midwest of the ocean



~ 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
 
     I wa living on Roehls Hill a few miles outside of Olga.   I took a labor job on Blakely Island. This island is remote and attracts the rich from Seattle. The work was hard. It paid for my simple lifestyle.  I worked for Gordie. Some of the projects we built were the generating power plant from the only waterfall on the island. We built the generator house in the style of Iceland with huge timbers and a sod roof.  There was no time to relish the scene though, because there was always something to do involving shovels and cement. We built a building for the Pacific Lutheran University research station.  This too, kept to the rugged Icelandic theme. Lots of glass and stone was used to build the long hallways that led to classrooms. For many days, I was the chief mixer of cement.  The crew would order up cement to a specification which I increased or decreased the water content to make the slurry then add the ingredients of sand and cement. I sometimes adding other things such as lime to increase its cling to vertical faces. These wall faces were covered in chicken wire and tar paper. Hogging on the lofted cement made for an interesting afternoon. It takes a while before you can develop the skill and speed necessary to make this job pay.
     We would meet at Obstruction Pass for the boat over at 5 am going home at 5 pm so 12 hour days were the norm. During the winter months the area was home to sea lions and harbor seals that would quickly abandon their perch as soon as we neared the shore.  We would take turns running the boat.  We were given dark blue overalls to preserve our clothes. At the end of the season these uniforms were in shreds and covered with building materials.
       Our lunches were just a half hour. I always chose my place to lunch around Spencer Lake were I could watch fledgling eagles take trout. Those days were awesome for this gypsy. I had a special kinship with these great birds of prey.
        Mr.T was the potato farmer who cornered the market on potatoes, specifically Idaho potatoes.  Every potato you buy comes from his farms. Every potato served as fries in fast food joints comes from his farms.  Like I said, he cornered the market in potatoes and held it for ransom.  He decided to build his dream home on Blakely Island.  He would fly in on his private Learjet from Idaho which was blazing white like his potatoes. We got the job to build for him. You just can't say no to a billionaire no matter who he is. We suspected his ethics since he always tried to cheap out on us.
  Blakely is as beautiful as the San Juans get.  We tried to keep our projects harmonious with nature by using only materials that came from Blakely except the cement.  We completed an extension of Pacific Lutheran University that was as sophisticated as any University building you might see today. consisting of a huge auditorium lecture hall and multiple outdoor latrines.  There are never enough shitters in the world.. Always build the shitters first is good advice.
      Spencer Lake is marvelous.  We took our lunch there many times watching the bald eagles fish for trout in competition with the Ospreys.  These lunch breaks made everything seem alright.   We laid a waterline next to the runway that fed the new developments.  The first pass was with the ditchwitch then the crew jumped in to clean out all the glacial till from millions of years ago. We poured sand a foot deep to bed the PVC pipe.  The couplings made it easy to install.  We then covered the tube with more sand  filling in the trench with screened tailings. All of this amounted to many hours of labor paid for by the cost+ scheme of billing. The plus being us.
      We scored a contract to improve the power supply coming on the island from Orcas via underwater cable. I was part of the digging crew after the back hoe did the preliminary uncovering of this live cable. As we continued to dig one could sense the hum of electricity passing mere inches form the tip of the shovel. One accidental touch and you are toast. The plan was to splice into the cable to service that side of the island where the newer developments were.  In order to do this they must shut the power to the island for a few hours.  The cable itself was a big as a man's arm. It was covered in many layers of protection.   I did not get to see this operation as it is a closely held secret of the Power Company which originates on Orcas.  The days of the kerosene lights were quickly fading except for die hards like me.
