Ethel Rosenberg

My Songwriting class last week left me frustrated.

Our assignment was to go someplace we'd never been before and write a song about it. We'd all brought in lyrics and our teacher was helping us put our words to music. But he was going about it in a heavily theoretical way, jumping from tangent to tangent.

My simple, four-line lullaby generated a half-hour discussion on modes. I looked over my hastily scribbled notes:

Dorian: 'Moondance', Van Morrison
Phrygian: Middle Eastern, new age
Lydian: Impressionistic

and realized I had no idea what I was writing about.

Now, I've taken Music Theory. I studied it in high school, in college, and again in a course last year. But this stuff was sailing right over my head. It's not that I don't understand theory. It's more like, I can understand it for a very short period of time, before my brain needs that real estate for something else. And I was frustrated because this Songwriting class was supposed to be open to everybody, but it seemed to be geared toward those with a thorough grounding in theoretical knowledge. It was much too broad a spectrum for me, and I only wanted to know how these vast ideas applied to my particular song.

I don't think I was the only one feeling frustrated. The girl next to me was taking frantic notes and kept asking the instructor to repeat things verbatim.

By 10 PM I was fried, and more than ready to go home. My lullaby was still tuneless and I had pages of notes that meant little to me. But first:

"Your homework," said our instructor. "This is an article from yesterday's New York Times. I want you to write a song about this." He read aloud:

Walter Schneir, Who Wrote About Rosenbergs, Dies at 81

Walter Schneir, whose fascination with the Rosenberg espionage case began with a hotly debated 1965 book arguing that the couple had been framed, and ended with his grim acceptance that Julius, if not Ethel, Rosenberg was indeed a Soviet spy, died April 11 at his home in Pleasantville, N.Y. He was 81.

I blinked, confused.

The arrest, trial and execution of the Rosenbergs mesmerized an America coming to grips with the early cold war and the anxiety aroused by the Soviet Union’s testing of an atomic bomb. When the two were convicted of conspiracy to commit espionage on March 29, 1951, few seemed to disagree with Judge Irving R. Kaufman that their crime was “worse than murder.”

But by the time of the Rosenbergs’ execution, at sundown on June 19, 1953, the number of people around the world who questioned the government’s handling of the case had grown. They ranged from death-penalty opponents to those who saw a Soviet-style show trial, from Communists to skeptics of the prosecution’s evidence. Picasso and the pope pleaded for mercy. With time, Americans’ views on the case demarcated a range of political identities, from left to right.

"This is a great story," said our instructor. "I want you to write a song about this, without using any of these words: Communism, trial, McCarthyism, or their names. It should be a metaphorical song; nothing should be literal. That's your homework."

I gaped at him. What the hell is he talking about? I wondered stupidly.

The girl next to me was asking, "Wait, can you repeat that? Communism...and what else?"

"Read the article," said the instructor. "You'll get everything you need from there." I waited for him to hand out copies, but he didn't. Shit. Yesterday's NY Times/Rosenbergs, I scrawled in my notebook.

I glanced furtively at my classmates to see if any of them looked as confused as I felt. "You know what's so interesting?" the guy behind me said earnestly. "I didn't realize they were executed before Sputnik."

"Oh, they were executed long before Sputnik," said the guy to my right. Great, I thought. Now I feel like an idiot in two subjects.

The girl next to me was asking the instructor to explain Ionian mode one more time. I packed my bag slowly and timed my exit to coincide with hers.

When we were safely in the hall I gave my ally a wry smile. "We couldn't write a metaphorical song about flowers or something?" I quipped, expecting laughter.

She smiled back at me, blandly. "I guess he wanted us to learn something." She exited the building and I stared after her in dismay. Who are these wholesome, smarty-pants people? I wondered as I trudged back to my car.

Twenty minutes later I plopped down in front of my computer to Google the Rosenbergs. Amid all the information on Communism, anti-Semitism and McCarthyism, here's what stuck with me:

1. The Rosenbergs were sentenced to die by electric chair on June 18th, 1953. But on June 17th they were granted a stay of execution. Their reprieve was only 24 hours long; the next day Court was called into special session to dispose of the stay, and the Rosenbergs were executed on June 19th.
2. In a last minute play for more time, the Rosenbergs' lawyer argued that the late evening time of the execution offended their Jewish heritage, as it was scheduled for after the start of the Sabbath. The tactic backfired; the execution was rescheduled for before sundown.
3. It took three rounds of electrocution to kill Ethel Rosenberg. Eyewitnesses reported smoke rising from her head at the conclusion.
   
4. Although it was eventually confirmed that Julius Rosenberg was a courier and recruiter for the Soviets, there is still doubt today as to whether Ethel Rosenberg was even involved.

Man, I thought. Sucks to be Ethel Rosenberg.

I went to sleep with all that information tumbling in my head and when I woke up the next day I kept thinking about that 24-hour stay of execution. It seemed like such a farce, such a token reprieve. Although I knew that there were many men involved in the conviction, the appeal and its overturn - some of whom were genuinely on her side - they began to meld together into this singular character, a villain who toyed with her final hours, granting her pardon and then snatching it back. She was convicted, sentenced, spared, re-sentenced, and then had the time of her execution pushed up. And after all that it took 3 rounds of juice to bring her down. What an undignified way to die.

I wanted to give Ethel Rosenberg her dignity back.

I imagined her saying to this composite man, "You know what? The hell with your 24 hours. I don't need them."

And slowly, this song began to emerge:

Verse:
I've heard it said that when your time is up
You would give anything for 24 hours
But here I stand to say I've had enough
If we're gonna do this thing then let's not be cowards

You call the shots, you end it all
Not my decision
You don't believe I'm not involved
That's your limited vision

Chorus:
I don't need your stay of execution
I don't need your courtesy reprieve
If you're going to end it all then I decide
The way I'm going to leave
I don't need your last minute kindness
One more day to think things through
You're not my friend, here at the end
I don't need anything from you

Verse:
And when I'm gone I hope you realize
That I never did those things of which you accused me
But you're so quick to make up your own mind
It never occurred to you I might not be guilty

Let's not pretend there's more to say
Why bother trying?
There's just no need for one more day
This spark is dying

Chorus:
I don't need your stay of execution
I don't need your parting gift to me
If you're not convinced by now then one more day
Will hardly make you see
You want to end it all between us
Have the guts to see things through
Try to accept there's nothing left
I don't want anything from you

(Repeat 1st chorus)

You're not my friend, here at the end
I don't need anything from you

"It's a break-up song," said my instructor last night, when I sang it to the class.

"Yeah," I said.

My classmates were nodding, smiling. "What do you call it?" one of them asked.

I said: "From You."


Click here to listen.