A story about Mom and her Oldest Son

Shortly after November 22,1963,I decided I wanted to be President of the United States. Most third and fourth graders at the time thought I was a little nuts,and especially because no black person was ever thought could ever be elected President. The one person who took my dreams seriously was my mother.
Mom never once told me my dream was impossible, though she did caution that by being black,I might have to work two or three times as hard to get to where I wanted to be. Rather than say my dream was impossible,she would advise me as to what career choices I might want to consider,and what courses I might want to take. She once encouraged me to become a lawyer,and that in high school,in order to understand the law,I should take Latin..

I think it excited my mom for me to take an interest in politics. She after all was active in the Urban League,NAACP and attended many a Board of Education meeting. She was also active in the Democratic Party. She was on a first name basis with Connecticut Senator Abraham Ribicoff. I remember once,Senator Thomas Dodd coming off the Senate floor to greet my mom when we visited the Capitol in Washington DC.

One of the things my interest did was to allow me to spend time with my mom in ways that my other brothers didn't because she could take me to the various functions she attended knowing I wouldn't be bored and ask my mom to leave within 5 minutes. Once she  took me to a cocktail party attended by Connecticut Governor Thomas Meskill and soon to be Senator Lowell Weicker.

Of course,my most memorable outing with her was attending the 1964 Democratic Platform Committee meeting where I met Dr.Martin Luther King,nearly literally ran into Robert Kennedy,and had lunch with Connecticut Secretary of State Ella Grasso who later became the nation's first woman Governor.
Being the independent sort even at a young age,I didn't completely fall in line with her politics. In 1964,she organized for the campaign of Lyndon Johnson,and his running mate,her political hero Hubert Humphrey. I informed her that for my school's mock Presidential election,I was going to vote for his opponent Republican Barry Goldwater. Furthermore,since I was the only one in the entire school voting for Goldwater which would require me to make a presentation. Mom knew it was important to make a good presentation,and though it pained her greatly,she went to Goldwater Headquarters and obtained for my presentation a Goldwater poster and a Au H20 bumper sticker.

For my tenth birthday in 1965,my mom arranged for my birthday party to be held at a Downtown Hartford Italian Restaurant known to be a hangout spot for Hartford's politicians. Hartford's Mayor,William Glynn briefly appeared to wish me a Happy Birthday. I knew for a fact that my mom and the Mayor had frequent run ins,so I found it amazing he would show up to my party. It gave one an idea of the influence my mom had in the community. No politician wanted to be on the bad side of her!
Having the birthday party at the restaurant was just the beginning. Mom saved her present to me for the end. It was in an envelope. When I opened the envelope,it contained an airline ticket(my first) to Washington DC as well as an invitation to attend the inauguration of President Lyndon Johnson. Apparently,Mom forgave me for supporting Goldwater.

No politician in Hartford wanted to be on the bad side of Mom,but her oldest son found ways to be as four years later,Mom found me volunteering for President Johnson's and later her hero Hubert Humphrey's opponent,Senator Eugene McCarthy.

That however is a different story..

Geno at the Roundtable

I & I was Hungry and you gave I & I Food.

I & I was Thirsty and you gave I & I  Drink

I & I was a Stranger and you took I & I in

Yes JAH was ALIVE at the Roundtable 'cause Geno was there.

Natural Mystic..The Ripple in Still Water with some Bad Brains too

Yes JAH was Alive at the Roundtable 'cause Geno was there

Living Peace Living Wisdom along with the sometimes  not so quiet voice.

No Empty Glasses here 'cause it's the Roundtable.

Blessed are the Meek for they shall inherit the Earth.

Blessed are the Merciful for they shall obtain Mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see JAH

Yes JAH was alive at the Roundtable 'cause Geno was there..

Musings on December 7th

I heard the stories many times from both my mother and my grandfather. Mom was in her living room doing homework as my Grandfather was in the same living room listening to WTOP Radio in Washington DC. There was a football game on the radio. Washington vs the New York Giants. The living room was where my mom did her homework. It was also the location of the radio. My grandmother wasn't much for football and none of the stories I heard involved her,so I imagine she was in the bedroom or kitchen,away from the action.
                                                   This was December 7,1941 and my Grandfather never got to hear the end of the game..
When the bulletins came across the radio about the Pearl Harbor Attacks,both Mom and Granddaddy seemed to know that War was inevitable.

My Grandfather knew a little bit about war. He was drafted out of his South Carolina home to fight in World War I. He didn't object to being drafted  as initially he thought this was going to give him,a South Carolina farm boy a chance to see a world he normally wouldn't see. There was something else going on with my grandfather. Given this was the era of Jim Crow laws,he thought by giving a good account in the war,that the United States Government would reward black soldiers by repealing such laws and affording black people equal rights and protections under the law.