   John the foreman told this story of the Vietnamese basket girl.  Vietnam vets always have the weirdest stories anyway, so we were all ears.  The soldiers would find their way to this whorehouse in Saigon. There they would be told to lie on the floor with a basket hanging over him. This basket had a hole in the bottom. The lights were turned down low with the soothing music playing.Then the young Vietnamese girl would be placed in the basket completely nude and situated over the hole. She was hoisted over the soldier than gently lowered onto the man's penis whereupon the helpers would rapidly spin the basket giving the man infinite pleasure. The basket girl was always busy with clients.
 Tegaras was the Potato King who flew in from Idaho on a solid white Lear jet.  He had conquered the potato market buying out all the farmers. He is the one who supplies the potatoes to all the burger outfits that rule the fast food industry.  His warehouses are huge as is his ego. We wound up actually working for him building his home.
         This was an ugly job since we had to uncover the cable humming with 24,000 volts about thick as a mans arm.  As the season started to wind down Gordie's wife decided to throw us a party. This woman is the absolute most beautiful woman in Washington State.  Too bad she was married to Gordon. She could have been someone.  Wait..... she is the best Maritime lawyer on the west coast.  She handles those huge collision suits that somehow happen in the Strait of Juan de Fuca that separates Canada from the USA.
     One of my friends told me of his adventures in South America. He flew down one year to buy a stack of Panama Hats and return to Washington State.  He sold them at the many fairs that are held in the summertime. He boarded the plane with the stack of hats.  They told him he had to buy a seat for the hats.  He had to mark up the price a bit to cover this additional expense. This is the life of a businessman importer. You always have to adjust to the market.
        I bought an old Rambler from a nun on Shaw Island. This car had bad brakes that you needed to pump to get anything at all.   Outside of Olga, I was living on Roels Hill which has a very steep access road.  I met Catherine who needed a place for a few days. She jumped for the chance to see the land.  As we were driving up this steep road the car stalled on the steepest part.  I told her to get out fast. She did as she was told and avoided a disaster. The brakes gave way the instant she cleared the door.  I was rolling back down this hill at breakneck speed in reverse. There was a turnout at the bottom of the ramp which saved me. I steered the jalopy backwards into this seldom needed ramp and came to a halt backwards.  The adventures on Orcas can be intense. I gave that car to one of my neighbors who parked it on Rosario Resort land.  He too, abandoned it. I was now back to no transportation. I managed to buy a VW bus of the Safari type. This van carried me through some difficult times until that thing finally broke down.  I could load my tools and do real work at various work sites for many seasons.  Many times, I had to crawl under this bus to start it by shorting out the starter motor.  You do this by holding a screw driver contacting both poles.
        I was at the campgrounds in Moran ogling the girls like any red blooded American boy does in his spare time. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing and left the thing in drive. When I touched the poles the thing lurched forward and almost rolled on top of me. I was certainly lucky that day escaping with bruised ribs as a reminder.   I gave that one away to a young couple from Seattle for $50 as a gift to them since they were planning to marry. He actually got it running and drove off smiling like a lunatic..
     One of my clients had a old Vega stored in his barn. He gave it to me for some of the work that I did for his grandparents.   Bartering is one way to survive on Orcas. That Vega was worth all the effort I put into it.   I drove it to Canada.I left it at Venables Farm after the transmission failed to shift,   It was not a hard project to fix but I decided to give it to Venebles Farm so they could turn the engine into a sawmill.   I was almost killed by the Maharaj Dutidar when his truck slid on snowy road as we were coming back one day. I was thrown into the padded dash that hit my trachea. It was a painful lesson as I could not breathe well for awhile.  I left soon after for the South Pacific to recover in the warmth of the sun.       
       Hawaii has no mercy for people like me so it was a struggle to eventually find a ship going south in April. I had to live at the Hare Krsna Temple because they had the essential phone number a skipper could call me for the interview.  Never bring up money when negotiating a position. Always indicate you are broke as a sway back mule but willing to stand the late shifts. Be willing to show some initiative by working right away to put things right. You need to show your skills as a sailor willing to be the maritime student. The skipper knows so much more than you. That is a given fact.

