midwest of the ocean



~ Tuesday, July 22, 2025
 

    You can an do this at home with one of those ant farms sold in hobby stores.  Ants love sugar. Soak fools gold in sugar.  This is called Iron Pyrite.  It is fairly easy to aquire. The colony will import the fools gold into their nest as food.  Notice how it is stowed in the nest. With this knowledge, go to gold country and search for an ant colony.  You do the same training exercise.  Soon enough, the ants learn to find gold along rivers thinking that the color is associated with sugar. They begin gathering flakes of gold and stowing it in their nests.  You return to this nest with your trusty metal detector many months later.  After a few digs you might uncover enough gold to make it interesting.  A new hobby is born.  Goldmining with ants. 

      There are other animals that one could be trained much like a dog.  How about a Search and Rescue moose? With those incredible scent detection nostrils a moose could locate lost hunters and carry supplies to the distressed.  Horses also have uncanny ability to find lost children.  One just has to trust the animal to search in his own perculiar way.  He could carry water and food, medical supplies and warm clothing. The horse could be taught to kneel and allow a person to mount thus performing the rescue entirely on his own.

        Birds of prey like the eagles could be trained to find the lost and disabled in wilderness areas. Their keen eyesight and ease of flight could aid human rescuers in locating children who have wandered away much more rapidly than the techniques used today. One well trained eagle could circle the disabled until the rescue party arrives. Even Golden Eagles could be used. Look to the Saudis for instruction on how to train these birds. They have had generations of experience.          The Redwoods is where I lived for a few years mining for gold. Roland had given me a gold claim he was saving for his boys. They were not interested in the hard labor required to be successful.    The first thing I did was buy a gold pan and a Stroh ax which is the best Swedish double bladed ax in the world.

          I applied for Food Stamps. I supplied myself with enough victuals to last for a few weeks. I lashed everything onto my packframe.  I caught a ride to Helena, where the North Fork of the Trinity River flows down from the Trinity Alps. I staked out my claim according to the rules. I made camp and hoisted my food into the trees.  It was not long before the bears picked up the scent.  I had to abandon the claim after finding enough gold to return to school.   Chinatown is where to sell your gold. They use it to bring their relatives to the freedom of the USA. I had to pack out everything.  I tied my gold into a cloth tobacco sack nearly everyone uses to roll their own in the backwoods. I then would place it under my toes before pulling on my boot socks. Then the hiking boots.  I used the very best boots I could find.  The Swiss make beautiful boots called Vasquez which served me for many trips.  One day, as I was hiking out through the parking lot at the trailhead,  I spotted a cab over camper with the backdoor swung open.  The cowboy spotted me. He called me over. I reluctantly came to check if he needed help. He asked me about gold claims. I said I knew nothing.. I was only enjoying the hiking in the majestic redwoods. I begged off after a cup of coffee. He showed me his revolver strapped like a gunslinger. I knew then and there I was talking to a claim jumper  I said so long and departed into the fading light, glad to be away from this evil man 

posted by Jefferson at 8:08 PM
~ Tuesday, July 15, 2025
 
    I think that I shall never see a tree so beautiful or as useful as the Neem. Easily propagated,  this tree has been used for medicinal purposes in ancient India for centuries. Yet no one speaks of it in the USA except when they can't find a cure. If you are ever in need of a toothbrush, neem sticks work for billions of Indians. You simply chew on the end of the stick until it flattens releasing a taste you might find refreshing.  Sometimes you can find them in an ethnic market. Wikipedia says it most clearly.
    Products made from neem trees have been used in India for over two millennia for their medicinal properties.[4] Neem products are believed by Ayurvedic practitioners to be anthelmintic, antifungal, antidiabetic, antibacterial, antiviral,
 contraceptive and sedative.[6] It is considered a major component in Ayurvedic and Unani medicine and is particularly prescribed for skin diseases.[7] Neem oil is also used for healthy hair, to improve liver function, detoxify the blood, and balance blood sugar levels.[8] Neem leaves have also been used to treat skin diseases like eczema, psoriasis, etc.[4]
Then there is Tamarind.
 Throughout Southeast Asia, fruit of the tamarind is used as a poultice applied to foreheads of fever sufferers.[4] Based on human study, tamarind intake may delay the progression of skeletal fluorosis by enhancing excretion of fluoride. However, additional research is needed to confirm these results.[12]


posted by Jefferson at 9:25 PM
 
     To make a living on Orcas that paid real wages was the yacht works at the local boatyards.  You had to be rough and tough, smooth and flexible. You must be able to tolerate others who had no intelligence.They were usually coming off a drunk. You cut the bottom growth off the hull with a pressure washer. You mounted new zincs which were anodes so the steel parts did not corrode as fast.
     When the hull was completely prepared and dry, the crew would start taping and painting with anti-fouling paint that was so toxic that nothing grew on the hull for the entire sailing season.            Many a worker came down with lead mercury poisoning sickness.  A few developed cancer over time that was traced back to the carcinogenic properties of bottom paint.  If you sign on for this type of work you will be working in a very toxic environment. This is why seamen drink. To fiush outt these heavy metals. Nowadays, the smart boater simply mixes a load of cheap antibiotics into the bottom paint which prevents biological growth even longer. Tetracycline is the cheapest.  .Bottom paint has killed many a seaman.
         That's what happened to Alan. The doctors cut him open from sternum to scrotum to root out the big C. He sold Almageist to me for 4 K. That was the going price for this Picaroon..Alan sailed her from Mexico. It was a mercy buyout though  She was Gaff rigged and salty enough for touring the San Juans. She needed a haulout and a refit. I was working for Mike at Deer Harbor doing plumbing and the occasional delivery. It was the perfect place to refit her after work. So over the winter I made the long trip to Deer Harbor from Olga to work on my boat. She needed a re corking with oakum. 
        I got an old Seagull outboard from Steve that he restored. You can't kill these things. These motors are that tough. That is, unless you get the mix of oil and gas wrong. Seagulls were invented for the Normandy invasion from England. They were easy to fix and had a huge multi-finned prop.     
       This was a beautiful little wooden yacht and a fun project for the winter. The boat yard splashed Almagest after painting her hull a brilliant white and green.  Traditional Irish colors were chosen for this antique built of Alaskan yellow cedar.              I set off for the run to the Ditch. I cleared Deer Harbor motoring out when suddenly the engine seized.  My friend told me the wrong amount of oil to gasoline mix for the Seagull. Never trust anyone to tell you what they remember because you are trusting a stoners' memory. What a predicament. 
      The little ship had oars and oarlocks but it was a long passage to be making by rowing. There was no wind to be had. No rescue to be had. This nice adventure turned into a roman slave ship movie. Rowing for a couple of hours each session and playing the tides as best I could I finally made it after three days of agony.  At that point, I decided to sell this ship refitted nicely for someone else's dream. I sold her to restaurateurs in Seattle for 3K which meant I lost again in the transaction. However, I was free to flee Orcas which I did posthaste.
      I gave away the non-running VW van for $50 to a young couple who were just starting out. The rest of my scene went to Pat and Dorothy who are long time friends from the Love family. This included a radial saw and tools not to mention the geodesic dome built on a platform I had constructed.. In short, I liquidated my business. All this happened because of a vision I had of the Vishnu expansion one morning in Spring.  It is hard to explain.    Mystical Krsna and his entourage travel in a group that includes Garuda and his favorite elephants along with Veena playing musicians all dressed in glorious outfits throughout the universe. You can call him to you by chanting the names of the Lord sincerely. 
       This is how I heard it. Sometimes, this entourage is called the Vishu Expansion. Whatever it was it was beautiful and calming enough for the deer to be grazing close by and the rabbits showing themselves with no fear through a light morning mist. One never knows what one will get when chant the Maha Mantra.

Hare Krsna Hare Krsna
Krsna Krsna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare

108 times completes one round or one bead. There are 32 beads on the Japa Mala. It's a young mans game.
     I drove my little Chevy Vega to the farm where it died and evil death. Dutidar Maharaj was the beneficiary of my car since I had no money to fix the thing.  I told him that the 4 stroke engine could be developed into a saw mill. That was his passion.  The saw mill would give the ranch the lumber it needed to have if any development was going to happen.
posted by Jefferson at 9:21 PM
 