The US Army was segregated in World War I. The white general in charge of the Black Battalions was Gen. John J. "Black Jack" Pershing. If you wanted to make my make my grandfather mad,one thing you could do is mention his name or ever worse,refer to Pershing as a war hero.
World War I was fought in trenches and featured such things as mustard gas and other poison gases.
Black Battalions were on the front lines facing the worst of the German attacks.
As the story goes,my Grandfather rescued a number of wounded soldiers,risking gunfire and gas to do so. My grandfather got a medal,but Pershing became a war hero as did Sgt York,who received the highest Congressional medal and became a screen star for rescuing far fewer soldiers than my Grandfather.
My grandfather was a gentle man and his mannerisms were still very much rural despite living in Washington. I heard the name Marcus Garvey first from my grandfather,and when,on TV news,the images of Stokely Carmichael or H. Rap Brown would appear,my grandfather would often shout "Black Power",and in doing so would sometimes irritate my mom,a mainstream Civil Rights activist working with the NAACP,Urban League and Democratic Party.

It wasn't long after Pearl Harbor when my Dad was drafted into the Army. My Dad was the son of a Texas sharecropper who by strength of will to become a Doctor, made it to Howard University,the cream of the crop of black colleges.

Dad didn't have any problem with being drafted either. His motivation however was far different than my grandfather's. Dad had no illusions about helping to change the racial climate in America.
For Dad,it was all about staying alive,so that when the war was over,he could finish Med School through the GI Bill. Before going overseas,Dad was stationed at Fitzsimmons Army Base in Denver where I heard stories of him cruising the jazz clubs in Denver's predominetly black Five Points neighborhood. He later was sent to Italy towards the end of World War II I did hear a story about a white wounded soldier refusing to be treated by my Dad,but mostly I heard about black soldiers having fun with the Italian women.
The GI Bill  allowed Dad to finish Med School as well as put the down payment on the Connecticut home I grew up in.

When it was " my turn" to serve,this time in Vietnam, I refused. I began my resistance by,when it was time to consider which colleges to attend,I immediately eliminated any college which had an ROTC Program on Campus. This angered my Dad who considered me "soft" for refusing and thus eliminating the possibility of a GI Bill assisting me. Dick Gregory's quote rang true with me
"What we're doing in Vietnam is using the black man to kill the yellow man so the white man can keep the land he took from the red man".

My stance also eliminated any possibility of assistance in college from my Dad. Undaunted,my resistance to all things military continued in college by working for noted anti war Senator Mike Gravel of Alaska and later in one of my more harrowing experiences, assisting a Draft Dodger escape to Canada,a story briefly covered in my first Spoken Word CD Talkin' Roots (Tlingit Story)

My stance didn't end the family involvement with the military when my daughter announced to me that she was joining the Army. Needless to say,not only did we butt heads over the decision,it seemed as if I was going against the family grain by opposing her service.
Now that she's out,I still like to give her a hard time about it,but as she met her husband in the Army,her comeback is "Well,you got two grandchildren out of the deal"

That much is true..

Top photo: My Grandfather
Bottom photo: Howard University ROTC 1942

Halloween Nightmares Roots Style. Parts 1 & 2

This piece is a sequel to Halloween 1964.. If you haven't read it,check out
http://rootswriterdaviddaniels.blogspot.com/2011/10/halloween-1964.html

                                                Part One

In my youth,kids didn't settle disputes with guns,but rather with their fists. Afterschool fights were quite the event at C.A. Barbour School in Hartford Connecticut in my elementary school days.

First there would be the incident. Then there would be the agreement as to where to fight. Cleveland Ave? Garden St? Tower Avenue? Muhammad Ali's influence on the youth was clearly seen as each fighter would say that the other person was in for it no matter what street it was to be fought on. When teachers weren't paying attention, the trash talk banter would go on in the classroom and sometimes in the hallways things would nearly break out,but in most cases,soon as the bell rang releasing the kids from the teacher,the combatants along with half the classroom would run towards the site of the rumble.

My mom was an educational activist who later became a teacher and ended up teaching at C.A. Barbour School,our neighborhood school where the Daniels brothers attended. Even before she returned to the classroom,if she saw the telltale signs of a fight brewing (kids running at breakneck speed,or lots of yelling) she would not be afraid to get into the middle of the dispute to break it up.
If she knew the parents of the kids fighting,she'd often take it upon herself to take the child to the parents house,and failing that,she had lots of phone numbers.

