Caroline

It's now been over 25 years since Caroline Saunders passed from this Earth. I've loved others since then and there have been more who have passed on since then.. .In other words life moves forward.

 I found myself listening to for the first time in a long time the music of (Reggae Artist) Judy Mowatt and for a moment it all came flooding back.. Some people make a profound impact on one's life even if they are in ones life for a short period of time. Caroline Saunders was one of those people.

It was one short year beginning at what was then called Five Corners Saloon on the West Bank of Minneapolis. The local reggae band Les Exodus was playing. We hit it off immediately.

At the time of our meeting I was a worker-owner-manager at the New Riverside Cafe,a vegetarian restaurant known on the West Bank as the Biomagnetic Center of the Universe. She worked at the Minneapolis Sexual Violence Center. We both were leading active lives,but she in particular. Prior to her work at SVC,she had spent a year in England running a Bed and Breakfast.Before that she had spent time in Africa. 
Our first meeting was an all night meeting,but it was agreed at that time that this would be a "see you when I see you" type relationship..no strings attached. We proceeded that way,sometimes meeting for coffee at the Riv or going out to dinner but then sometimes go days without speaking to each other.These are pre cellphones,pre internet days mind you.
One night,I learned that there would be reggae music being played at the Red Sea Bar on the West Bank,naturally I called Caroline..no answer One reason the New Riv was called the Biomagnetic Center of the Universe was that it was a social hub on the West Bank. One never knew who might walk in at any given time. Another female friend of mine with no plans for the evening dropped in.We then made plans to go to the Red Sea together. I had no sooner than paid the cover charge and was looking for a table,when I spotted Caroline..with another man!  Our tables were within eyeshot of each others. Pleasant introductions were made at the beginning of the night. Throughout the night,I did notice Caroline looking back at my table..that's because at different times,I was looking at her table. When my friend and I got up to dance,guess who ended up dancing next to us? Caroline visited my table,I visited Caroline's table. While we left the Red Sea with the people we came with,Caroline and I realized then perhaps we had strings afterall..

I shouldn't have been surprised given her travels,but nonetheless I was surprised that Caroline,living in the affluent Twin Cities suburb of Edina would feel comfortable hanging out in the Holtztermann Building on the West Bank.. For those unfamiliar with West Bank history,the Holtzermann was a early 1900's department store converted into apartments. Most were actually rooms with a few one bedrooms sprinkled in. Bathrooms were shared as well as kitchen space. I lived in one of the few rooms that didn't have a roach problem. Its occupants were an assortment of Riv and Hard Times Cafe workers,hippies, musicians,U of M students,junkies and alcoholics. I was making the best out of a life I felt I had due to various choices thrown away on the junkheap.

 I had been wrestling with a 7 year writers block but was beginning to come out of it thanks to a writers workshop at the Playwrights Center I had gotten connected with.2 things were coming out of my pen. The first was a play called Malcolm X Meet Peter Tosh. I didn't know what the other piece was except that it was a story,it was autobiographical,it dealt with issues of race,recalled a certain era as well as a near marijuana bust at the Canadian Border during a roadtrip. The play was due for a reading at the Playwrights Center. Up until this one particular evening,the only other person who had read any of my writing was my Riv Coworker Mitch Olson. Mitch and Caroline were my audience when I read the roadtrip story. Mitch kept me from throwing my play into the garbage. Caroline,who at different times smiled laughed and cried as I read shared words with me that made me think perhaps there was life past the junkheap. I hadn't had many folks as cheerleaders or believers in my abilities in life. Someone actually encouraging me to believe in myself. Caroline,upon learning I was a baseball fan,introduced me to her Dad,a diehard Baltimore Orioles fan.

Judy Mowatt was performing at another West Bank Bar,the Cabooze. I hadn't heard from Caroline in a few days,and besides I often attended shows alone. I was towards the front of the Cabooze stage when Judy Mowatt entered. Soon after the show began,someone from behind put their arms around me. I turned around,,it was Caroline. In social settings and at reggae shows where we both knew a lot of people,it was common for us to be social butterflies. This particular show however neither of us moved from our spot. In between one of the songs,Caroline said to me "Lets do an East Coast roadtrip to Vermont,Connecticut where I could meet yout Dad and New York!" I always admired Caroline's sense of adventure and willingness to live fully. I hadn't had that for myself since my Alaska days. I said yes. We had to go separate ways at the end of the show.