     Kealakekua Bay sits below the village of Captain Cook. I came to spend the winter at what's called the Monument in 1976. This is the exact spot where Captain Cook was killed by the Hawaiians at the water's edge in 1676. He was  subsequently eaten. Only his hands remained. It was one of those historical errors that cost this man his life.  He was worshipped as the returning God that had been predicted by the Hawaiian priests.  When you are God you have a lot to be responsible for.  In a moment of despair he tried to recover possessions that had been stolen by the Hawaiians. This action indicated his dethronement. The resulting violence was instant.       
      It indicated he was not a God but a mortal for no God would take back something that had already been given (stolen). A crushed skull was all he got for the troubles as he tried to get in the tender back to his ship. The crew had to leave him bleeding and dying. This was such an untimely death for such a great navigator. The Hawaiians went berserk. This is the briefest description of his demise.
     .He opened the way for Europeans to spread disease.  Unhealthy eating creates early death among the Polynesians even today. The pig and goat were brought to the early Polynesians by the Captains. Meeting the Polynesians is called the Fatal Impact by these 17th century explorers. The title is an excellent book on European exploration of the Pacific. Cook was not the only one to spread diseases. The Portuguese, Spanish and French all share in this debacle and debasement of the beautiful world of the South Pacific.  This is the way it was.   Let's move on but never forget.     
       In Tonga they told me of the tree he tied his tender boat to was cut down. This great tree has been eradicated by modern day Tongans who recognized how the fatal impact effected their way of life.  Yet it still sprouts shoots. This has happened to most if not all indigenous people around the world.  It's called colonization. The Spanish and Portuguese, the Dutch and Germans all had colonies. The English were the most devastating to the Pacific.
     On Captain Cook Memorial Day, I was standing at the exact spot of his death commemorated by a plaque which is awash in the tidal flow. There were tourists offshore also memorializing the site of Captain Cook's death. Wreaths and Leis were thrown in the water by this tour ship. As he stood there one of the wreaths floated to the plaque and draped itself over the commemorative plate of bronze.
     There was a Maranatha group of Christians that ran a hostel-hotel kind of housing affair on the way to the health food store.  It costs money to stay. The Rainbows would gather for short a duration before moving on to wilderness locations.   Azul just happened to be one of those Rainbows who found himself in the area. He was on his honeymoon with his beautiful wife. They  came to Hawaii to live in paradise. 
        He held nightly sessions over the fire pit. His allure was the garlic toast cheese wammys that made you drool and the Tahitian blond coffee he roasted over the coals. These wammys were created by rubbing garlic cloves on toast drizzled with olive oil then mozzarella cheese. The smell of the open fire and the garlic made me think of home.  My hand was still not healing. The sisters of the Rainbow told me I could find a doctor.. I did but all I got was a cast for 6 months. The break never healed. I was in pain from the time I woke up until going to sleep.
     We were all living together near the Monument.  Jimmy and I became somewhat associated since we both had an intense interest in catching a ship to the South Pacific. The thought was a yacht would visit the monument. We would then swim out to make friends and hopefully find a spot on the crew roster. In the interim, we continued to walk every day to the health food store (O Hana O a Keina) for supplies.
        This store is located along the circle island highwa some five miles away. After a while you become jaded and sunburned to the point you just need shade and shelter. There were coffee shacks in the area. These shacks have the roof on wheels so that during the sunny, hot days the roof can be rolled back so that the sun dries the coffee beans in a protected area. The red outer coating is then removed leaving the two condyles which are green to be further dried and elegantly roasted. Coffee is labor intensive. Tahitian blond coffee is the absolute best coffee in the world. 
       We moved to this seasonal use shack we called the shack in the back. This coffee shack was perfect for hanging our hammocks. We just started living there. These places are not abandoned.  They are regularly visited by the owners who simply show up. After these visits we set up camp. All is well. German Barbra joined us in naked abandonment to our surprise. You shun your clothes as soon as it seems safe just to even out your tan lines. Our sport was watching the Wolf Spiders and Hawaiian Wasps battle for supremacy. It was a sixty forty wager on the outcome. The shack was our temporary home.
        One day, Barbra was at the lava outcropping watching the squalls offshore. The rainbows appear. She recorded each and every rainbow in a letter to her mum in Germany complete with raindrops smearing the ink. That same year of 1976 the planet alignment was taking place. Just at sunset, one could see the curves of the planets as they began to complete this alignment. This was amazing to witness.
      On the day I landed at Hilo airport, I had to hitch to the other side of the island.  This was no easy task. I wound up at an intersection with my thumb hanging in the breeze trying to look good despite my unwavering devotion to long hair. On the other side of the roadway was a sedan that was signaling a left turn.  As he made the turn a gun barrel protruded out of the rear window held by some teenaged hapa Hawaiian of Japanese ancestry.  He was centering on my chest.  There was not much I could do in this situation but smile. Luck was with me that day.  They drove on.  One of the Hawaiian favorite phrases was "peace on ya." You just have to laugh at the way it sounds..Piss on you in that friendly South Pacific twang.
     It was the year of Halley's comet returning to our Solar System. Mark Twain was born and died according to this phenomena. The interest in this event was heightened by the news we were going to the observatory on the summit of Mauna Kea to see this wonder through the telescope.. The New Krsnaloka farm outside of Hilo organized the trip for its visiting seafarers.  As you might imagine many others had the same idea. The line was long but we persisted until early in the morning.  We had the chance to peer at this heavenly wonder through the powerful Mauna Kea telescope. It was a jaw dropping moment lasting only a few seconds. 
      We were given the job of building cabins around this vast farm. One night, I decided to sleep outside under one of the cabins. It was a full moon night. A squall blew blew up leaving a astounding moon rainbow in its wake. This is a white rainbow with faint colors.  That night, I had very powerful, spiritual dreams that I remember to this day.
     The Kealakekua Bay is beautiful and  protected. It has the best scenic diving in the world. The deep blue hole in the center is astounding. It does not have a bottom. There is a bottom but that spoils the story. Such color, such life in many shades of blue that you can imagine. Every imaginable reef fish is there. The wrasses, clown fish, the little black aquarium fish as well as the black and white tipped reef shark can be seen in these waters.
     We jumped off the lava and try to spear some dinner. There was one tiny fish black aquarium type fish that was playing with me by turning broadside to the tip of my spear.  I simply could not spear a fish after having such an awareness with the little one.  I resigned myself to eating dried fruit and nuts.  I was getting very fit.
   I boarded the "Mistress" which is the former yacht of FDR. It was bought by a consortium of Mafia types as a getaway for Mafia dons. I am not joking about this! We volunteered to clean the brass with brasso and elbow grease. It was a day on the water on a beautiful ship in Hawaii. What could be better?
      To give you an idea of the crew, the skipper was overweight with a tiny head. He was driving a suburban with no windshield as he went about provisioning the ship. The cook was a long haired Frenchman dressed in an all white yoga outfit.  He was the healthiest of the lot and not given to the raucous life of the surly seaman.  The cook is the shopper, the purser, the doctor and consular.           On the Big Isle there are a few health food stores that cater to the alternative healthy few who can afford to eat sensibly.  During the Time of the Broken Hand I was able to get food stamps which gave me a good diet for my time in Hawaii.       I was placed in a cast, sometimes a fiberglass waterproof number all colorfully green or purple. The small bone never healed. I now had eight bones instead of seven in my right wrist. It hurt all the time.
      A three masted schooner came in for anchorage at the little Napa'po Bay next to Kealakekua Bay. Immediately upon arrival and letting go the ground tackle the crew began overhauling the ship which was punishment for causing an insurrection and near mutiny. No one was spared. It was many days with the same scene of the crew being berated by the bosun's mate. The guy with the whip is the master. 
      She is a beautiful ship. A vessel built as a training platform for the Argentine Navy. We decided to swim out to her some 3,000 yards offshore to get a closer look as is the tradition in Hawaii. Swimming in saltwater is effortless simply because you are buoyant from the salt content. Her sails were taken down and washed for stains, patched and reconditioned all in a few days by this taskmaster. Punishment at sea is a harsh thing.
       Napa'po has the best waves for body surfing in the area. The waves break on the rocky shore. Behind the beach you can see the old coconut shells from the days of copra harvesting. The ships would sail in to collect copra which is the dried nut meat. It would then be turned it into soap and oils for various uses in those 18th century days. I surfed close to the rocks. When I turned out of the wave I found myself standing on the boulders. Remarkable were those days  mastering the ocean.
       The long walk down the road to Napa'po is well worth it. You pass the old red roofed church in disrepair.  The plumeria groves fill the air with the sweet smell of this flower that has been enchanting visitors to this location for a good century. This road runs through a macadamia grove at the start from the circle island road.              These impossibly hard nuts are a real treat for the walker. You must remember that these groves are sprayed with deadly poison to stop the mongoose from eating them. The mongoose is everywhere. These escapees were brought to Hawaii to control the ships rats that initially escaped from visiting ships. The mongoose certainly ridded the island of the rat but took over. This animal proliferated rapidly and are now the pest of the land.
      While at the University of Hawaii someone gave me a small parrot in a cage built for canaries. This bird was impossible to control. He learned how to open the door to the cage. I tried tying the door shut with a bread tie. He simply waited for the right moment while I was cleaning the cage to pull off the escape of the century. He used to come back to the cage to eat opening the door but never staying for long. When a storm sweeps through the islands these birds are often swept to sea. Such is the life of the newcomers to these islands.  You either make it or you don't.
      Coconuts are the best way to rehydrate in the Tropics. No, not the ones in  the supermarket. Those will only kill you because the milk has turned to saturated fat. Green coconuts are absolute best for remineralizing and getting over a hangover. It is profoundly sobering of all the things, coconuts including the tree itself are good for.  
    In the South Pacific they easily saw the coconut logs into beams and rafters that are fairly strong and resistant to boring insects. The leaves are woven into roofs, walls and of course, baskets and hats. Betcha never saw a purse made of leaves. The stem of the leaf when dried and bundled together make a broom called Sou Sou. These sticks are barbecue skewers or fish stringer or sewing needle. Just about anything you can think of can be made of coconut.  When a child is born the father plants a coconut to commemorate the occasion. As the child grows so does the tree being a record of the life for all to see. When the old man dies his tree is sometimes cut down to signify his departure.
      The tree itself has the lifespan of a human being. New uses are found every year. Coconut shell carbon is the purest and has many applications in medicine.  If you study this process you need a retort oven which is self feeding and recycles the heat. The carbon is in high demand around the world.  If you want to get rich quickly start investing in coconut shells and corner the market in carbon filters.

The papaya is another tropical plant that goes way, way back to before the dinosaurs. This plant has been feeding man since the very beginning. We all should bow down and worship this plant. Just kidding but it does have many uses. This is the first solid food a baby tastes in the South Pacific. It has the most Vitamin A and D as well as C of any plant going. Digestive problems are easily treated with papaya. It has the most enzymes of almost any plant. It is truly a miracle. I used to go to the papaya plantations to look for the next penicillin in the molds that grew on the rotting piles of fruit while I was at the University. No telling if anything ever came of my findings. Lost in the annals of time. It was one of my original thoughts.