While this may have been good for fight prevention,this never set well within the classroom and the Daniels brothers would often be at the receiving end of that resentment.

One year,on the day of Halloween,rumors were rampant that there would be "tricks" in the neighborhood as well as treats. My brothers and I took this as a warning and tried to convey our concern to Mom. For my mom,education was a passion,and it never once occurred to her that anyone would take offense to her actions to keep the focus on learning.

We encouraged her to not park her car on the street. We had a garage,but it was more often used as a storage area and required some rearranging in order to park the car there. My mom did have to be impressed that my brothers and I were willing to rearrange the garage however,the car remained parked on the street in front of our house.
Halloween night seemed to go as normal for Halloween..younger kids out early and the older ones later..and THEN IT HAPPENED! Simultaneously as our house was being pelted by eggs,one could hear the windshield as well as every window of my mom's car being smashed.
Mom got the car fixed,and I did harp on her about not listening to my brothers and I.

The worst part of it all however was witnessing my mom's illusions shattered.
 

                                                         Part Two

Now Mom's car was parked in our garage but she began delegating more of the job of distributing Halloween candy to me.

Halloween 1964 shaped my view on Halloween and the attack on our house later did little to change that view. Beginning in the fall of 1967,and through the spring of 1968,I had spent many a weekend as a volunteer in Sen. Eugene McCarthy's bid for the Presidency. As a seventh grader too young to vote,I was left primarily to stuff envelopes and leaflet. Because the center of McCarthy's campaign was opposition to the War in Vietnam,everyone involved in that campaign was well schooled as to the evils of  that war. McCarthy didn't win the nomination,and in the fall of 1968,the choices for President were Democrat Hubert Humphrey,Republican Richard Nixon and Independent George Wallace,all in favor to some degree or another of the war.

I felt somehow like I had to do something to make folks aware of this travesty. I persuaded a sixth grade classmate of mine,William Naylor to agree to become a write in candidate for President. I became his Vice Presidential running mate. The next important job was to get the word out. I used Mom's typewriter to type out Naylor-Daniels leaflets complete with our platform. For added emphasis,I would staple to our leaflets old flyers from the McCarthy campaign along with new anti war flyers I had obtained from the Hartford office of the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS)

I volunteered to distribute all the candy on Halloween of 1968. My mom obliged. Little did she know I had a plan. Younger kids were to get candy and a flyer,older kids were to receive only a Naylor-Daniels flyer. This served two purposes.One to get the word out about our write in candidacy,and Two,Mom had bought some good candy that I felt was better served in my own stomach as opposed to some other kids'

I got lots of strange looks from parents escorting their kids as well as kids themselves,but I felt this was the best way to engage.
All was well as the evening was winding down,and I had just shut the door when..SMASH SMASH SMASH It was the sound of our house windows being smashed.
My mom was dumbfounded as to why this would happen again. I did take some heat for distributing flyers instead of candy.

All I knew was that I was finished with Halloween.

Dad and Golf

9/28/2016 St.Paul Minnesota

With the Ryder Cup here in Minnesota this week,my thoughts automatically turned to my Dad.

Golf was one of the few leisurely activities I saw my Dad enjoy.

I remember him taking me to one of the courses once and also a trip to a miniature golf course in an effort to garner my interest in the sport. Dad's efforts failed with me as I found golf as a whole to be quite boring,and I preferred wacking the ball as hard as I could as opposed to the puts required to be successful in the sport. I guess I was more suited for baseball.

With Dad being the prominent doctor that he was,he eventually gained membership at the Wethersfield Country Club. Most folks would view his entrance as some sort of sign of prestige. For Dad however,it was all about getting to play golf at one of the best courses in Connecticut. One of the things he would do to spoof the country club would be instead of driving his Mercedes or BMW to the club,he often arrive at the valet in one of my half brother's beater vehicles. It would only be after they'd start hassling him when he would pull out his membership card.

A major golf tournament would be held yearly at the Wethersfield Country Club-The Greater Hartford Open,and Dad was  there in 1967 when Charlie Sifford became the first black to win a major PGA Tournament. Later the Greater Hartford Open became the Sammy Davis Jr. Greater Hartford Open, The Sammy Davis Jr GHO was a Pro-Am event in which my Dad entered and got to play with the likes of Lee Trevino and Billy Casper.