Get out the way
of old man Tucker
He's an old geezer
Just an old sucker

Get out the way
of old man Tucker
He's so old
He can't even **** her

      I built a gypsy varda or wagon intending to tour the Canadian Gulf Islands.  This was a horse drawn two wheeled cart that was more a dollhouse than anything else.  I put in a small wooden stove and cut windows and thermopane glass.  Using the campus library I found many books about gypsies.  My Mother comes from the Black Irish. Her maiden name is Price. You never really know the distant past.  It is always just a goodbye.  I had very little resources because of my hand so I bought sheets of styrofoam to line the interior and brighten up the space a little . I installed a bed and parked this thing at the garden for the rest of my stay on Orcas.  
      I finally gave it to Pat and Dorothy so the kids could have a seperate room to get away for awhile. I know how kids are.  I was one myself not too long ago. I had also constructed a small geodesic cabin on the land I was caretaking. It was another work in progress.  When it came time to leave I also gave it to Pat and Dorothy, my good friends from the Love Family.  It was a few thousand in lumber and parts but worth it to know it is probably still somewhere on Orcas waxed roof and all. The stuff of dreams.

posted by Jefferson at 9:36 PM
 
      John T. offered a job to me in Fayetteville, Arkansas.  I became a tree surgeon for a season which is nothing more than tree removals and trimming of obstructive branches. Nowhere did it say surgery is good for trees. John had a bucket truck. It had been retired from the power company in serviceable condition. The work was hard and cold with daily meetings at the restaurant for coffee. One day we got a job removing an ancient oak that was a threat to the small slave quarters cabin on a hill.   This was a monstrous project that needed planning.
    The key wedge was cut with a little effort. We tested the winds for these trees present a great sail that can change the direction of the fall. The back cut was made and slowly this great oak began to fall. With the creaking and groaning, the great limbs began hitting the ground throwing up a great deal of earth. We just stood there. Slack jawed at the sheer power exhibited by this huge tree in its last moment of life.
     Those first days were hard.   In the interim, brick cleaning was about the only work you could find. Paying 3 cents per brick it took most of the morning to clean enough bricks to buy lunch. Most guys headed for the liquor store or bar.   I simply went off to fix my painful hands and soothe my aching back. I broke my wrist playing soccer against the Argentinians at the University of Arkansas. There is no public medicine. I suffered in silence.
   I went to a few parties looking for someone to believe in. I only found distressed parents wanting me to try and influence their wayward son to stop smoking dope and growing their hair long.When you only have a kid for a few minutes one can only do so much in that direction.  It takes real commitment by the parent to change a child's path.   If change is possible then it is the child who determines his direction and not some influential stranger.  Join the scouts is the best advice.
    I was looking to escape from this bondage. Being around southerners has its drawbacks because if you don't like what is being said, you had better get the hell out. One guy started talking about having a truck with a transmission as loose as a 40 year old woman. These witticisms only made me cringe and stare out the window hoping for a rescue that never comes.             After a few months of this, I fell out of tree and wrecked my knee. I quit to go heal somewhere. I rented a basement apt. because it was cheap.  I was breaking up a rape in progress among other social issues too confusing to discuss.
   I drove up to Missouri to a town called Blue Eye. I met an artist building a statue of Huey P. Long, the great governor of Louisiana.   His material was copper that he forged and poured into molds for each section. He would then weld each piece. That was a lot of work for this one artist.  He then used the grinder to smooth out the rough surfaces. I asked how much he made doing this.  He said it was over my head.
   I met two sisters who were twins.  Really young and beautiful working girls wasting their lives as casino workers in the thriving business in the Ozarks. I spent many days scheming on seeing them between shifts and weekends. I borrowed one of the church member's sporty cars to go a courting these gals under the pretense of getting these two in our Church.  It was October and the first freeze was happening.  It was late at night and no one was out on the road. The Camaro hit a patch of black ice. The car was spinning round and round.  It came to a stop in the exact direction home. I knew then God was favoring me for some reason.  I could have been in a world of hurt. I returned the car and did not tell my friend of the incident nor did he ask about the leaves in strange places.
        I got an invitation to play at an open mike at bar favored by the upwardly mobile young. They put up the Ecology Flag behind the stage. This was very appropriate since I had devoted a great deal of energy to the ecological movement that was sweeping the nation in the early 70's. The songs were promptly drowned out by the rowdy crowd who were there to get drunk and find a bed partner. So many beautiful girls to admire.  None had the courage to meet the Golden One.   I formed Environmental Productions.  I promptly gave it away to others more positioned to take advantage of my intellect.
     Arkansas was very poor during the Clinton years of governorship..  Politics interested me but little since most of it appeared to be corrupt and hardly a reflection of the people. One day I spied a group of well dressed men entering an apartment house that we knew as a house of ill repute.  These guys were leaders in the community. They stayed a few hours getting high and having sex with desperate girls.