I worked for Lee Masaris while in Capt. Cook on his little farm doing odd jobs with him. This ranged from jack hammering blue lava in a homeowners back yard, to milking the goats, to cast net fishing in the surf . We also accepted work washing windows in Kilauea. We often would go down to the Monument and spearfish far out in the ocean. Lee shot a fish one morning in about 60 feet of water. I watched him as he grabbed the spear with the fish trailing. Suddenly, a moray eel darted out from his lair and grabbed the fish. The opportunist eel scared Lee as the spear settled on the bottom.  Lee came up for air but was so shaken he could not compose himself enough to retrieve the spear. At that moment I doubled up on breaths and made the long swim through sixty feet of gorgeous Pacific and grabbed the spear. I turned and planted my feet for a huge push off the bottom. The pressure in my ears finally normalized even though I did the depressurization on the start down. It's like a squeaking sound as the air passes through your Eustachian tube to your throat from your sinuses.

Lee gave me a yurt site to live in. The open air wonder that it was. The sloping roof was actually a water catchment system for the farm. I lived in the open, hearing and seeing life in its fullest passing by. One night I was awakened by the roosters crowing and the dogs barking as a few seconds later a mighty earthquake rumbled beneath me. There is a huge cauldron that makes up the Mauna Loa volcano. Sometimes, the roof of this cauldron caves in with millions of tons of rock falling back into the fiery furnace. Being awakened like this fully extended into the astral plane is so startling. I got up to see if anyone else was stirring.   Not a soul was moving about so back to sleep to slumber in paradise. On one occasion someone left a joint on my nightstand close to my hammock.  I never forgot that kindness and smoked it enjoyably.  I had a forest service canteen from my Northern California days that I would drum on to pass the time.  Someone must have heard me and thought a reefer might make the drumming better. Was that bad?
posted by Jefferson at 1:51 PM
 
     As one thoughtful swami put it. I love Jesus. I love all kinds of cheeses. Provolone , Mozzarella, Cheddar and Jack. I love Colby too. Yes, I love cheeses a lot. He broke both his arms falling off a galloping horse. I found him laying in the field with the horse grazing nearby. It was cold that day. Lucky for him the hospital was only 150 miles away.  Could have been worse.  It took many days to get back to some sort of normalcy.          That was one long winter with the Hare Krsna sect. I did not stay much longer in Canada. I traveled back to Orcas then to Oregon. I eventually back to Hawaii where I caught a ship to American Samoa and the Paradise of the South Pacific. Which is not really paradise. It only looks that way.  Everyone is still struggling for survival in this huge fish tank with many sharks circling you. 
       They are called Street Sharks if you really want to know about them.  If they spot you they will make a mental note.  This is an information gathering session of just observing whether you travel alone or have friends who watch out for you. Then the stalking begins in earnest the next time they see you. You are hardly are aware of eyes upon you. If you are a dummy, you can be maneuvered into a corner and mugged.  Watch your time, place and circumstance. Don't carry your whole life on your back. Travel only in broad daylight and with others.. Always have a plan of escape.  The Reaper is waiting for you to lower your guard. MY plan is to sprint to the nearest cop.  Most muggers are overweight and stupid.
        This is paradise if you long for the ocean and sea breeze, the swaying palms and the Plumeria scents in the air. This paradise is expensive and not for the poor.   It is a job to be on vacation.  It can be hard work with little reward. You wind up complaining to yourself.   Keep up the smile as you lose and lose more and more.
      Life is not meant for winning.  Life is meant to simply survive as long as you can like the old Chinese woman in Mitchner's Hawaii you live to survive.   She sat on her bed every night looking for signs of leprosy.  Only after a thorough examination did she allow herself sleep.  She carried on like that until the day she died.
      The only cure for leprosy is isolation which is no cure at all. This was done on Molokai. We actually sailed there during our transit to the Big Isle. The old coconut plantations have been abandoned for some time now. Slowly nature is erasing mans' intrusion. The surf is still formidable. There is only a few moorings. Visitors are not welcomed.
     We arrived at dusk. The surf was throwing up huge combers. We had to cross the reef to find a mooring buoy for the night.  It is tricky in the failing light.   Somehow or other we made the right choices and arrived safely. We tied up to a mooring can and settled in for the night with the sea breezes wafting us to sleep. We awoke and surveyed the situation after diving into the limpid, clear waters. 
    Swimming in a school is best. We knew not what lurked below us.  Our breakfast awaited us on shore. All the green coconuts one could eat was ours for the gathering.  Denny and Francois left us to follow the valley filled with rainbows and possibly fresh water. They did not return until dusk and filled us with tales of wild passion fruit and papaya.  We were seen by the leper colony but was not extended an invitation to visit since we had arrived unannounced. 
posted by Jefferson at 9:31 AM
~ Monday, July 14, 2025
 
    It was the earthquakes of the mind that Sheila explained that can change our reality as we know it. Simply quoting from the Koran she was a 4.0 graduate of UCLA and a master of Life. She taught elementary school and knew much about people from the Jewish perspective.  She taught me about things that needed to be taught. This includes re-introducing me to Southern California.  All this knowledge was passed by osmosis.  Sheila came to New Orleans. She found me at Vaucressons' Restaurant on Bourbon Street during those days of yore when the Vietnam war was raging.   Serving her Christmas dinner and her brother was a memorable occasion.  Especially when she followed me home to the small Vieux Carre apt. I used his golden thumb to flee New Orleans to the LA warmth and Sheilas' fond embrace.
There is nothing like having a girlfriend who lets you drive her red VW all over LA.   I went to see Griffith Park and the museums. To hear the Conga drum sessions in the Park is so tribal. The drumming starts around noon continuing into the evening hours.   Drummers are added minute by minute until it becomes a roaring experience that is unforgettable. Everyone with a drum is welcome to practice the syncopated rhythms.  If you stop to look closely you would see many ex-cons in the inner circle who have made this an expression of freedom for all to hear.                           Occasionally the cops try to silence the drums but the beat goes on somewhere else.  If not Saturday then a different day but always in Griffith Park.  Just listen for the rhythms. Shelia introduced me to Oxtail soup and other great dishes of the Jewish tradition. Life was still hard but making sense now.
     Lunch at the cemetery was a specialty of Sheilas'.  In LA. the only trees of any size are growing in the graveyards. I and this Jewish flaming ginger would picnic in solitude with the solemnity of faux church.  Telling jokes laughing and hugging, kissing and playfully teasing each other among the truly polite and quiet people of LA. was the most fun anyone could have at that stage in life.
    One weekend we drove to San Francisco for dinner in Chinatown. We stayed in some motel on the coast north of Santa Barbara.  The whole trip was such an adventure. The Monterrey Peninsula and Carmel at the beach is such a memory still. We were feeding the seagulls by tossing bread skyward just yesterday. 
    Watching Sheila gather lunch at the delicatessen was truly an educational show in itself. Traveling through Big Sur with her brought a new awareness and a love for the State flower which is the purple Iris. I admired her frequently that Spring. Every moment with Sheila was special. The warmth of her hugs in the cold sea breeze were truly comforting. If only I could have married her.  Alas, that was too much to consider.  Just being friends with such a lady was as much to bear who was too young to understand that this was something good and positive I should hold on to.
    Nothing lasts forever. Marrying her was fraught with danger. I was still fragile and hurting from his earlier experiences with rejection by women. I had gotten used to being a castoff and was expecting the same since she was already a divorcee'. Was not Bobby Kennedy a friend of her family who had taken supper with them hours before he was shot at that hotel?   Danger lurks at every step on the Path. All I could see were the death spirals taking place around me. My hair was getting longer and was taking me through the winds of change.   Sure enough, there came the moment when nothing felt right anymore. I flew home in shame.  I wrote letters and made phone calls until Mark told him the news. She went to Seattle to marry a lawyer and have children. Exemplary children, I am sure.  Those great creaking doors of my heart had slammed shut never to open again.  At least not in the same way.