One of Dad's golfing buddies was State Senator,later US Senator Joe Lieberman. For the both of them,golfing would also be a profitable venture. Dad would contribute money to Lieberman's campaign,and when Lieberman won,there would be money alloted to my Dad's medical clinic. Joe Lieberman orginally was a Democrat but later became a Republican. I remember as a kid asking my Dad what his political leanings were,and I remember him telling me he was a Socialist,yet the last poliical contribution I heard he made was to George W.Bush. Under the Bush Administration  with Joe Lieberman's assistance buried amonst defense expenditures were funds allocated to Dad's clinic.

In the fall of 2004,Dad was diagnosed with a terminal form of lung cancer. Dad and I had a rather rocky relationship over the years,and on the first day upon my return to Connecticut,we had one of those clear the air sessions that anyone with issues with their parents should try to have with them before they pass..

One of Dad's biggest gripes with me was letting my idealism get in the way of  "playing the game" to get ahead like he did.

Maybe that's another reason I never played golf..

Where Are you Today Robert Loy?

Robert Loy was the first person I befriended in my freshman year in High School. He was tall, awkward in his movements and he would speak in a low monotone voice. One of the nicknames given to him that year was "Meet the Press".

Robert Loy was what some people would call a nerd. In 9th grade,I was painfully shy,socially awkward and a bookworm  and that's one of the reasons we got along. We both got teased and harrased much during our first year at Watkinson School. It would be for different reasons,but we'd get harrassed nonetheless and we often saw our books tossed from the secord floor window of our Study Hall room.

Robert and I also shared a  deep interest in history and politics.Robert came from a staunchly Republican family while I was brought up in a staunchly Democratic family. His mom,Helen Loy was once the Republican candidate for Connecticut Secretary of State against Democrat Ella Grasso (who later became the first woman elected Governor)

Robert however felt his parents as well as Richard Nixon were too liberal just like I thought my parents and Lyndon Johnson were too conservative. We made a good team. He was like an encyclopedia of information.

By the time my junior and senior years rolled around,I was less socially awkward and hippiedom had arrived on campus. Robert was the same old Robert,but still we'd hang out..a lot.

There was the senior year camping trip to the Adirondack Mountains. I drove with Robert. Most of the seniors driving were speeding. I'd implore Robert (sometimes I'd call him Bob,although he didn't like it) to hit the gas pedal. Because it was "against the Law",he refused.He never really got mad at me for that.

A few months later Robert was in a cabin with a group of Watkinson Seniors.It was wintertime,the windows had plastic on them and there was very little ventilation. For about 2 hours,one joint after another was being smoked by everyone..except Robert! For 2 hours in a barely ventilated cabin,Robert was debating  the rest of us on the evils of marijuana.

Robert was a good friend to have if you planned on attending certain high school parties. He would serve as the Designated Driver before that became a term,and if I was too drunk and/or stoned to go home,if I called my mom to tell her I was crashing at Loy's house,she had less reason to suspect that I might be too drunk or stoned to go home. Better to hear a philosophical lecture from Loy as opposed to a pissed off parent.

I once,on a road trip we took after our high school graduation did persuade him to try and crash the Kennedy compound in Hyannisport Massachusetts. (We got stopped)

We maintained connection well into our adult years.Robert being true to form during one of our last conversations was criticizing Bush for not being conservative enough,yet despite being a staunch Catholic and anti-abortion,was highly suspecious of the Religious Right.

Robert never did get over his extreme social awkwardness and later this led to some hard times as an adult.The last time I spoke with him,he was living in some kind of adult home.

The last time I called the home,I was informed he was no longer there.I've searched the internet and social media (though it's highly unlikely he'd wind up there) I've even searched obituaries.

As I watch the Republican Convention,I can't help but wonder what Robert Loy might be thinking. I can't imagine him supporting Trump,but can't imagine him as a Ted Cruz guy either. Kasich??

If anyone has any clue as to the whereabouts of Robert Loy,let him know his old friend David is still thinking about him.

Growing up in the Era of Ali Part 3

After the Foreman fight,it seemed as if the public perception of Ali was changing. The Ali  haters seemed to be less vocal. In the ring he left little doubt that he was indeed "The Greatest  after beating Foreman and in little over a year later beating Joe Frazier again in the "Thrilla in Manilla"
.
Earlier in that year of Ali-Frazier 3,we had witnessed the Fall of Saigon,perhaps more came to realize Ali's statements on the Vietnam War were right. I also believe another factor in the changing perception was those of us who grew up with Ali from childhood were now transitioning into adulthood. At the time of the Thrilla in Manila,I had just entered my twenties.

