We buried Ashley yesterday. There were tears, a lot of laughter, more tears and many, many stories. Such is the value of family and community. Without them, how could we share happiness and bear grief?
The turnout at Ashley’s visitation, funeral and wake was magnificent, befitting the person that Perfesser Morris was and still is to a lot of us. More than half of the New Orleanians I know were there. He got food, photos, reading material, music, music makers, beads and souvenirs, but no one brought him anything to wash any of that food down with. Before his coffin was closed for the service, Alexis and I made a mad dash to the nearest store and brought back a bottle of Jameson and Abita Restoration ale just in time. Phew, afterlife dining disaster averted.
Howie Luvzus, Oyster, Adam, Ray and Elliott delivered beautiful eulogies at the service. Howie referred to Ashley as a prophet – an eccentric, but also one who “stands up for what’s right and speaks out.” Here are some words from the rest of the service that have stuck with me:
Oyster: “Ashley was so full of experience and related to you with that … you could describe him as a rager and a maniac, not completely false but incomplete … he was a warrior for New Orleans.”
Adam Steele, one of Ashley’s DePaul Computer Science colleagues and a good friend, referred to Ashley as a “key articulator” given “all of these people he brought together.”
Ray: “What is Ashley Morris? Ashley Morris is a poet, a patriot, a teacher, scientist, comedian, cook, gadfly, bulldog and warrior … and you will know he is Ashley Morris when he lays his verbal vengeance upon thee.”
Elliott, a friend from way back in the USM days, informed us that Ashley had taught himself American Sign Language on developing a serious crush on Marlee Matlin after seeing her in Children of a Lesser God. What a hoot! It says a lot about Ashley’s stubborn dedication to anything he set his sights and heart on.
I don’t think St. Louis Cemetery #3 has, in a while, seen as long an auto procession as we brought into that place yesterday. The line of cars slowly snaked through the entire cemetery, with the last car parking very close to the entrance. Much thanks to the Hot 8 Brass Band for playing the funeral and doing it so well! Jazz funerals accentuate feeling with music and, much like children, remind us to move on and help with that transition. They tell us that our loved one’s soul is in a better place and we should be happy for it, even though she or he is no longer here, and that death isn’t depressing taboo. The happy music after burial is a reality check, a snap of fingers, a swift kick in the rear and a hand asking you to dance and forget your troubles for a while. Through hours of singing, clapping, stepping, swaying, waving, primal shaking, laughter and tears, the jazz funeral births closure. For, God help us, death is a harsh master even in the absence of misery, gloom and doom.
Clapping, stepping, swaying, waving – Annabel, Ashley’s and Hana’s second daughter, did all of that and more with the prettiest smile on her little face. Ashley’s funeral is not an end, but the start of a journey for Hana and her kids without her husband, their father. Hana is one incredibly strong woman; I guess one has to be as the mother of three young children. But, she should not have to do it alone and won’t. As Smasher of the Big Easy Rollergirls said, “[Hana] will not be lost over the course of the next few months.” Let’s make certain of that. Remember Ashley. Remember the Morrises.
The wake at the Bulldog in MidCity was great. It was a stupendous wake. It was everything a wake should be. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Here are some photos from St. Louis #3. I couldn’t bear to take pictures of the hearse and casket and stuck with the brass band, dancing friends and happy children.
Sleep now, Ashley.
So much to do, there’s plenty on the farm
I’ll sleep when I’m dead!
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I’ll sleep when I’m dead!
I am so sad about Ashley as everyone is. I never met him but felt I knew something of him through his blog and through is postings on my blog. I am so sad that I will never meet him in person. I am so sad that I found out too late to be there for his funeral to see him off. He left this world too soon.
I am moved by your words. However I just want to mention that his kids are not “happy kids” – I know because I too lost my father as a child and it doesn’t matter what adults see in children – even with smiles on their faces (as I had on mine) – those children are broken hearted and have a very long and very difficult road to travel. I wish they did not have such a journey ahead. I hope they come out the other end able to come to peace with it and come to peace with their father that was taken too soon.
Very nice pictures. I feel so badly for those kids.
Thanks for putting the pics up and writing a good summary of how it went.
Also, the Jameson was a necessary classic.
It was a tough, anxious, racy blur of emotions.
Thanks, all, for your words, whether you were at the funeral or not.
Kirsty, I understand. My father went missing for a month at the time of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait and I was anything but a happy youngster. The sentence in which I use “happy children” involves taking photographs at key moments, i.e. I didn’t take pictures of them, or anyone for that matter, when they were miserable and confused, which at times they were.