posted by Jefferson at 9:47 PM
 
       I don't remember everything about this incident.  I came upon a crowd in a field in a nearby town of Tepic. I just don't understand rapid Spanish that well. I had to find an English speaker to find out what was going on.  Tepic was a strange town anyway. I also needed to find shelter.  This was it for the night.   People were all over the place.  The cars lined the roadway.  The fields were being trampled by the crowds.  Slowly I found out what was going on. They told me there was a UFO here the night past.  These were my skeptical days and I needed to see it for myself.  I started into the field and came to a circular place where the grass was down and laying in the same direction.
       Showing up late to a sighting is like showing up late for dinner. You are resigned to the leftovers for the most part. There were many  times where I thought I saw UFO's. Hawaii and UNO I had mysterious sightings.   The Mobile Bay incident which remains as one of the most prominent records of sober citizens.
    As I was returning through Mexico from Panama, I came across a terrible accident one bright morning.  Incredibly, the engine was torn out and lying beside the road and still smoking. Another hundred yards up ahead in the opposite lanes, I saw the carnage. Three dead and no survivors.  I was on the greyhound going to Puerto Escondido when we passed another gruesome scene.  The driver made the sign of death to the opposing drivers by lifting 3 fingers and making the slash sign across his throat.  This is a daily occurrence in Mexico.
     I had a brand new Raleigh 10 speed.    I rode to the University of New Orleans for my classe. many times this was at night.... late at night to study.  It was a risky business since a bicycle is easy to stop provided you know how.  You simply throw a spear through the spokes and it comes to a terrible halt. It never happened to me since I was too smart for the hoodlums.  I'd always kept an eye to the sky during these travels.                            Mysterious lights in the sky were commonplace in New Orleans.   Latitude and Longitude cross right in New Orleans. The exact opposite on the planet is Lhasa Tibet.   Kinda makes you globally aware when you notice this on the globe.
     There are just too many sightings to say they are weather balloons or swamp gas. I was much younger when those folks along Mobile Bay: Pascagula to be more exact, had that incident happen before them and to them.  There must be an answer that makes sense.  What the answer is I do not know.  Too many people believe they saw something strange and different.  I count myself one of those people. There is nothing to fear.
     I still sleep on the floor on an air mattress. My ear is about six inches from the concrete which transfers sounds from underground.   During my naps I could hear the sliding as the earth shifted.  This was not a small shift but a continuous movement that undulated like water.
I could hear rocks scraping over sand with that telltale squeal.  This went on for sometime. The distance these sounds travel is great. This movement relieves the strain and disarms earthquakes. It is a good thing because the settlement of the ground prevents those super jolts that California is famous for. When I don't hear this sliding, I figure there will be a building of tension and the likelihood of small earthquakes in Southern California or Mexico. So far, this technique of putting the 'ear to the ground' has been consistent with prediction of earthquake activity. 
     Hanging a very sensitive microphone down a dry water well could detect underground movements of rock crashing into one another.  Sound is an overlooked tool to use to detect underground movements.  You would think those guys would have more insight into earthquake predictions.  Please insist on an early warning system.
   Mexico is the land of contradictions. Looking at all the new SUVs and Cadillacs you would think this border town is thriving.   I realize just how many benefit from the smuggling of narcotics to the US.   Many of these vehicles are bought by the cartels as some sort of payoff for keeping quiet about the movement of narcotics northward.  Everyone knows about this. Few talk.
         One year, I decided to drive down the entire length of the Baja Peninsula.  I started out one morning just before dawn, trying to accomplish as much as I could before the heat of the day set in.  I was looking at the slate grey rocks when I saw movement. It was a rare moment when you see something unique. This animal was big and the exact color of the rocks that surrounded him. He had that long droopy mustache of a lynx. This was a Baja Lynx which is considerably bigger than the northern lynx of Canada. He loped along easily. I slowed down as much as I could so as not to startle him. He passed along the rocks and across the road as easy as you please.  He got to a little rise and glanced back. When he saw me looking he turned and flipped his tail at me in a show of defiance and the freedom of the wilderness we were both in.   His departure was in one great leap back into the shadows. Sombra a Sombra
   Tijuana has many buses for cheap rides . I was riding a green converted school bus driven by a very happy overweight Mexican.  He pulled up to a street taco stand and picked up his order of two burritos and a large coffee. H started noshing on the burrito and driving one handed. He had to make a gradual turn.  There was a taxi making a run for the exit beside him.  The collision was a long scraping sound right below my window.  He slammed on the brakes throwing me into the rail right on my larynx again and scraping my leg against some exposed wire and nearly breaking my clavicle. He immediately returned my 10 pesos and gestured to another bus. All I could say was 'lo siento' as I ran to make the other bus.  Then I noticed the blood on my leg. For a scratch to bleed it must be deep enough to damage a vessel.  There I stood waiting for my job interview bleeding like a stuck pig trying to make sense of the absurdity of this scene.  There is danger at every step on the path.
        I decided to simply apply like any good Mexican and look for a job in the USA. I went to Denny's and managed an application. He said he'd call me if a dishwasher job opened up. I really doubted his sincerity. He only seems to hire brown people. A white guy in the kitchen will be an adjustment for everyone. Denny's serves the local police, so I'd fit right in. Still waiting...
      What a strange year for me here in TJ.  The little black box continues to be the greatest drain on my financial well being.  I got involved with the World Bank online.  Don't ever do that. They will take all your money and give you nothing in return similar to other internet scams only this is much more professional with the nicest people stealing your money. I ask you how much does it cost to open an online account?  Surely not 25 K right? This is how much they want for this kind of  'banking service'.  I am exhausted with these scams.
       Continuing on with Svetlana who is a friendly, skilled banker at the World Bank in Minsk.  She has been making plans to come see me.  This is the fifth time she has let me down.  I wonder if this will ever work out.  However, the bank wants her to complete this account acquisition then moving the account to the USA in Washington D.C. so it might just work out fine. So many criminals online trying to get me to reveal my account #.  I always tell them a wrong number. LOL
       I've asked for my money back but my pleas fall on deaf ears.  I've contacted many police departments about this scam and nobody seems to care. Interpol is my last hope.  For once I'd love to work with a bank that was not full of criminals.  I managed to get the police interested in the World Bank and clean up the trouble but it grows a new head like the hydra of old.. Big money attracts big criminals...


posted by Jefferson at 9:31 PM
~ Saturday, July 12, 2025
 
    Thinking back on life's changing situations, one of the most enduring for me is Esplanade Avenue in New Orleans at the edge of the twelve block square that is the Vieux Carre'. This double wide street is dripping in history.       
    Originating at the very edge of the French Quarter and having its roots at the Mississippi River, there is the slave selling block that is still visible at the old government building.   It was the very first place I came with my struggling family to try to make a life in the snarly town of yesteryear.
     One hot and sultry night, I was lying awake listening intently to a furious argument taking place nearby. I lifted up on my side to gather what was transpiring. Suddenly, I heard the report of a small caliber gun, possibly a midnight special as the .38 revolver was called in those days.  Three distinct shots then silence, is all I remember.  Dawn was breaking. Soon, I was off to school at William O. Rogers only to find out later that a mid level drug dealer had been shot dead. Welcome to New Orleans.
      Octavia was a friend of mine who used to play with me in the afternoons under the cool of the oaks.  Octavia and I would play/act to modify reality in sort of a dance with death. Soon enough, my Mother called me in to have some supper. The black and white of New Orleans was beginning to be understood.
       My mother took me one morning, to see the historic Ursaline Convent nearby. I felt the calm coming from the Sisters living at the Sanctuary of God. The concrete walls, embedded with algae and moss, spoke volumes of the timelessness of New Orleans which is the home of the oldest Catholic Church in North America and still is called a Parish. All of Louisana is divided into Parishes, for that matter.
        St Louis Cathedral is not many blocks away. The Garden behind this wonder has the most serene scene in all the world. Jesus is standing there with open arms. Hurricane Betsy blew through town. Many limbs fell into this garden. A great limb fell close to Jesus knocking off a tiny pinky. The rest of him was untouched. Such is the mercy of God.
      One day, at Capdau Junior High a girl came running into my Social Studies class a little after 1 in the afternoon. She was visibly shaken and breathless, as she announced the President has been shot in Dallas. At first, there was stunned silence. We began to speculate what this means...... war with the Soviet Union? Who did this deed?  For years, the mystery unfolded in New Orleans with the D.A. Jim Garrison investigation leading to the Lee Harvey Oswald contacts in the Big Easy. My brother was in the Civil Air Patrol with some of those players like David Ferry. This horrible reality was striking close to home.                  
     What you can and can't prove is how our justice system works. It failed with John Kennedy.  Jack Ruby did not shoot Oswald because he killed Kennedy.  Oswald was the only one who could link the killing to a plot hatched in New Orleans. Ruby was a big player in the strip club scene with many clubs pulling in the South..   Tony Robino who had Guys and Dolls and the first Whiskey a Go Go in the South was an associate of Jack Ruby. How close we never knew. All these clubs were exhibiting women.
        Oswald most definitely killed officer Tippet. The bullets that killed Kennedy were traced to the Mauser in the Book Depository with Oswald's prints on it.  End of story, legally speaking. 
     That is where the investigation grows cold and the speculative world takes over.  Garrison was onto something linking it to New Orleans.  It was surrounding the businessman called Clay Shaw.  A gay party boy who socialized with Oswald and David Ferry in his nightly forays in the French Quarter.