   This Environmental Production Company designed and organized large music festivals during those early years of outdoor music. Others were intent on capitalizing on the herd instinct by music lovers took advantage of this.  Rock and Roll was the driving force. The great engine that moved people to gather under one flag was rock.There were no boundaries for these festivals. I tried to travel to India to help manage the giant spiritual festivals that occur annually along the Yamuna River.   Many things were pulling at me.  One acquaintance suggested I become a wildlife officer and another wanted me to become a churchman.  All of these choices were unappealing so I settled for a girlfriend and church life.
        I joined a church since that was the only acceptable thing to do in the Bible belt. I dated Susan who is a pastors' daughter. After many days of fervent praying I had a vision of God. This occurred one night after attending a small meeting. His Face shown with pure light. He took one look and disappeared only to return. He stood still and gave his command. He lifted his arm and pointed to what I thought was the Northwest.  I began readying myself for the journey there with my broken hand.  I paid for the one way ticket to San Francisco.  I heard about the Rainbow Gathering being held on the Buffalo River and made my way there. After speaking with numerous people about my broken bone, I was advised to go west and find a doctor who could help me.  It was a beautiful thing to be involved. That Rainbow Gathering changed my life.
      I wound up staying in one of those giant houses that had been turned into apartments..  I lived above Tom.  Tom is a very devout Independent Baptist. He was chasing Chula since they were the same age. Chula was having none of it. Tom has brothers that are named Dick and Harry so the unfortunate moniker of Tom. Dick and Harry haunted him when they were going to school. If you've never been to a Baptist church you might want to go as a sinner since you will be converted and given the bad news that you have to work for your salvation.   There is nothing easy about being an Independent Baptist.
    On the night Brian the pastor took me to prayer . Suddenly I was seeing the three crosses on Calgary with the purple sky behind it all.  I had never had experiences like this.  I was truly astounded. This was only the beginning.   I really got into praying for the next few weeks. I asked for direction as to where I would find peace and satisfaction in life. An image gathered. It went away for a moment.  The image was of a human form. I could not see the face because it was covered by a bright light. It is said in the Bible that you cannot look upon God's face because of the light.  He lifted his arm.  I interpreted this was to the Northwest.  At the same moment there appeared the words of Mission Avenue Baptist Church which is the church I had been going to. There was now a dichotomy. He did not make it easy by saying "go here my son."
   I was hitching through Mississippi on a Sunday.  There were no rides happening. I was in Gibson which is almost entirely black. Across the highway was a small church.  I could hear hymnal singing as clear as a bell in the quiet of the morning. Intrigued I wandered into this church and took a seat in the last pew.  No one really noticed the only white guy ever to visit this enclave of worship.  I left refreshed and renewed ready to continue on to New Orleans. The rides started to happen again.
   After a fight with Larry that ended with a broken nose for Larry, things changed rapidly. Blood was gushing forth as he retreated back to his car. It was time to go. Luckily, I ran into the Rainbows at the market.  I stated where I was going. They said come aboard.  My journey was about to begin with Poncho and Nadine in the driver's seat of the old green converted school bus that ran on methane produced by all sorts of waste. Even human waste was loaded into the methane digester on the rear platform. Who cares where it comes from?  I was a regular contributor to the methane digester.  Life was good.  I could shit up a storm and be rewarded for it.
     A tornado appeared in Oklahoma leveling a great swath of the countryside in Stillwater. We changed direction to see if we could find work as roofers since that is what was needed.  We spent weeks roofing. The town people were generous with the Rainbows. They held a big spaghetti dinner for everyone on the outskirts of town as a fare thee well.  One of our guys was arrested for being a longhair. It doesn't take much to be arrested. We asked our friends for help. Later that evening he was released with a story to tell. The Rainbows read the Bible.
    The reality of travel was setting in. Due to an oversight my bags were misplaced and stolen. How this happens is always a mystery to me. I guess they needed my clothes more than I did. With the last of my money I caught a jet to SF hoping for a better life.
    This was the time of Clinton in power as Governor.  The stories of his sexuality were astounding .  This criminal behavior was seldom discussed among the good church going few who actually paid attention to this man's crimes against women. Most people in Arkansas simply had to concentrate on survival with a few of the fat cats raking in the money from the slave labor of the people.  These days were truly horrible but so was my life. When you are born low class there is little chance of escape. The only opening was Education.  I spent time at all the free educational workshops I could find.  From there, I planned to return to the University. Things suddenly changed as they often do in my life.  I caught a plane to the west coast.   I had to leave everything behind.
     I visited my Uncle Ralph in my early teen years in the summers.  He managed golf courses so I had the run of these park-like grounds..  Being left handed made me a poor golfer since the courses favor the righties.    At night, my friends and I would sneak onto the greens and pull off pranks. We would first fill the hole with sand. Then we would make mounds of sand all over the green so they looked all the same.  In the morning,  the players would have a fit trying to find the hole again.  They would get hot under the collar start cursing and ranting which is why these guys come golfing.  We just gave them good reason.   We would laugh ourselves silly with the thought of this scenario.  No one ever discovered our little joke that was the product of youthful indiscretion.
posted by Jefferson at 9:02 PM
~ Tuesday, July 08, 2025
 