There were no cries of  "The anti-establishment Ali selling out"when he started appearing on commercials. Besides,where I lived at the time in Park Slope Brooklyn long before gentrification,when Ali declared "I don't want you living with roaches" while hawking D-Con,one still felt as if he was speaking to you because what building in Brookly at that time DIDN'T have a roach problem?

In the summer of 1977,during the New York City blackout I witnessed arson,looting,and the greatest breakdown of order I've ever experienced to date.It occured in the Park Slope neighborhood I was living in,Yet a few months later,when Muhammad Ali beat Earnie Shavers that same neighborhood broke out in a spontaneous demonstration of joy with strangers high fiving each other and passing each other on the streets with shouts of "Ali Ali Ali!"

By now the Muhammad Ali-Howard Cosell confrontations had become legendary.. In Brooklyn,there  was Michael Lanzillotta. He was a tremendous pianist and a great vocalist.The church group we were both part of had a business New Life Service Company. It specialized in vinyl and leather repair,mostly at car dealerships.

For all of Michael's talents elsewhere,a vinyl repairman he was not and neither was I thus we were teamed up together by the bosses in hopes that two people that sucked at it together would be better than two that sucked individually. We did manage to ruin (New York Yankees outfielder) Reggie Jackson's Mercedes seat once,but beyond that we continued to suck and as a result,we didn't make a lot of money at it  Michael and I did generally have a good time driving aroun


One of the things we do while driving around the Boroughs and Long Island,supposedly hustling up work was impersonations. Our best one clearly was our Ali-Cosell impersonation. We made money doing it once on a Brooklyn street corner and even produced a version acceptable to perform as part of a Sunday church service..

Michael Lanzillotta

By the time I moved to Denver in 1980,it was clear Ali was not the fighter he used to be. I couldn't bring myself to watch the Trevor Berbick and Larry Holmes fights. I preferred to remember him for the fighter he was from the time I was 9 years old..

1985...as I'm glancing through the pages of the (now defunct) Rocky Mountain News I notice an ad from ( the now defunct) Dave Cook's Sporting Goods Store in Downtown Denver. Muhammad Ali would be making an appearance!
I knew I had to meet him. At the same time I realized getting to meet him would not be an easy task imagining the large crowd likely to appear.
Step One: Buy his Autobiography The Greatest..figured Ali would be more inclined to sign something with his likeness on it. After stopping a few few bookstores with no luck,I came across a copy at a (now defunct) used bookstore on South Broadway Avenue.

Step Two: Buy a dark suit. Muhammad Ali's bodyguards always wore dark suits. I've always hated wearing suits.In the rare times I have worn them,it has usually been after a strong case of persuasion.Count this as one time where no persuasion was needed,and found a used dark suit that fit at a used clothing store on East Colfax Avenue.

Step Three: It's all about the Timing. I didn't want to arrive at Dave Cooks too early and possibly give away my plan, and yet arriving too late would be a mistake given the crowd.
There are days when everything works out the way you hoped,and on this day I arrived at Dave Cooks moments before Ali's bodyguards began to appear,and as Ali and his entourage entered,I merged with Ali's bodyguards as he moved from the rear of the basement to the front area where a stage was set up. After making a few comments about Sonny Liston,George Foreman and Sugar Ray Leonard and after making a comment about what an honor it was for us to be in his presence,he began to sign autographs.
I have long regarded his autograph as my most valuable possession

Adult Prologue: When she was growing up,one of my daughter's favorite activities was going to the movies. She hated that I found myself bored at some of her favorite movies,and trying to find a movie we would both enjoy was often an exercise in futility. The one movie we did agree upon,albeit for different reasons was Will Smith's portrayal of Ali. I went to the movie prepared to hate it,but came away impressed. Apparently so was Ali.
.
It's often said so and so is a "product of his/her generation. I for one feel privileged to have grown up in the era of Ali.

ALI ALI ALI!

Growing up in the Era of Ali Part 2

At the time of the first Ali-Frazier fight,I was attending a small predominantly white prep school. I was one of ten black students and one of them was my brother. By that time Ali had refused to be drafted,gotten the Supreme Court to rule in his favor and had begun his comeback in the ring,first by beating one 'Great White Hope" in Jerry Quarry.

By that time,I had involved myself in the anti-war Presidential campaign of Eugene McCarthy and had been accused by my mom of being a hippie. A lot of hippies could have cared less about Ali's boxing career,but his anti war stance and willingness to stick it to "the man" made Ali a countercultural hero.  By that time,my younger brother had spent time at the Black Muslim mosque established by Ali's original mentor Malcolm X as well as the Hartford headquarters of the Black Panthers.  In our debates with my Mom,from the Joe Louis era,a Johnson-Humphrey Democrat and an active member of mainstream civil rights organizations,my brother would repeat the Ali quote:

"The Draft is about White People sending Black People to fight Yellow People to protect the country they stole from the Red People".