       Esplanade Ave was home to John McDonough Senior High near Broadway which is the route that takes the name of Highway 90 bisecting the city. Eventually,  it turns into Airline highway which leads to the airport and the fabled Hwy 61. This is only hwy out of New Orleans going north. 
     On the corner of Broadway and Esplanade stands a  K&B drugstore popular with all the beehived girls for some reason.  Malcolm Rabeneck or better known as Dr. John was a classmate of mine whom I never met. 
    All of my friends in the folk group also went to Big John McDonough. At that time there were two types of students. The Frats and the Cats. The frats were upscale. The cats were the greasers who wore the turned up collar, as if cold.  In this category were the female charmers who had the beehive hairdo.    I was somewhere in the middle of this mess.   I could be classed as a Beat with nowhere to go looking for classlessness.                     Everyday at lunch, the boys and girls in the folk group would meet and buy freshly made po boy sandwiches and sometimes a coke to wash down the crustiness of the French bread. Even a moon pie was not unheard of. 
        I was visiting Frank and Ellen on their return from their Haight Ashbury expedition. They had an apt. upstairs with a record player.  Roger would come over with a load of records to play. One day,  he brought the latest Rolling Stones records. These are hard to find and the tunes are classic. Not many know of these tunes.  Roger was learning them so he could play them in his budding rock group.         
       Although a superb musician, he was busted for meth on the West Coast and was on probation. You find out all these things long after the fact when things return to normal.  I played with Roger a few times but his music was far more advanced than mine.  It got to be a teaching session which neither of us enjoyed. I was off to Nowhere Soon. I had been refinishing a blues guitar even painting it red white a blue.  On the back, was a figure eight pattern originating from a George Washington figure culminating in the stars. This spoke volumes to my way of thinking.  I patterned my way of life in this figure 8. When you really thing about it, marriage tends to follow this rule of eights figure.
     Esplanade also held the Hare' Krsna Temple that fed the poor with sweets and vegetarianism.  It was a few blocks away but was a significant find for wandering souls. The Temple Room is always a Parkay floor or black and white giant slabs of marble. It was built to last out of the native woods of cypress and hardwoods of Lousiana. The joinery was excellent. You can only spend a few hours or days there before you get restless and move on.  It is interesting for the first few times but living with the devotees you must adopt all the encumbrances and dress. This old philosophy of India seems to be based on superstition.   Living in the past does not get you to the future.
     In New Orleans, they celebrate McDonough Day with fanfare and pomp. He is the great benefactor of the schools in this city. On such an occasion I chanced to be in City Hall. I was just looking around. Two men approached me.  It was Mayor Duplantier and the Chief of Police with those bars on the sleeve who tried to recruit me for the Police Academy.   I almost took them seriously and said I would consider it when he graduated. I already knew the lifespan of cops....short.
     What a day of flowers and bright sunlight plus a day off from schooling. Not wanting to commit to a career that would have surely shortened my life I smiled and walked on, after shaking their hands, thanking them for the offer. Complaining about the way it is did nothing but make you feel ungrateful. It was a strange time.
      Distinctly aware of the Vietnam War raging, we knew we were up for the draft soon.  This was the reality on Esplanade Avenue. Many went few came back.    Our Grandmother whom we called Mamare because of the French/German/Cajun heritage had a duplex on South Claiborne Ave. We would go over and pick the canning pears that Ercie would boil down into a thick syrup. We would spend all day canning pears that propelled us through those long wintery days. Only on Sunday would my Mother retrieve a quart jar of pear preserves to brighten a dull Sunday morning.
     We also had a Great Grandmother we called Fat Mamare who held these family gatherings we would attend.  Many of the distant relatives would show up mostly for the free feed the ladies would prepare. This was a well known family near one of the oldest supermarkets in town called the Circle Market still going strong. It is hard to remember the exact locations of these landmarks. 
      Spumoni Ice Cream was what I was after.  Everytime I go back, I buy a Mufalotta Sandwich and Spumoni ice cream in remembrance of my parents. The joys of New Orleans were fleeting moments of pleasure.
       Mardi Gras was always interesting.  After nightfall, the serious drinkers take over Bourbon St.  The cops would drive down the street answering a call with both doors open braced with a leg.  The people too slow to react were summarily thumped with the door which was a clear sign to make way for the emergency vehicle.   Many times we would come across women on balconys displaying their boobs to the crowd of onlookers below. The sea of blue eyes was startling to this young man of the 60's. Guys would hurl strings of beads to the women.      
      Another time I saw a male mount a bent over female and dry hump her in an attempt to gain the crowds approval.  My dad would hoist me up on a street light in order to see the crowds and parades that continually pass by on Canal St. 
     The memories of being on the balcony that gave me a view of the many fights that would break out.  A huge ring around the fighters would open up.  This birds eye view was interesting until the cops showed up with billy clubs.  Opening a few heads brought forth streams of blood and a quick trip to the paddy wagon parked close by. 
 As the night wore on, the street filled with litter that now became a game to kick through.   Such is the night life of Mardi Gras in the City that Care Forgot.
    George McGovern lll aka Trip was another one of those guys fresh from the Viet Nam war. He is the nephew of the Senator in North Dakota.  He was driving an APC when it was hit with a rocket propelled grenade.  They put a metal plate in his head and was discharged to live out his earthly days visiting New Orleans.          
      There is a huge VA complex in the City.  He became a movement guy advocating for peace as many young did in that era.    His story I recorded in the NOLA  Express.   I was still in school and working on the side at restaurants in the French Quarter.
    I also had a job writing for a music rag called In Your Ear. I moved into an apartment right at the edge of the French Quarter. I had a lot going on then. I was rebuilding an electric guitar that was a classic with the rosewood fret board worn down in all the right places for a blues player like me.  I was listening to the new album by CCR.   I painted this guitar in the color of the flag by adding the blues and reds while the lacquer was setting.  By using a stylus one is able to make swirls and symbols that make the artist very happy. The blue body held images of the Founding Father staring into the heavens seeking guidance from God. The neck was painted a thin red moving into a semi-white for the head. She was beautiful. I planned a hammered silver pick guard and Humbucken pickups.  Underneath the volume knobs were going to be gold stars. Suddenly, things changed. The war ended. I was forced to move back to Jasmine St. with the folks. The guitar sat in the closet in a gunny sack for a long time. I finally left for the West Coast.  Leaving that part of me in the dusty corners of my mind.
        I was a journaIist.  The NOLA Express was an up and coming street rag that I wrote for.  The editors enjoyed my creativity and published everything I came up with.   I would interview visitors to the City.   Fritzhugh was a veteran of Viet Nam that I sat down with and recorded his story.  He was also with the IRA in Ireland.  He knew Bernadette Devlin personally.  He had been seriously wounded in Viet Nam and barely walked with the help of leg braces.  He is serving a life sentence in Leavenworth for arms smuggling to northern Ireland.  He traveled with his entourage of misfits and unlucky people.  
      I wrote many tunes while living on Esplanade. None of them survived.   I recalled many of them but only partial memories remained that only hint at the content of these special tunes written in moments of passion and reflection. I gave up the lifestyle and the music industry.
         The ASCAP boys were hunting for new talent. These are mafioso types who have little respect for musicians and their dedication to the art form. I always felt I was just one step ahead of these people. If you sign, you're done. You will never be successful without their permission. For each quarter dropped in a jukebox a percentage goes to these guys.
       So what is success?  Surely not money. Surely not adoration. Success is measured by how many people you made happy with music.  The most important is you. Make yourself happy first.  I always had my harmonica in my pocket.  I always blew an A harp.  This key does not take your breath away.  In other words it is the easier key to use.   Attainment was the goal.  Liberation was found on the other side.
  One night, I was at Jackson Square which is close to the river and the train tracks that were the only route north to Chicago during the Civil War.  Many a freed slave escaped the oppressive South by riding the rails.  I tried that one year but gave up because it was so hard and uncomfortable on the body. 
        So there I was, standing at the old war memorial arch when this black man walks by me with no shoes and raggedy clothes. It is late and cold for this is winter in the South. I say to him where are your shoes?  He replied, 'I don't gots none.'  He then tells me his story of leaving Mississippi that night because of troubles with white folk. I sized him up. I just bought a used pair of boots that were too big for me. I immediately took them off and handed them to him. He put them on . It was a perfect fit. His eyes lit up . Now he could cake walk into town and find his fortune with new boots.  I felt so good and happily walked home barefoot.
  I was writing for the NOLA Express with some of the most innovative writers of the time.  There was so much happening in the quarter then.   Kumi Maitriya was pioneering morning glory seeds as a natural form of LSD. 
    One day I walked into the newspaper headquarters right there on Bourbon St. a few blocks away from the strip clubs and the constant crowds.
    Jim was one of the editors of the paper. He had a family with two small children. He was barefoot most of the time.  He got busted for LSD.   I went to his trial as he tried to get the judge to agree to allow LSD as a sacrament for the OEA people who followed Kumi Maitriya.   He went to prison for a long time as the judge and jury were having none of it. That decision condemned many people to a hard life of running and hiding from the police.  I left New Orleans shortly after that. Nothing to see here.... move along.

