes, appropriately, from James. His words, his exasperation, his matter-of-fact narration, with commentary, of Angelo on the fast-break bricking it off the backboard creates such a vivid image of the out-of-control energy that was Angelo and his approach to life. Angelo’s ebullient smile, his off-key singing, his driving, his general bursting-at-the-seams entry into wherever—were widely known—to intimates and casual acquaintances alike. But there was another side, another disposition, that those who loved him and spent time with him would see on occasion.
It manifested itself in a very subdued and serious voice. It was a reasoning, an analysis, a what? a soulfulness? It was, quite simply, a presentation of ideas in the most gentle, “out-of-time” manner, in a voice that was beyond striving and argumentation.
I heard this voice, actually, the last time he spoke to all of us on the phone from Thailand. It was a very long call, on speaker, with the whole family. That call was one of those gifts we got from Ang in the last few weeks of his life. My general approach to phone calls from Thailand could be summed up in one word: expeditiousness. I didn’t want to take up his time … didn’t want to have the call reach the point where he felt awkward to cut it off. So I was always cutting it off. But this time was different—and God bless Loretta, she never had scruples about the call getting too long. So we talked at length—and somewhere—15 minutes or so into the call, there it came—the voice I am trying to convey here and now. He began talking—in response to some questions I had asked him about the educational system in Thailand. He spoke in a manner that was tinged with regret and resignation. There was a problem: kids were being left behind, in a way that both recognized and ignored the need; the system wasn’t working, and apparently there was little initiative to address the problem or even to acknowledge the problem existed. He didn’t speak with zeal or indignation—just a kind of wise sadness about it all—an acceptance that such was the lot of the educator/educated in Thailand, and an acceptance to work around the limitations, towards doing whatever good could be done in such circumstances.
I say all this simply to try to convey a demeanor of peace, understanding, concern, love, easiness, resignation, and acceptance that was present in his voice in his observations about teaching in Thailand. In his calmer discussions—about politics—and even sports—I had also heard those qualities. And I reference all such moments to say I heard that same tone, mirabile dictu, while he was on the phone with the AT&T customer service rep!
It was in the long middle of the conversation—after the transaction part (very early on) had been completed. Ang would speak in phrases, quietly, and then with long pauses, as undoubtedly the person at the other end was talking. I am so grateful to Gen for bringing back this story—but as I hear myself tell my story, I notice immediately that my voice and tense way of talking are so completely the opposite of the quality I am trying to relay about Angelo’s voice that day.
Till this moment, my memory of Angelo’s tone was a completely private memory, a cherished moment I didn’t even know I had in my store. But now I have it as a distinct entity, a treasure I could share with others—or at least those for whom “no explanation is needed.” And there are many such people, thank God, who loved Angelo as much as we do here.
It’s so ephemeral—those moments of peaceful talk with a stranger/friend in Texas, those 25 years of being and acting. But God has his way of radiating into our lives, and I think of Angelo’s quiet voice as those times when God would touch his exuberance, and channel it into His own kinds of expression.
That customer service story is great for the lessons of “lightening up” I spoke about in the clip—but for me it’s far greater for the sound of God’s touch coming to me through a voice I hear now, and marvel at, and love with all my heart, though in memory.