     How do you define movement people? Not easily is the answer. You meet them all over the world.   California was the beginning of these groups. There are Buddhist groups like Nichiren Di Shonin (NSA) whose mantra is Nam Myoho Renge Kyo which is very powerful said to the Butsudan which holds sacred script called the Gohonzon hung in its own chamber lovingly made by the proponents of NSA.   Each syllable has such depth of meaning far beyond this material world. One could study for a lifetime and still never reach complete understanding of this phrase.
       On Orcas,  I met Steve and Shirley who shepherded me into this rigorous movement.. They took me to many group meetings in Anacortes and Seattle which were interesting overdressed, churchlike affairs.
      The experiences in Hawaii had gotten me familiar with Japanese Buddhist Sects such as the Hong Ji Temples that are all over the Big Isle where sugarcane is grown in abundance.   For many years, the Japanese have been growing cane and vegetables on the big island.   Many built their lives around this particular sect.  There are quite a few altars on this particular island.                Look for the other Buddhist temples on the Pali Highway which divides the island of Oahu. This is called Temple Row and leads to the Pali Cliffs where many ancient battles were fought by the Hawaiians in the prehistory of the islands.             Read James Michener's Hawaii to get the prospective.  Or you could read 'Wait for the West Wind' by Finney which is a description of Polynesian exploration and discovery. All good stuff.
     Honolulu has the only Kuan Yin Temple favored by females since Kuan Yin is the only recognized female Saint in Buddhist traditions. You might have gathered this is a Chinese Buddhist sect. This is a truly smokey affair with many people offering obeisances and incense.             Shinto Buddhism is alive and well in Hawaii but incognito now since it figured strongly in wartime Japan.   Every Summer there is the Bon Dance. The legend is a mother was incarcerated and her devoted son brought special foods to the monks in retreat who then helped her obtain liberation. He was so happy he danced far into the night thus the name Bon. This is a circular dance performed concentrically. 
     Ancestor worship is the basis for Shintoism. The graves are cleaned and new flowers adorn the marking. Pilgrimages are undertaken to ancestral land.    Remembering the sacrifices of  one's ancestors is so very important to this sect.  NSA resembles Shintoism in this way.
      Zen is original. Zen is unique. Zen is practical. Zen acknowledged space as the last frontier.to Inner space.  William Shurtleff wrote a booabout how to make Tofu which exemplified Zen concepts that can make your life work..   It illustrates Japanese life and how to live for each moment.  I met a Buddhist Monk who had a Tofu shop.   Starting in the wee hours of morning, he maximized his time and made profit before anyone else was awake.   He still had time to be a good monk.   He was healthy, happy and holy all of the time.   In Honolulu, having a food business is essential for survival.   Selling home baked cookies is how we survived.
      There was the Hunger Project as well. This is a spin off of the EST Foundation of Werner Erhard. At these meetings they would hand you a microphone and ask you questions about how you are feeling.   In that time and space while under this duress what made you change your life for the good. Inspired by Zen, this actually worked for many people.  
     The Moonies got you to follow them home for a feed if you had no particular place to go and wanted to be entertained and lectured by leaders. These were inspirational lectures that had a novel word PAU to describe instant enlightenment. You became someone special and were invited to the countryside in California for a spiritual retreat of sorts. More likely to complete your indoctrination as so many of the groups relied on newcomers for support.    I suppose these types would be very good at building pyramids. That is not quite fair to illustrate them as pyramiders. They were very kind and polite. Never asking for money only meaningful support for their church. I thought it a clever combination of Buddhism and Christianity appealing to the modern Korean intellect.  Nothing to see here, move along..