      Elysian Fields Ave terminated at Lake Pontchartrain.  UNO was located at the old training field which was a landing strip in those early days. The best thing on campus was the brand new, huge library called the Huey P. Long. I moved to an apt on Esplanade which faced a small overgrown garden.  That is where Frank and Ellen lived in one of those high ceiling apartments nearby.   Funny how you want to travel down the same road as your friends.  It was charming though.   I had plans to be a writer-musician-artist all rolled in one since that was the only thing happening.  This was put on hold as the harsh reality of supporting yourself until you became prominent overtook me.   The only work in the city was being a waiter at one of the many restaurants in the Quarter.  I chose Vaucressons' Creole Restaurant. You work for tips and a hot supper made by some of the finest creole cooks ever discovered. 
     Alice May Victor was singing 'Precious Lord' the night l met her at the upright piano there.  A Gospel singer of poor origin she sang with such conviction. This is where I  met Shelia one Christmas Eve.  Shelia was a New York model who made a lot of money being redheaded and Jewish.  Suddenly they were alone in his small apt with tie dye sheets for wall coverings. I made plans to travel to LA in the spring and stay through summer just to see her again. Her love was so warm. Her eyes were a swarthy dark which contrasted with her red hair. Red hair is a genetic sign of being well bred. Her breasts were full and firm. Her body reminded me of a Grecian Urn so perfect and enchanting as we explored each other that night. She was perfect in every way and available.           
       The next morning I escorted her to Airline highway where her brother Mark awaited her arrival.  She gave me some personal items.  I gave her some of my finest memories ever. I knew I'd be travelling to LA to see this fabulous woman again.  She gave me a rabbit fur hat that I wore for a long time.  
       One of the opportunities for musical success was when I played with Hank Halley and the Comets playing electric Delta Blues in a three piece combo. Some could play better like The Yellowed Pages who were able to command gigs around the city. Quint went on to develop the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival from his position as lead singer for this group. He also lived on Esplanade.  I was writing for the NOLA Express and In Your Ear music rag for the Warehouse for free concert tickets. The Warehouse brought live rock and roll to the New Orleans nightlife.                               Steppenwolf and Elton John were part of the many groups that I reviewed in these papers. I always got a spot in front of the stage so I could write under the stage lights. You write what you see.
   I was writing for the NOLA Express as well as In Your Ear publication which was a musical review for A Warehouse.  I was writing about what I knew.  The music of New Orleans was the life blood of the Crescent City. The office was in a courtyard on Bourbon St. behind a wooden gate with a knothole at eye level. 
     I found a poster of some old boy.  I mounted the poster with his eye lining up perfectly. It was a spy hole to see who was knocking at this establishment. We were right next door to a Haitian voodoo shop which included the ceremony of relieving chickens of their heads. The blood was collected for further rituals involving all sorts of nefarious beliefs.  To each his own was our philosophy.
     I finally had the right apt. on Esplanade. It had a small garden. I could hear the foghorns on the river at night. I was living the life listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival immersed in my school and work at the paper. Life was good at that moment.  The Vietnam War was winding down and it seemed I had escaped the worst of those times. Again, things were about to change for me and not in a good way.
     One night in the rowdy French Quarter I met another girl.  Her name is Crystal. This classic blond wanted to be with me badly. Ricky and I had found an apartment on Beinville close to work on one of the side streets in the Quarter. We invited Crystal to live with us. She made the best macaroni and cheese tuna casseroles ever. She would disappear into the night to table top dance for the Turkish seaman who frequented the port of New Orleans. This was the golden age of strippers on Bourbon St.
          She was making the best of her talent in the only way she knew. It was never enough. She used to hang with the Blues Image in Miami.  She had been on a mission to find the Great Golden One. She found and lost him. The very last time I saw Crystal was in Austin Texas on my way to hook up with Shelia again. My heart was now with this red head.   Cyrstal looked OK but I could tell she is now in with a rough bunch who would use her and throw her to the wolves.  I said goodbye a little confused by all of this.
     I had to focus on California now. The trip was long and difficult. I finally got to Arizona and caught a ride in a souped up van. We discussed our options for crossing the desert. We spent the day resting and preparing for the night. The desert heats up to way over 100 degrees during the day so travelling by starlight made sense. This ragtag bunch of hippie misfits managed to cross the desert without so much as a piss stop. We were proud of our accomplishment.
    The slave exchange was a building at the very foot of Esplanade near the Great River. Slaves were bought and sold for the upriver plantations. The selling block is still there and causes shivers to run down the spine. The suffering and separation still haunt the spot. Glad those days have passed.
      New Jerusalem was a bar near the French Market where Gb played his music.
     Sometimes Anne would come to see me and listen to my songs. Anne was the love of my life. Things change and people continue to be people. There never will be another like Anne. That soft, natural beauty of Southern gals will always haunt the Golden One. 
       Saturday is the Flea Market in the parking lot of the French Market where farmers brought their produce for decades. Neffer is signing up customers for sandals which will be made during their stay in New Orleans.  Even now, he is carrying his kit for the measurements. You can be assured of a perfect fit at a negotiable price.
       Gb used to buy dried figs packed in that Greek style of passing a supple stick though them and bending them into a circle. The open air market is filled with the foods of the world and the smells of New Orleans.  
   When you think about it, New Orleans is one of the busiest ports in the nation next to New York. It gets the best of the best the world has to offer. Many times I would find myself at the Riverwalk watching the ships come in.  A Chinese freighter caught fire after hitting a fuel barge. Things got out of hand quickly. The ship drifted into the bridge supports threatening a lifeline to the City.   I witnessed many Chinese jumping for their lives from the fantail of the ship. Some didn't make it.
     Esplanade held many bars like Ruby Tuesday, Your Fathers Moustache, Port O' Call and the seedier types of drinking establishments for the blacks. This is where we found Babe Stovall one night playing his Blues we so admired. He was just back from Newport, California which is where he would go via freight train to play his music for the biker crowd there.  He showed us a few things on the guitar which Frank picked up quickly.  Joe actually took us there since we were under age at that time. A father's devotion to his son is extraordinary.

     We had other musician friends by now living on Esplanade.  Roger was an excellent guitarist but got in trouble with drugs on the West Coast. He and his buddies got addicted to crank which means losing your teeth
 before you are 40. Nonetheless, he introduced us to the Rolling Stones and others like John Mayhall and Eric Clapton.
      Shakey was another drug addict not long for this world.  He had the shakes and the only cure was another fix of heroin.  He carried his works in a tiny box psychedelically decorated.  There was a picture of the Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club of which he was a lifetime member. I did not hang much with these guys since I was Mr Clean to them. Too many scams ruled the lives of these drug addicted musicians. New Orleans is full of them.
     One night when I was working for the NOLA Express I met Fritz.  Fritzhugh was another VNW vet who had been severely wounded, crippling him. He walks with braces. Gb did an interview of him and found out about his association with IRA and Bernadette Devlin. As he recorded his words he knew instantly this guy was a killer of innocent people. 
       BNot long after that we heard Caroline Kennedy was almost killed by a bomb while she was in the United Kingdom. These coincidences were confounding. I heard Fritz was arrested for interstate transport of weapons serving life in Leavenworth.  
   Then it was Sunday. The free music was happening on the levee of the Mississippi at Audubon Park. Bands would meet and have free concerts until the police came to shut it down. A man who goes by the name of Crazy Horse organized these weekend festivals. After his violent arrest we decided it was all too much for New Orleans. Festivals for people became a hailing for us to gather spontaneously under the Ecological Flag. We planned for other great gatherings to be held at UNO.
       One day, the Further Bus rolled in with Wavy Gravy leading the famous troupe. Crystal traveled to these sessions in City Park trying to refocus the ultimate energy for the good of mankind, cosmologically speaking  When recurring thoughts of saving the environment collided with reality of life on earth. Something had to give. Peace freaks we were then and peace freaks at heart now.         Even so, we had little control over what transpired. One woman held up a sign saying 'no more oil spills.    This was the early 70's. The Further bus showed up one Sunday in City Park at one of these rally's. There he was. Wavy Gravy himself dancing in a jesters hat with the tiny bell at its peak. These times were absolutely no fun at all in spite of what you were told.
       Another graduate of Big John McDonough was Carl who was a friend of Gb until the big fight in Audubon Park. Carl would use his BSA to go across Lake Pontchartrain to the Benedictine Abbey with Gb on the back. Those times were most memorable. He had many friends at the Abbey who were Catholic monks from the Notre Dame Seminary in uptown New Orleans. He had been the rare councilor at the K.C, Youth Camp that the Benedictine Monks ran. He was invited to teach swimming to the young campers.  How this all happened is another amazing story for another time.
           Gb met George McGovern III who had a plate installed in his head. He went by the moniker of Trip which somehow seemed appropriate.  This is a wounded veteran now free to travel around getting involved with people who want to change the way it is and was.
         There are so many others who I played music with.back in those days. Alan was a bass player extraordinaire' and also a graduate of UNO. His hobby included jumping out of perfectly good airplanes to land in the abundant mushroom fields of the countryside.  He used me in a video along with the Eisenstadt girl who was simply too beautiful for words. Hot pants were all the rage. It was tough being around such beautiful untouchable women. All I got was extremely uncomfortable with too much of nothing. Alan handed Gb a script to read which he did without a thought to consequences. It was used in many exposes' in New Orleans.  At this point, Gb had three or four music projects underway.  The first group was named King Cotton which is the name of a brand of sausages. The second one was the Jefferson Starfish which is a parody band, and Jefferson Blues Band as well as appearing alone many times at the Hovel which was a showcase for talent Friday night at the Flambeau Room in the Student Union of UNO.
    Gb auditioned for the Loyola School of Music anticipating success. Bach's Minuet is simple, He did not have enough good luck to be accepted for a scholarship. Skill was there but the depth of music was not yet. He was getting exhausted again trying to do too much with too little.  Something finally broke in him.  These days, he was living on Jasmine St in Gentilly with his parents. Listening to Led Zep and other powerful groups all in the name of journalism. He heard that Sea Saint Studios was opening soon just few blocks away. Paul McCartney had invested in the music scene in New Orleans. Gb visited the studios once but never was invited to make a fancy record.  It takes big money to make a record. He had but little. He designed many a record depicting a lady of the evening on a day sofa calling it 'Shady Lady' which included many original songs and music. It never was enough.  His nervous system was in disrepair.

    It always puzzled Gb how Mac Rebennack (Dr. John) got the money to make records. Friends in low places he realized. Luck never touched Gb again after he rejected the Golden Spiral that was descending upon him for reasons he can't express.   His tooth hurt from the loud music which was distracting enough. Maybe it was the running lost in the halls of karma that made him disheveled or the idiotic questions he was asked at the last moment. 'How much do you know?' That is not a fair question. Puzzled and exasperated he got up to leave the stage and find his own way home. No help here. The New Orleans Pop Festival was not his best showing.

