Where Is Mr. Bojangles?

I was going through the various stacks of paper I have lying about my office today. It has gotten to the point where I need to reorganize my stuff or build on to the house. I have a very precise filing system with older messages and notes on the bottom and the newer things stacked progressively on top. I can find almost anything I am looking for, given enough time.
As I sorted through the organized pile of clutter, I found a notation I had made some time back. I had come across something which had caught my eye at the time and I thought I might write something about it. That was two years ago, my how time flies. I must have been unable to organize my thoughts at the time, so I had filed the note away.
Today I read over the message. It had noted part of the lyrics for the song “Mr. Bojangles” typed out neatly with my thoughts scribbled in the margin. I remember listening to the old song many times. I could still hear the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band singing in the background as I read the words.
“I knew a man Bojangles and he’d dance for you
In worn out shoes
With silver hair, a ragged shirt, and baggy pants
The old soft shoe
He jumped so high, jumped so high
Then he lightly touched down.”
Have you ever walked down the streets in New Orleans or Memphis and listened to the easy flowing music oozing out of the bars and dance halls into the streets? Musicians play their soul wrenching tunes that make a body want to move in time. In the darkened clubs mostly drunken customers ground to the jive while other lifted their glasses in salute.
I remember watching two older men take turns outside a club on Beale Street in Memphis one sultry summer night. Dressed in apparent hand-me- down clothing, the men struck an interesting pose. One gentleman wearing a much too large white dress shirt and baggy slacks bent to tie his shiny lace up shoes, another gift from a charitable soul. The other man wore a dark red shirt and pants much shorter than his long legs. On his feet he also wore his best pair of dancing shoes.
The first man demonstrated his latest steps while rhythmic strains came from inside the bar. His agile body bent and contorted as his mind wandered into another realm. The second man began to imitate the steps of his competitor, adding some new moves of his own at the end. This battle went on through several songs before I could tear myself away from their unique demonstration.
“He said I dance now at every chance in honky tonks
for drinks and tips
But most the time I spend behind these county bars
‘cause I drinks a bit
He shook his head, and as he shook his head
I heard someone ask him please
Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles
Mr. Bojangles, dance.”
So simple; so easy, from the bowels of hard living, this uncomplicated man, Bojangles once lived and gave all that he had. His only talent it seemed was that of dance. His only desire in life was to be allowed to dance, and as he moved about the sidewalk, he would jump so high, jump so high and click his heels. The old gray haired man in baggy pants wore a smile of bliss and satisfaction.
Needless to say, after reading my old notes, I interrupted my housecleaning today and began to write. Like Bojangles and his call to dance, I have a need to write. I say thank you Bo for your graceful dance and thanks to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band for inspiration. My life is simple now and I know that is how it is meant to be.
Tomorrow, or some other tomorrow, I don’t know when but I shall return to making sense from my clutter. But until then I will sit with pen and write my thoughts for you, friend.
“Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles,
Mr. Bojangles, dance.”