                 A week later she was gone..struck by a bus driver,later to be discovered to be under the influence of alcohol while riding her bike on the Nicollet Mall.

Later I ended up working across the street from the corner where Caroline was struck down at the Barnes & Noble Bookstore on Nicollet Mall. I viewed going to work there everyday as reclaiming that space,but when August would pass,I'd find myself melancholy.

I hope she knows I'm still writing and sharing.

What Do We Do with the Art of Monstrous Men?

To begin, let me share the link which has inspired what I'm about to share. It's rather lengthy,but I think worth the read:

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2017/11/20/art-monstrous-men/

With all the recent scandals in the news,there's been many a conversation regarding how to deal with the men accused of crimes. It's been an issue I've wrestled with for years and for me it's personal.

Let me tell you why.

Stan Brakhage is a name not widely known by the General Public,yet if you were to read almost any book about film or the history of film,you will come across the name of Stan Brakhage. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stan_Brakhage

George Lucas,Martin Scorsese,and the creators of South Park all list the works of Stan Brakhage as major influences in their careers.The University of Colorado's media center bears his name.  Stan Brakhage also happened to be my ex father in law and my daughter's grandfather. During the time I was married to his daughter,we'd spend time at his and his wife's cabin in the mountains outside Boulder Colorado where we'd watch his films and listen to the stories of his interactions with the likes of Allen Ginsberg,James Baldwin and Ezra Pound. My marriage to his daughter was a difficult one and it ended shortly after Rose turned 2.

Being a product of divorce and having it happen after vowing not to have it happen in my own life,needless to say it was rather devastating. I spent more than a few hours reflecting on what went wrong and eventually saw a counselor.

During the time of our marriage,my wife would talk about being abused. I never paid it much mind. Such things were not discussed in my household growing up and don't all kids regard their parents as abusive? Or so I thought. Through counseling,I later learned that the issues in our marriage had its roots in childhood abuse. I decided to confront Stan Brakhage with what I had learned. Prior to this,I had a pretty good relationship with Stan. It quickly changed after my confrontation. His last words to me were "I will destroy you"

By doing such things as paying my now ex wife to keep me in court for the greater part of 18 years,and having swindled me out of money I was going to use to finish my degree,he certainly helped to make my life difficult,but failed in his goal to destroy me.

Couple years before his passing,the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis honored Stan Brakhage with showings of his films and topped it off with a Brakhage lecture. I wrote a brief performance piece for the occasion and had every intention of disrupting his lecture,using the performance piece to let the world know about the "Other Stan Brakhage" On the day of his lecture,I backed off. My reasons were 1. I didn't want Stan to use my piece as an excuse to get back at my daughter in any way,and 2. With Rose reaching pre teens,dealing with esteem issues,and not liking very much the fact that one parent was a struggling writer and the other was a housecleaner,I felt it important for Rose to see success connected to her family. There will be time for her to hear the other side,but the fact is her grandfather was one of the most influential people in film.

Though he wasnt an artist,I've had to wrestle with issues around my own Dad. My Dad was Hartford Connecticut's first black doctor,was involved in the initial research on Sickle Cell Anemia,and established a Health Clinic in Hartford specifically geared towards low income patients.He was once named Connecticut's Man of the Year and was well known and highly respected in the Hartford area.(His golfing buddy was former Connecticut Senator and Vice Presidential candidate Joe Lieberman)

He would also often fail to pay child support and when I was in third grade he gave me a black eye and beat me on a level that nowadays would have gotten him arrested. I'd get angry when I'd see him drive up in his new Mercedes or hear about his summer home in Cape Cod knowing that my Mom was often having to ask my grandfather for assistance when my Dad wouldn't pay. For years my idea of success was skewered by my Dad thinking if he is the definition of success,I dont want to have anything to do with it.