My brother and I had very different temperments and sometimes diffrent opinions but we both agreed Muhammad Ali  was the greatest..
By rhat time,my mom would agree that Ali was "pretty" but often would state aloud "I wish he would just shut his mouth"

It was for that wish to have Ali shut up as well as his Vietnam stance that had most all the white students and a couple outspoken teachers at school in Joe Frazier's corner. It seemed like for this fight,Joe Frazier had become the de facto "Great White Hope". In reality,he was far from it,and a little known fact is that during Ali's exile from boxing,Joe Frazier kept a nearly broke Ali from going under. Joe Frazier's selling point for them? Joe Frazier is a quiet. boxer

Mom wasn't about to let my brothers and I to attend the closed circuit theater showing of the fight thus we were relegated to radio accounts of the fight.

It hurt when Muhammad Ali lost and it was hard dealing with some of the comments in school the day after the fight. After school,it was best to take solace with longtime neighborhood North End friends.


...Fast Forward to January 1974

I had recently become the first freshman student ever elected to the Student Assembly at Alaska Methodist University (Now Alaska Pacific University) located in Anchorage. While I had clear ideas relating to the campus role in shaping a changing Alaska,(Pipeline construction era),I was elected  to the Assembly by conducting a campaign primarily aimed at the many potheads on campus as well as students who were generally indifferent about student government.. My first act  as an Assemblyman.was to open up the Student government office so that students,many who didn't own radios could listen to Ali-Frazier 2. Discovered that Muhammad Ali was a hero to the Yupik,Tlingit,and Athabascan as well.

October 1974

I could have seen the closed circuit showing of the Ali-Foreman fight had I remained in Anchorage.A friend who worked as an usher at the theater had promised to let me in..however personal issues found me back home in Hartford. My brother was also home,taking a break from Howard University,thus all three Daniels brothers once again found themselves gathered around the radio for the fight. We were upstairs,Mom was watching TV downstairs. Just before the fight began,I had gone downstairs to visit her when a bulletin came across stating that former President Richard Nixon was in critical condition due to phlebitis.
I had a sense Foreman may be another Sonny Liston,but didn't want to state it for fear of jinxing Ali.
When, in the early rounda,when Ali was leaning against the ropes,taking Foreman's punches,one brother left the room afraid of a result and feeling similar to that of Ali-Frazier 1.
Then it happened..Ali knocked Foreman out. Hartford Connecticut is thousands of miles away from Kinshash Zaire,but the excitement and noise coming from the Daniels brothers could have easily matched the buzz coming from Kinshasha.
Mom came running upstairs to quiet us down. She was first greeted by me shouting "Ali! Ali! Ali!!"
My brother's last words? "On this day when the White Man's President is down,the Black Man's Champion has risen!"

In the years since,I've had my share of troubles,some of them rather serious. Life can throw some serious punches at times.I've used the Ali-Foreman fight as a means of dealing with those struggles.
When life would be kicking my ass, I'd picture myself as Muhammad Ali up against the ropes enduring George Foreman's best punches before coming back and delivering a knockout blow. Ali Bomaye.

More to come..

Growing Up in the Era of Ali Part 1

I became a fan of Muhammad Ali in 1964,shortly after he beat Sonny Liston for the Heavyweight Championship. I was 9 years old,and then many knew him as Cassius Clay.

He called himself "The Greatest" and because of that proud boast, there were many that didn't like him... including my Mom.Joe Louis was the Heavyweight Champion of the 1940's generation,and my Mom was part of that generation. She told me the story of meeting Joe Louis at a segregated Washington D.C. park. Joe Louis may have internally felt the indignation of walking through a segregated park,but gentlemanly Joe Louis was not one to make an issue of it.

My Mom felt it was wrong to be that boastful,but in the eyes of a 9 year old boy,if Mom said something was bad,it had to be good.
His conversion to the Nation of Islam created ripples in my neighborhood because at the same time, Malcolm X was attempting to set up a mosque in this largely black middle class enclave in Hartford Connecticut's predominantly black North End.

Though it would upset my Mom,I began to call myself the Greatest too,and in 1964 while in 3rd and 4th grades,it seemed as if Ali's spirit was protecting me too.
In 3rd and 4th grades,it was a daily occurance in school to be harrassed and teased due to my thick lips.It didn't help matters that I was a terrible athlete or a top notch student and that sense only escalated  after the Kennedy Assassination,when I would declare my aspiration to become President of the United States.That aspiration was considered by many of my classmates as crazy at best,(because no black man could be President) or "acting white". at its cruelest.