There was a group of sandal makers in the 1200 block of Royal St. This footwear had everything a man could want in a sandal. Using old tires for the tread base then building a toe strap and heel strap along with a stacked leather arch made these sandals something to brag about. Custom made and fitting perfectly these shoes were popular in the French Quarter for proper attire. Bill Powell was from England. Along with Ravi and Neffer they opened a sandal shop/bookstore at this location. For many years it functioned until the day came when Powell was deported in a move by the government to silence dissent. They said they found marijuana under his fingernail crossing from Mexico. OK sure... but Bill was too smart about borders. The girls loved him like no other and held a huge party at his departure. The shop fell to Ravi who converted it to a health food store unheard of in those days in New Orleans.
     Kumi Maitreya was the incarnation of Madame Blavatsky who appeared in New Orleans to lead the way through life's darkness. We were all taken in by her teachings simply because LSD in morning glory seeds became the sacrament of this Bodhisattva movement. A Bodhi Sattva postpones his own enlightenment until everyone is offered liberation.  This is an impossible task and a good excuse to get high.
 O E A



   All of this transpired rapidly in the heyday of desires.  The boutiques and clothing shops located in the French Quarter were such an attraction for the tragically hip and restless.  Gb was intent on forming a guild of craftsmen that specializes in building things of ultimate utility like guitars and violins. sandals and moccasins for the unshod. Bead stringers, lamp makers and beer craftsmen were all welcome to join. No one came forward.  Soon enough, those days passed by. The harsh reality of New Orleans had a death grip on his soul. He soon left again for the open roads of summer.
In a sudden change in heart he abandoned New Orleans simply to get away from the grinding poverty that was following him that and the HoJo sniper. The music was nice but did not feed the body.  One Spring he traveled to a family reunion in 1988.   It was the first time he had been home in years. Things had changed since his younger days. Cafe Du Monde had expanded to the Riverfront Shopping Center. New Orleans derived music was playing over the muzak system that had real fidelity to it. The banquet in honor of our parents was paid for by his older brother. This would be the last of the events in New Orleans because of changing circumstances and obligations in other realms.

On every occasion upon or returning to the Big Easy he would ask to be let off at Jackson Square which figured heavily in his life. Not only was it an artistic haven where only the very best would produce portraiture of emergent quality. The haunting memories, both shared and private, that happened in this amazing environ are truly remarkable. He always seemed to travel with two black cases, sometimes with a guitar over his shoulder. Even this instrument was handmade in Mexico just for him with a waxed canvas case and a leather strap. He left it with Shelia in LA. It was promptly stolen and pawned for dope money by one of her many dealers.
One night after a session at work he met a shoeless black man who just arrived by freight train from the Mississippi countryside.  Gb was wearing side zip boots that were nearly worn through. He took them off and handed them to this distraught arrival. This was at the very Arch de Triomphe commemorating the War of 1812 and other wars near the Jackson Brewery. He  hobbled back to the apartment barefooted in a state of joy.
      On other occasions, Jackson Square was the scene of spontaneous festivities like the Maypole Festival. This is the earliest festival of free spirit in the world.  It is still honored in many cultures from the Druids on down to modern day communism. Or the popular music by the buskers which takes place today in the now cordoned off streets of the Vieux Carre. You can hear Tuba Skinny and Smokin' Time Jazz Club even today.
     After midnight many young people came to the Square to conclude their night on the town and gain some perspective. It is not mine to say what they had done with the evening.  Chris D. and his entourage of beautiful girls appeared there one spring night. Chris was one of the early presidents of the Ecology Club. This group initiated the now popular music festival that happens every year at the former Camp Leroy Johnson now called East Campus. This festival attracts nearly 500,000 people for name acts in the Spring coinciding with the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. Gb worked on both of these Festivals at one time or another.

  You finally come to an understanding about the bars in New Orleans.  This is were most groups get their start in the entertainment industry.  I walked into an uptown bar and sat at the bar nursing a beer and planning my next move.  In walks this guy with shoulder length hair sorta permed. He had the typical wife beater T shirt and pleated slacks. It was the Italian shoes that he was scraping the oyster shells off that let me know he was one of those wise guys who run New Orleans from the shadows. Somehow or other, I was sitting next to a guy who probably kills for the Marcello mafia that was New Orleans in the 60's. Unless you are in the know you won't see the bakery named Gambino.  Now Gambino is an New York crime family name from the thirties. They migrated to New Orleans along with Carlos Marcello from Sicily.  There are so many theories about the Kennedy assassination.  The one I know to be true is the Marcello story of Bobby Kennedy making it hard on the cosa nostra as Attorney General.  These wise guys have a lot of interest in keeping the Feds out of their business. It only took a phone call to organize a presidential assassination in public to tame the government.  Remember Bobby was killed the next year along with Martin. You can't say coincidence anymore.  This is the reason I hardly ever go to New Orleans anymore. The Big Easy makes me extremely nervous even to this day. Oswald did the shooting along with a bunch of other guys.  They never found the bullets that missed....Interesting...

     Louisiana State University of New Orleans aka the University of New Orleans was the only University available to me.  I had no scholarship or any genuine educational skills. It was all hard. It took all my time. Yet I found time to hear free lectures that set my course for life. I wandered into a afternoon lecture by an FBI agent who shared stories about what he did and who he captured. One of these stories was about this young Italian who associated with the Cosa Nostra of New Orleans.  This man had an unruly daughter.  The way this guy handled unruly behavior was to lock the child in a dog cage  for weeks on end without baths or proper nutrition. When the agent finally found her she was dehydrated and very tired of dog food.  She could not stand  upright for a long time.

    I was constantly fascinated by the various people who came to visit the French Quarter. One night I was sitting in the garden patio of a restaurant in the Vieux Carre' when a long haired traveler sits down at my table and pulls out a small leather sack. He then empties the sack into my hand. My eyes locked on to what I was now holding. A variety of precious stones now decorated my once barren hand consisting of emeralds from Afghanistan, fire opals from Australia and a variety of rubies from India.
These stones were easily worth many thousands of dollars.  He asked me to examine them which I was certainly glad to do and make a recommendation about where to sell them in New Orleans as if I knew.    I knew many silver smiths who would be interested in these stones. I said you must have an idea of how much these stones are worth, don't you?  He smiled a weak smile and said I can always go back and bring more here. I told him about the little guild of silversmiths and he said he would look for them the next day.  A man with wealth like that must know that robbery is always a possibility.  I am glad he sought me out.  People knew of me and how reliable I was. That never makes you rich though.

Fitzhugh was an Irishman who served inViet Nam. He came back all shot up with leg braces and a very bad attitude. He also knew first hand, Bernadette Devlin of the Irish Republican Army during those mean of the war between the Catholics and Protestants taking place in Northern Ireland.  I was writing for the NOLA Express and saw a good story in this guy so I arranged a few meetings to do a through interview.
Fritz as he liked to be called, was a man with soldier's blood coursing through his veins. He took a job casting those little lead soldiers that are meticulously painted by hand. These are sold in specialty hobby shops throughout the city.   Each well done piece could bring as much as $50 for just one tiny soldier of the Napoleonic wars.   Fritz had a whole army of these pieces.  After spending a few days in interview, I was drawing a clearer picture of the anger he was capable of as his talk was always about guns and smuggling to the IRA. I decided to cut my losses and abandon the story.  Later that year,  I heard he was busted for running guns across state lines and was doing a life sentence in Leavenworth. End of story for a killer like him. You meet all kinds in the Vieux Carre' of New Orleans. Next stop nowhere soon.

There was a bar on Decatur St called  New Jerusalem. Right across from the French Market on the corner where they hold flea markets on Sunday.  I'd haul my guitar there and play to anyone.  One night Anne was there when I walked in.  I asked her to listen to my songs and style.  I was in love with this beauty.  I pursued her for many years, never screwing up the courage to get frisky. One night I found her with another man.  It broke my heart to see her anymore.  Such is life for the poor on the wrong side of town.















posted by Jefferson at 10:43 PM
 
    There is a great Rainbow warrior by the name of Medicine Story. As you could tell from his name he told stories that actually healed the people who listened to his endless monologues. You somehow heard what you needed to hear in these magical discourses that actually healed your psyche. I sat and listened for hours beside the Buffalo River at the Rainbow Gathering in Arkansas 1976. He was sitting on a rock by the river when I passed by the crowd of listeners. I was caught up in this one sided conversation that made such good sense. This is the best of the best. Other notable warriors came to see Medicine Story for his consul. He always spoke in the third person. He never looked you in the eye. You got used to that scenario.
      Michael the Oglala Sioux, had come from the northern lands to be part of this nation dressed in his traditional of breechcloth and moccasins.    He sat down with me, listening as the flag of freedom unfurling above us in the muted sounds of Medicine Story.   His language is visible.   His language is circular.  He takes you on a journey and returns you to the starting point.  This is why it touches the heart.
      He is the most compassionate speaker I have ever heard except for the Dali Lama whose lectures on the compassionate Buddha are also remarkable.  Those lectures were cut short by an activist shouting slogans. Disheartening to say the least as tears lept from the young Tibetan girl who had traveled many miles to listen passionately. She was dressed in traditional Tibetan clothing of many colors.  I recorded every moment of his wonderful lecture to play on KUGS.  I was seated next to a Rimpoche dressed in traditional monk robes. You must understand these are married men given to the order.   Each in his own universe with some different aspect of Buddhism to impart. I digressed from Medicine Story.
       Medicine Story told about how to think about life. What one should strive for in our very short lifespan. Not all men can understand this very important point about life.   Basho the Japanese Zen Master understood this as clearly as the racing brook by his hut. The three persimmons illustrated the essence of life since it was caught in the natural light of the moment. Captured by his brushstrokes as it fell upon these three simple fruits waiting to be eaten by this hungry monk.  It was a rare treat after a winter of rice and dried peas. He was thrilled to be alive in the moment and share that instant in a small painting that is revered above all other paintings in Japanese art.   He set aside his own hunger to capture the essence of life in a simple water color.  What a noble Zen Master.
       Medicine Story was doing mind paintings that illustrated to each listener a solution to their distress. In these simple and therapeutic discourses, spoken in a tone that conveyed a truth seldom heard by humans, he captured the essence of the human condition. It was not a lecture. It was not a lesson to be learned or memorized but an illustration of the right way. The Dharma Path is the closest I can come to his vision quest he was able to impart to all listeners.
      There were no drugs involved. No herbs smoked. Nothing to disturb the psyche or jar the thinking. Only the subtle sounds of a father whispering to his child. Not so much as guidance but reassurance that whatever path you seem to be on, it will be OK until you come to the fork in the road when a definite decision needs to be made. This could be a stop and rest or continue on whether to the right or left.  You will soon find out if was a good decision or a decision that needs revision. Life is that simple.
posted by Jefferson at 10:21 PM
~ Wednesday, July 09, 2025
 