There was a period as an adult when I went through a long period of unemployment. I had been denied Unemployment Insurance and things were pretty bleak. I had never asked my Dad for money previously but things were at a critical juncture and given his dodging of child support,I didn't feel guilty in asking for help. He turned down my request for a few hundred dollars but at the same time paid the Rev.Jesse Jackson thousands to come to Hartford when my Dad's stepdaughter went to the media with accusations against my Dad threatening his position at the Health Clinic. Jackson was instrumental in keeping my Dad's position as well as running my Dad's stepdaughter out of town.

Can I say my Dad was a monster? On one level I can say yes. I also know that my Dad helped thousands and to this day I hear from people telling me how Dr.Daniels helped them out.I know who my Dad was. It doesnt take away who he was for others. At my Dad's funeral,I learned from my Dad's second family,I was known as the person who could confront my Dad and get away with it.

There's a beauty and tragedy in being human..

A Daniels Thanksgiving

When I was living in Minnesota,I'd often think to myself, "No matter how many friends you have,the holidays are a reminder that you're not from Minnesota." Minnesotans,more than any other place I've lived tend to remain in Minnesota,and if they do leave,they tend to return sooner or later. Minnesotans have family to celebrate the holidays with.

I had a few Thanksgiving invitations over the years and sometimes I would attend. More than once however,I'd get the feeling that the invitation was coming from a place of feeling sorry for me that I had no family to go to,and I'd almost always would feel out of place no matter how sincere the invitation was. Luckily there would be the Thanksgiving Dinner at Palmer's Bar where no one was out of place.


Colorado on the other hand is a land of transplants. I can count only a handful of folks that I know that were born and raised here, with my own daughter being one of them. For many living in Colorado,traveling home whether due to finances,job responsibilities,or both is out of the question,thus Thanksgiving becomes a solo affair. In overhearing or participating in various conversations,I've heard everything from people planning to work on Thanksgiving to those looking forward to a mountain hike. Somehow,being alone for Thanksgiving in Colorado doesn't seem as out of place as being alone in Minnesota would sometimes feel.

Thanksgiving 2017 for the Daniels clan was originally to be held in Phoenix Arizona. 7 years ago at Thanksgiving in Phoenix marked the first time in 12 years that the Daniels Brothers were together. My daughter and my niece were also present. This year grandchildren were to be present..then my brother Austin got a new job that requires him to move from Phoenix to Northern California. My Uncle Bob and Aunt Rose live in Denver and historically the Denver family would gather at their house for food and football for the holiday. This year however with Uncle Bob and Aunt Rose in their 90's and in failing health,Thanksgiving is being limited to the immediate family.

Looks like my Thanksgiving will be spent at the Nob Hill Inn,a dive bar on Denver's Colfax Avenue where there will be beer,food and football and like Palmer's where no one feels out of place..

To all of you wherever you are,Happy Thanksgiving!

Radio Airwaves and Hoops

Before the internet or cable tv came into existence, one of the best ways to get a perspective from outside one's home town was to have a good antenna on your radio, station surf at night,and hope for clear airwaves. No matter what,one had to count upon a certain degree of static as well as stations fading in and out..

From my Hartford Connecticut home,the New York City stations came in the easiest..sometimes with very little static. All news all the time from 1010 WINS was my go to station. Some nights I’d get WTOP in Washington DC which was always fun because I knew that was my grandparent’s favorite station and I’d always feel connected to them by listening. I’d also get WBZ in Boston,but there was something about that Bostonian tone that irritated me,so I seldom tuned in.

I’d do most of my listening while doing homework on our dining room table. One night while station surfing I came across a station that was not from New York or Boston. It was coming in fairly clearly and the broadcast captured my attention immediately. The station was WHAS in Louisville Kentucky and the broadcast was an ABA game between the Kentucky Colonels and the Indiana Pacers. The ABA! ..American Basketball Association.