There were some kids in the neighborhood that were going to put me in my place. On an afternoon after school on my way to a Cub Scouts meeting,I was approached by three boys asking me if I would play Muhammad Ali fight with them.
At home,my brothers and I would play Muhammad Ali.The only requirement was that I,as the oldest brother got to be Muhammad Ali. That never fared well for my younger brothers,and especially didn't fare well for them if I happened to be bothered by something they did earlier in the day.

Facing these boys would be another matter however. I sensed these boys wanted to hurt me based on the whispering and laughing they were doing on the side.

Their biggest mistake was allowing me to be Muhammad Ali. I can't say I wasn't scared,but the odds were agaisnt Ali in all realms of life as well.
On someone's front yard,the "fight" began One kid out of the three was chosen as my opponent.Based on how he moved,it seemed liked he knew how to fight.

He swung. I moved to block his swing. In my awkward motion,my left elbow caught the kid in the eye and he ran off screaming and crying. His buddies seemed shocked.


I was never teased or bothered by those boys again. It should be remembered that Muhammad Ali had his toughest fighta against left handers like Ken Norton.
In 1964,it was virtually unheard of for a black man to speak confidently of himself or to stand up for oneself.
I began to learn in my own way that if it was good enough for Muhammad Ali not to back down and to stand up for himself,it was good enough for me.

More to come..


 

David's Original Fantasy Game

Those who know me now might find it hard to believe,but there was a time when I knew little about and could care less about baseball.

The change occurred while in Miss Amato's third grade when the first time I hit the ball in a gym class game,I ran first to third base bringing ridicule and humiliation upon myself. A few games later,I found myself being escorted home by my gym teacher after striking out with the bases loaded and two outs in the final inning.It was for my own protection after all the threats from my teammates/classmates.

That was in 1964. In 1965,I discovered the New York Mets then known as the clown princes of baseball and my love of baseball began.

I  would spend a great deal of my free time alone as a kid. That despite having two brothers and a neighborhood full of children my age.
Spending time alone allowed me to read,listen to the music I wanted to listen to,sometimes write,and on spring weekends there was the New York Mets to watch on TV,but most of  all, it allowed me to create..imagine.
One of the things I imagined was my own baseball league. I had my own National and American Leagues. I still remember the teams.. New York Owls,San Francisco Gorillas,Buffalo Royal Kings. There were franchises located in Hawaii ( Islanders),Maine (Lobsters) and South Dakota (Prairiemen)

Hawaii Islanders wore bright green uniforms and the Virginia Rebels wore uniforms eerily similar to those worn by the Confederate Army,however the Rebels' manager was black long before Frank Robinson took a helm in that other major league.

My league expanded into San Diego in 1967,the MLB's Padres didn't come into existence till 1969,and 1970's expansion Miami team was named...you guessed it- Marlins!

Every team had a fully stocked roster. I'd have the names written down. Some names were those from that other league,others came from book titles,movies

There were various ways to play the game. One manner involved using that league's box scores.Another involved matching lineups on the televised Game of the Week.

The third way was to actually play the game myself.In this way,I got to be the play by play man,the organ player and the crowd.

American League games were played in our damp,dark unfinished basement. No one was going to bother me there.
National League games were played in my backyard where depending on the game,my Dog Gyp could serve as an infielder,outfielder or the crowd.

Bats could be sticks,wiffle ball bats or wooden ones with balls being rolled up socks (My mom always wondered why my socks vanished ) wiffle balls or rocks,and yes on a couple occasions,neighbor windows were busted.

My league expanded to three divisions before MLB and had a wild card team first.
Fantasy Baseball before Fantasy Baseball..

In Honor of National Beer Day

I was 4 or 5 when I remember tasting beer for the first time. The story goes that my Dad would give each of his children a sip when we’d reach our first birthdays,however I don’t remember that.

Dad had hosted a party the night before. I remember hearing all the noise. My brothers and I were supposed to be asleep,but how can a kid sleep when it seems like everyone is having fun,and us kids are being kept away from it?

The next morning,things were quiet at the house. I was the first person in the household to wake up . I knew there were goodies provided at the party,and one could only hope there might be a few leftovers either left out or in the refridgerator,so I immediately headed downstairs from my bedroom.

What I encountered were lots of empty cans. Schlitz cans. Some cans were smashed,but some were upright,and from checking some of the cans out,some had plenty of Schlitz left in them.. I had tasted soda out of cans,and I liked soda,so maybe there was something to beer?

