A song, an obit, and a special needs parent meltdown

My last job at The New York Times, where I worked in various writing and editing positions for almost 30 years before retiring in 2023, was as an obituary writer. Almost all of the hundreds of obituaries I wrote were assigned to me by editors, who reviewed the daily list of candidates — which might have 50 names on it — and selected the four or five who would receive a Times obit. 

Only rarely did I second-guess my editors and argue that someone they skipped deserved an obituary. One of those instances involved one particular song and one quietly emotional moment in my journey as a parent of a girl with Rett syndrome.

The editors had decided not to assign an obituary for Bill Staines, a singer-songwriter who never made the pop charts but was revered on the folk circuit. Staines, who died in December 2021, wrote lots of great songs, like “River” and “The Roseville Fair,” but one eclipsed all the others to become a cross-generational standard. 

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It’s called “A Place in the Choir” and first appeared on the 1979 Staines album “The Whistle of the Jay.” The lyrics celebrate diversity in the animal kingdom, presumably as a metaphor for the human one. The chorus goes like this:

“All God’s critters got a place in the choir,

Some sing low, some sing higher,

Some sing out loud on the telephone wire,

And some just clap their hands, or paws, or anything they’ve got.”

Assorted artists have covered the song. The singing-dancing troupe Celtic Thunder has a raucous live version on YouTube that has been viewed 14 million times. But, for me, Staines’s unassuming original is still the best.

In 2005, I had taken our daughter Abby, who has Rett syndrome and was 8 at the time, on a day outing to the Popcorn Park Animal Refuge in Forked River, New Jersey, which is home to abused, abandoned, and injured animals of all sorts. Rett syndrome means that Abby doesn’t speak, so it’s hard to know what she’s thinking, but I believe she absorbed these animals’ stories as I read her the placards in front of their pens. 

There was someone’s 4-H donkey, which had no place else to go when the someone grew up and went off to college. There were three bears from Ohio, which had been kept by a breeder who rented them out for photo shoots when they were cubs; that made them too domesticated to release into the wild when they got too big to handle. There were assorted wild animals that had been hit by cars or caught in traps meant for some other species.

Lots of critters, in other words, that had faced challenges but, the people who run the refuge believed, deserved to live and to be treated with dignity. Partway into the 90-minute drive home with Abby, I popped in a mixtape — remember mixtapes? — that I’d made of songs I thought she’d like. One of those was “A Place in the Choir.” And when it came on, my brain made the obvious connections between what we’d just seen at Popcorn Park and the kid in the back seat. 

I was so overwhelmed with unexpected emotion that I had to pull over for a bit to compose myself. Other parents of children with disabilities whom I know have reported similar experiences: They’re plodding through their day when suddenly something triggers the tears. I don’t tear up often, but I did there alongside Route 539.

When Bill Staines’s name turned up on the list of obituary candidates 16 years later, I remembered that moment. And I figured countless other people had been similarly moved by that wonderful song. 

“Please let me write this guy up,” I told my editors. I didn’t tell them about my roadside meltdown, but I did explain why “A Place in the Choir” alone made Staines’s life worth commemorating. Eventually, they gave me the green light.

One thing I learned in writing that obituary: Staines’s wife worked in special education. I don’t know whether that consciously or unconsciously inspired “A Place in the Choir,” but I like to think it did.

Note: Rett Syndrome News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Rett Syndrome News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Rett syndrome.