From its inception in 1967,I had declared myself as a fan of the ABA. Already a budding rebel,I took to the idea of a sports league challenging the existing order. I liked their Red,White and Blue Basketballs,and loved the idea that one got three points for shots made from 25 feet out. There were also Connecticut connections to the league. Growing up,I’d listen to University of Connecticut basketball games and one of its former stars,Wes Bialosuknia had signed with ABA’s Oakland Oaks. Hartford had a minor league basketball team called the Hartford Capitols. I would attend their games.My favorite Capitols player was ‘Spider” Bennett who upon the league’s inception signed with the Houston Mavericks.

There was one problem in following the ABA. They had no TV contract. They only had one player in Rick Barry (who jumped from the NBA) recognizable to the general public.The media regarded the ABA as a minor league thus only seldomly were their boxscores published in the newspaper. It’s first year only its first game highlights were shown on TV and a Life Magazine article on the New Jersey Americans was about as good as the coverage got. To follow the ABA,one had to studiously check the sports section as even daily scores and standings were published sporadically. A subscription the The Sporting News helped,but there was also word of mouth. I knew this league was right for me as one of its early superstars was named Mel Daniels..no relation but having the name was good enough.

The league went through some rough times in the beginning..bounced paychecks,poor attendance,franchises moving from city to city.There were always rumors of its soon demise,but somehow they managed to survive and by the time the 70-71 season rolled around,they had been successful in signing some of college basketball’s better players such as Kentucky’s Dan Issel,North Carolina’s Charlie Scott as well as Spencer Haywood from the University of Detroit. It was in that season where WHAS came across my airwaves.. Once discovered,Kentucky Colonels games became a regular part of my homework routine. The broadcast team was Van Vance and Cawood Ledford. Cawood Ledford would also do University of Kentucky games and from the accent alone,you knew he had to be a born and bred Kentuckian.

I had called myself a New Jersey Americans turned New York Nets fan,but it was hard not to become a fan of the Colonels. They had Issel,sharpshooters in Louie Dampier and Daryl Carrier.Walt Simon had played in Hartford against the Capitols and Spider Bennett,but what I loved most were the characters on the team Cincy Powell,and Jim “Goose” Ligon. The NBA of the late 60’s -early 70’s was a buttoned down league. Great basketball players but little flair. The ABA was different and signed players who for one reason or another banned from the NBA and players who wouldn’t fit into a mold. Cincy Powell liked to talk and wasnt afraid of giving himself credit for being the star of the game those times when he was.Listening to Cincy Powell and Cawood Ledford post game was like a downhome version of Ali and Cosell. Goose Ligon was a forward for the Colonels. A stint in prison kept him out of the NBA. Average scorer,great rebounder,but his greatest role with the Colonels was as an enforcer. His elbows were weapons when rebounding.He wasnt afraid to make hard contact on the floor and would openly dare opposing players to mess with him. Goose Ligon was my favorite and when I found myself playing high school varsity basketball,I patterned much of my game after that of Goose Ligon.

Then there was the experience of finally listening to the ABA on a regular basis. Colonels always did well attendance wise,but games in Pittsburgh one could hear the dribbling on the court and what players and coaches were saying and you knew there were rabid fans in places like Indianapolis and Salt Lake City

The following season,the Colonels signed my favorite college player, Jacksonville University’s Artis Gilmore. That season,the ABA began playing NBA teams during the exhibition season. A game between the Colonels and the NBA’s Milwaukee Bucks featuring Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was treated like a championship game by Kentucky’s broadcasters.(Colonels lost and Jabbar outplayed Gilmore)

Over time it seemed like the ABA began to gain more respect. ABA players such as Spencer Haywood were having successful careers in the NBA,and an occasional All Star Game and Championship series would be broadcast on TV. By the time I left Connecticut for Alaska,I didn’t have to tune into WHAS for ABA coverage as WOR in New York began to broadcast Nets games. Of course by then,there was quite the buzz over an old University of Connecticut rival,a player who I thought was going in over his head by leaving the weak Yankee Conference where he played college ball to a league I was convinced was every bit as good as the NBA now. His name? Julius “Dr. J” Erving.

I was living in Alaska when the ABA’s leading franchises left to join the NBA. I hated to see the Kentucky Colonels left out of the merger deal,but in Alaska there was no NBA or ABA Basketball to listen to anyhow..