I took a sip out of one of the cans,then another sip from another can. The only cans I didn’t like were the cans where I tasted cigarette butts too.

This stuff was amazing and something I shouldn’t keep to myself..Ran back upstairs.

“ Howie! You have to come downstairs and try this beer! It’s GOOD!”

Maybe I should not have been so loud ‘cause Howie and I never got back downstairs Mom and Dad woke up fast and banned us to our rooms just like at the party.

There was about a 12 year hiatus between that beer and my next one,but the hiatus was broken with the very same beer sampled that morning.

Happy National Beer Day.

Rastaman on the Statehouse Floor

"I am not a politician... I only suffer the consequences." Peter Tosh

January 4th happens to be my birthday. Some birthday events through the years become memorable,like when my mom held my 10th birthday party in a Downtown Hartford Italian Restaurant known to be a hangout for Hartford's bigwigs,The Mayor of Hartford was a guest at that birthday party. There have been birthday events in my later years have been noteworthy for various reasons as well.

Many other birthdays pass by as unspectacular and as mundane as any other day.

In the mid 90's I was living in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Denver Colorado. My play Malcolm X Meet Peter Tosh had finished a successful run at the Mercury Cafe Theater and was preparing to have a continued run at the Bug Theater. In addition,I was in the process of writing my second play,I Edgar Hoover.

..Had a morning routine of making breakfast,then going over to the coffee shop located in the natural food store called Alfalfa's (A Whole Foods resides there now)

At Alfalfa's, in addition to enjoying the morning coffee there,I'd engage in various topical conversations with assorted "regulars" who would also gather there before I'd head back to my Capitol Hill apartment to smoke copious amounts of marijuana before getting on with the rest of the day.

My birthday was no different except I had nothing scheduled for the day. Perfect time so I thought to pack a couple buds,my pipe,head towards Colfax Avenue and "let the wind take me where it will"

At the Mercury's run of my play,I portrayed the character of Peter Tosh. Tosh,like many Rastas was often seen in a military camouflaged jacket with one's head adorned with a tam featuring the Rasta colors of Red,Gold,and Green. I was often seen in the same attire,and that was the case when I began my walk towards Colfax.

Initially,I thought maybe I'd end up browsing the aisles at Capitol Hill Books or maybe see what interesting vinyl may be found at Jerry's Record Exchange,besides there was always an interesting side show on Colfax Avenue day or night.

Instead,I ended up at the Colorado State Capitol to visit my friend Penn Pfiffner.

Penn was a State Representative representing portions of Lakewood Colorado,a suburb of Denver.Before serving in the Colorado House,Penn had been Chairman of the Colorado Libertarian Party. Because of the demographics of the district and the difficulties involved in mounting a third party campaign,Penn ran and won running as a Republican.

Back in 1987,Penn and I were roommates at a Seattle hotel as we were both attending the Libertarian National Convention where a Presidential candidate was to be chosen. Penn was there as a supporter of former Texas Congressman Ron Paul, I was there as a supporter of American Indian Movement activist Russell Means.Penn would attend all the convention events wearing suit and tie. I would be in more casual wear. Penn would attend the various workshops focused on economics while I'd be hanging in marijuana filled rooms with the likes of Karl Hess,Robert Anton Wilson and Dr.Demento When the formal events ended for the evening,Penn would retire to his hotel room as to get an early start to the next day's sessions. Me?? I had to hope I didn't disturb Penn too much when I'd stumble into the room at 3 or 4 am after getting a healthy dose of Seattle's nightlfe.

Later I'd tell Penn there's a reason he ended up as a legislator and me a writer..

I didn't expect Penn to be in his office when I wandered into the Capitol,but there he was.

As we chatted,I wondered if could detect the sweet,dank aroma coming from my pocket. I could,but if he did,he certainly didn't say anything. He had previously attended Malcolm X Meet Peter Tosh and I recalled him exclaiming with a wide smile how it was the best show he had seen in years.

I did not expect what came next. Penn invited me to come with him on the floor of the Colorado Statehouse!

As we entered,I half jokingly said to Penn "Appearing with me like this could end your political career"

Undaunted,Penn introduced me to the various legislators on the floor,and recommended to them that they attend my play.

The next time Penn ran for re-election,he was challenged in a primary by another Republican and lost.

On the Statehouse floor was a State Rep from Southern Colorado known for his activity with "Religious Right" and militia groups.

As Penn was raving about my work and as I glanced at this other Representative,the words of Bob Marley came to mind..

"Soon we'll find out who is the real revolutionary"