   Exploration of the spiritual groups goes on for a long time with me. It can be infinite and entertaining but solves nothing of consequence.   The herd instinct kicks in along with preservation of the group.   Group suffering is welcomed and welcomed equally with joy when you consciously join in.   It is a group marriage of sorts. I don't know how to describe what I saw except to say it completed my journey.  I had been a charter member of the International Gawkers Society founded by Ricky. In a moment of lucidity I retained the membership card for many years. It was a moment in the sunlight at the sheep ranch with the Moonies. All things must pass as George would say.
      After Arkansas, I became interested in other American Christian Churches like the many Mormon congregations. They have a great Polynesian Center on the other side of Oahu which shows each and every community of islanders in the Pacific basin.  I saw the Mormons everywhere in the Pacific from Fiji to Samoa, to New Zealand and Australia. They are always busy converting people to their version of Christianity which is OK  We are all one big family of man, as Shelia used to say. Ah, the Jewish perspective is so refreshing. When attending the Seventh Day Adventist services on Saturday you must remember this. They too, are vegetarians. They lack that fundamental component for a strong life.  It's called PROTEIN and don't you forget it.
     At the University of Hawaii I was fortunate to have a professor who introduced me 8n many great religions and beliefs. Feng Shui being the most influential because of its passivity and artistic placement of home objects such as the door in a formula derived from scientific and spiritual practice of Buddhism. We even learned how easy it is to become a Muslim which is one of the reasons for the rise of that dark faith. That and polygamy being at the forefront of decision making of the new recruits who are over sexed.
I had been the chief flower gatherer for the temple altars and murtis that surround the devotional life of this Hindu Sect called Hare Krsna.   It certainly introduced me to the Pali Cliffs where fresh baked cookies were sold to the tourists . 
     Heliconia grew wildly along the abandoned roads perched just below the edge of Pali. They iyyyyssued me a Datsun pickup for the drive up the Pali Highway from 51 Coehlo Way right across from the Philippine Consulate where President Marcos was exiled until his death.  More about the US consulate and his demise later in the epic.     The flowers told the story of Hawaii to the visitors to the temple. The had flowers no fragrance to speak of as these flowers are as old as the Garden of Eden when there were no bees.  That's pretty old.  I kept my skills as a flower arranger since my DLM days in New Orleans. It was a noble craft frowned upon by the manly man. I embraced it as an art not a statement of beliefs for i am not and never will be of the gay persuasion.

posted by Jefferson at 10:48 PM
 
Oh Stewball was a race horse
and I wish he were mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine

His bridle was silver
His mane it was gold
And the worth of his saddle
Has never been told

The fair grounds were crowded
Stewball was there
The betting was heavy
On the bay and the mare

A way up yonder
Ahead of them all
Came a prancin' and dancin'
My noble Stewball

I bet on the grey mare
I bet on the bay
If I'd bet on old Stewball
I'd be a free man today

The hoot owl she hollers
And the turtle dove moans
I'm a poor boy in trouble
And a long way from home

Stewball was a racehorse
And I wish he were mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine

One of the many songs we performed during the hootnanny sessions in the early sixties with passion...



My Truck Driving Woman

Well e crawled out our houses
and we sat down beside the road
Yo mama don't love you
Yo Daddy says you got to go...
Well that's alright babe
I ain't far behind
Your my truck drving woman
I'm a hard man to find

We'll sleep in the bushes
Next to the setting sun
We;ll rock and a roll
Make love for everyone
Baby just believe me
We'll be fine
You're my truck driving woman
I'm a hard man to find
posted by Jefferson at 10:09 PM

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