       California is the mecca for the young and spirited kind who thought the dream was definable. Sad to say, this illusion drove the great search of the 60's. There is no love to be found. Love is created between two or more beings. Well, maybe there is but that type of love is intangible. The Greeks called it Agape Love. It is said to be the highest, most selfless kind of love by the people who should know. That my friends, can be found in older Christian religions. It is rare now, but at least that's where I learned about this.      
        In India, this is known as the one drop of Shivas' mercy. One drop does not go very far and is reserved for special types that can do the most good for the betterment of all. It is so precious for humanity to get this mercy.  It is definitely worth the trouble.
    Funny how the collapse of the Soviet Empire coincided with the imprisonment of Hare' Krsna devotees in the Gulag of Russian oppression during the Reagan years. Could it be the divine hand of mercy intervened to free those devotees who had come to Russia to preach? Three Finnish devotees were captured and tortured during those times of change.   Surely, it was the group effort of all people who wanted to do the right thing. Jus' sayin'. What a coincidence and great relief for this to happen in 1989 during the Soviet collapse. God works in mysterious ways through many avenues.
     California is so infinitely charming with its wilderness areas.  You can have it all in California depending on where you gravitate to. Most want to see the Pacific Ocean first. After that, you might get interested in the mountains, the desert or even the hot springs.  Maybe the high plains chaparral or the Channel Islands might entice you.  The wondrous Imperial Valley might be your cup of tea. How about the vineyards of Sonoma or the many State Parks like Golden Gate Bridge State Park are so enchanting.  Many find the illusions of L.A. to be intriguing enough. California is the best place on earth and very crowded..
    I never saw the Beatles. I did see the Stones twice.  In Baton Rouge I was determined to get an interview. I prowled backstage hanging with the beautiful groupies These girls were perfect in every way except each and every one of them was on some type of drug.  The security was many layered and very intense and if you did not have a badge there was no way in. I did enjoy the concert's first act.    Chuck Berry complimented the frenzied Jagger performance. The second time I saw them was in Dallas during the hey day of the American tours on my way back to Shelia's loving embrace. I made that trip 5 times by thumb with never more than $50 bucks in my pocket. Those days on the road were rough. It consumed my youth and my art in life.
     Trapped in love is how it always has been.  I try to escape. I try to hide. I run as fast as I can.   At every turn, at every passing there is love waiting to capture me again with empty charms and come on's that beckon me into the shadows. If we go there we might never come back to innocence. Love is strange. When you don't have it, you miss it. When you have love it becomes too much of a burden to carry. So what is the best? To have or to have not? This my friend, is the only question that will never be answered in your lifetime.  Enjoy your life while you have it. It is the only thing you really have.
      Scouting was always interesting.  We had this family of two boys an overweight Dad and a very skinny, beautiful mom in our Troop 87.  One day we heard the mom had run off with one of our Brit scouts leaving the family in total disarray and confusion. The age difference was astounding between these two elopers. We never figured out the why and wherefores of this vanishing act. It was left to speculation as to where they got off to.  We all knew that David was well endowed so we figured she was on to bigger things. The bright lights and big cities of Europe sure have a way of attracting the young and sexually deprived.

posted by Jefferson at 10:06 PM
 
     I answered an ad in the LA Times to work with wild porpoises in Costa Rica. This was my first trip to Costa Rica. Jerry told me little about this project. He was ill prepared to receive anyone especially someone like me who does not put up with deception.  I had spent hard earned money on an adventure half baked by someone who was slightly more desperate.
Jerry had been in Puerto Jimenez for a few years on the lam from authorities.  Jerry had managed to build a huge raft out of balsa logs in the design of Thor Heyerdahl that I had studied in my youth.   It was now beached in complete shambles. I saw the potential. Why not re-float the thing on the full moon kedging her off the beach in a manner of traditional seamen?  Jerry agreed to the project. We would then anchor just off shore so that we could swim out and work with porpoises.
        Others came from all over to join in the re-floating project including an ER doctor from the Big Isle of Hawaii.  After a refit and purchase of half inch polyethylene anchor line we began to move her into position by digging a slipway just to make it easier.  The full moon was upon us and this project was soon afloat.  Jerry overlooked my suggestion to grab a mooring anchor that was washed up and abandoned nearby.  His anchoring plan was sacks of rocks and sand. I had to laugh at this foolhardiness but he would not listen to good advice.  We were now in position at the mouth of the estuary. He let go the sacks of rocks at each corner. He did so without enough scope to ensure success. The sand washed away and progressively the raft got loose. It was now dark. We all were tired and hungry and looking for a beer.
     That night, the wind came up and the tide. This vessel started moving seaward. She floated loose as a goose and ran with the wind and outgoing tide dragging her preposterous anchors with her. There is a tidal wall across the Gulfo Dulcie about three miles away. One of her lines snagged on a coral head which kept her from reaching the Pacific Ocean for which she was built for.
After a night of restless sleep, we spotted her in the early dawn patiently waiting for her crew to join her.
      Part of our plan was a 10' log canoe we bought for 10 bucks that needed fixing. She had cracks and fissures that needed filling. We learned from these fisherman about a technique they used to fill in cracks. This involved gasoline and styrofoam. You can find styro on the beaches all over the world. We had plenty of that. Gasoline could be bought at the one service station in  town. One needs to dissolve the styro in gasoline which turns it into a plastic like sludge. NOT ALL STYRO works but only the kind that does not have chemical additives. You find this out by trial and error.  We added an outrigger, stepped a mast and added a lateen sail to this tiny canoe.
     I volunteered to sail out to this stricken vessel.  I was to retrieve as much of the expensive anchor line as I could. I grabbed a gallon of water and a few pieces of fruit really not expecting to be gone that long. It turned into an ordeal which is normal for me. I arrived at the raft as the sun was setting. I knew what I was in for, a long night aboard this derelict. I hauled the canoe up on her awashed deck just to have it close by in case she should break up in the night.  I started gathering the anchor lines and hauling up the now empty sacks.  She was well snagged by the remaining line. I lit the little kerosene lantern that we stored on board. I hung it as high as I could reach. The tuna boats return to Golfito at this time of day. No sense in being run down. I slept in the canoe on the piles of anchor lines listening to the wind howl through the night. Morning came abruptly to a scene of the raft loosening her lashings with each swell.  It was time to go. The final anchor line was hauled in as much as possible. When everything was ready with the canoe pointing in the right direction, I cut her loose jumped in the canoe.  I said a few Hail Marys as this great blundering monstrosity made her way to another beaching somewhere on the coast of South America. We were hoping for Ecuador but it is more likely she foundered somewhere closer. Lessons given and never learned. Experience is a harsh teacher. Jerry was mournful but overcame this by remembering he was improving relations with the town folk who were losing patience with him and his antics. Getting that derelict off their beach was the best thing he ever did for Puerto Jimenez.
     Walking back along the coast of Golfo was truly an eye opening experience. The stingrays had hatched and were schooling in the shore break. The pelicans were reeling and plunging after bait as the sun climbed higher in this springtime of rebirth. Looking out over the Golfo Dulcie is a pleasurable experience. This is simply a protected estuary that serves as a birthing ground for many species. The whales and porpoises are just the air breathers.  Other saltwater creatures find the Dulcie to be sweet as well.
      There is a commune called Esmeralda somewhere near the mouth of the Gulfo Dulcie. We had been invited to visit and dive in those pristine waters.  There was a home built of palm fronds in traditional native fashion by the German owners. The blond woman had cystic fibrosis which causes the lungs to fill with mucus. The treatment is to pound on her back in an attempt to loosen the mucus so it can be spat out. This twice a day kind of activity was taking a toll on her. She was losing weight and her once beautiful features were diminished. This was the result of smoking in her early years that led to the exacerbation of CF.
       The diving was extraordinary.  There is nothing like seeing the startling beauty of sea life. There is no limit to growth of Parrot fish if unmolested. The one I saw was as big as a VW bus. There were sea turtles and barracuda. I now know why the Tiger Shark has that mottled skin. While he is prowling near the surface, it looks like wavelets making him blend into his surroundings. This bull of a shark some 18' came cruising by. It was time to explore different aspects of Costa Rica. You don't mess with bull sharks and a Tiger at that.
       One of the visitors to Puerto Jimenez was a Florida fisherman who was after barracuda.  We took him out one day on a fishing expedition. He hooked a massive barracuda and landed him with a struggle. That night we were invited to a dinner featuring barbecued barracuda steaks. Another recent transplant was an LA type who was trying to start a business of tourism using a giant antique dugout canoe. He had seen our little ten footer. He bought a huge dugout and turned it into a tour boat for the Gulf. This boat was completed with a canopy and room for two huge outboards to push this African Queen type rig around the edges of the Gulf.  It was a short lived affair but impressive use of the resources this guy offered.   Many come to the Gulf only to go away broke.
        The doctor from Hawaii wanted to go diving in the little bay near Esmerelda by himself. I said I would spot for him. Hours passed and I could not see him surfacing since he was simply snorkeling.  I became concerned as the sunset began to take hold of the sky. I went back to the compound and announced this fact to everyone.  I alarmed them enough for someone to go down to the bay and look for this guy.  As we arrived to see him calmly getting out of the water oblivious to the drama he created by not saying where he was going and for how long.  Grown children are hard to train.
posted by Jefferson at 9:58 PM

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