Afterschool TV News

Growing up,one of the best parts of elementary school life was afterschool TV. For a few hours until either Walter Cronkite or Huntley and Brinkley would appear with the news,one could count on afterschool TV capturing my attention from beginning to end. Starting in 1963 when I was in third grade,I'd watch the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite too,but that's another story for another time.

The afterschool TV fun would begin with the Ranger Andy Show. Ranger Andy would bring schoolchildren to his "cabin" to sing songs,play with live animals,and watch cartoons. I was on the Ranger Andy show once and got in trouble with my mom for refusing to do the hokey pokey with the rest of the kids. That too is another story for another time.

Following Ranger Andy came reruns of the Adventures of Superman. I must have seen every episode several times,but I didn't care,I loved Superman ..Faster than a speeding bullet..More powerful than a locomotive...It's a bird,it's a plane. It's Superman!

After Superman,it seemed like reruns of three shows would be rotated. Two were Westerns,Cheyenne and Maverick. As much as I loved Westerns,Cheyenne wasn't one of my favorites. Maverick on the other hand was a favorite. There was a way I identified with the Bret Maverick character played by James Garner. He was one that seemed to use his smarts to escape from situations that in other Westerns would have meant using a gun. Bret Maverick had a brother named Bart. He was more prone to get into trouble. My brother and I would play Maverick.I'd play Bret and Howie would be Bart. The third show was much more modern..Highway Patrol with Broderick Crawford. The common thread with all the programs following Ranger Andy was the good guys vs the bad guys,good triumphing over evil.

A commercial that often ran during those programs had a similar theme. It was a commercial for US Savings Bonds. The commercial featured Russian Premier Nikita Khrushchev. Nikita Khrushchev in these commercials was a menacing figure. He looked mean while giving speeches. Sometimes he would be seen banging his shoe against a desk,and in big letters across the screen,a Khrushchev quote would appear.WE WILL BURY YOU. According to this commercial,the way to defeat Khrushchev and Communism was to buy US Savings Bonds.

Now I was too young to buy US Savings Bonds on my own,and I remembered hearing the names Khrushchev and Communism when we were certain the world was going to blow up over missiles in Cuba so after a period of time of watching these commercials,I had to ask my mom "What is Communism?" I knew my mom would know. My mom,when she wasn't  at home was likely at a Board of Education meeting,or at a meeting of the NAACP or Urban League,and if she wasn't at any of those meetings,she probably was organizing for the Democratic Party somewhere.

Mom's answer horrified me. "It's a system of government where the government tells you what you can and cannot do." Mom was telling this to a boy who chafed against parental authority pretty much from the time he was able to and who on a regular basis,challenged and worked at undermining that authority. By the time I was 8,I was already looking forward to the day I wouldn't have to pay such a high penalty for when doing what I wanted to do ran contrary to what my parents wanted. Now my mom was telling me about a government that would try to tell me what to do as an adult?

The Independent Roots run deep...

Marijuana: The First Encounter

I must have been destined to smoke marijuana..after all,I was thought by some to be smoking it years before I actually did.

The year was 1967,and as was considered normal in the Daniels household,Mom,Grandma,my brothers and I gathered in front of the TV to watch CBS Reports. My mom was a firm believer in the Daniels boys keeping up to date on current affairs. This particular episode focused on the cultural events taking place in the Haight-Asbury District of San Francisco and what was known as "The Summer of Love"

The folks flocking to Haight-Asbury seemed to look at life in a different manner than many Americans at the time. They dressed differently. They listened to different music,but most importantly,these "hippies" as they were called, seemed to challenge many accepted notions of American life. My mom, a Civil Rights and Democratic Party activist also was one who challenged certain notions of American life,but what we were seeing on TV was different. My mom attended meetings to change the world. These folks seemed to think that music and love was going to change the world. On the program,it was said that perhaps the reason these people looked at the world differently was because of their rampant use of marijuana.

It was at that moment,I spoke out. "If marijuana helps people become peaceful, I said, "then maybe it's a good thing" The words were barely out of my mouth when I realized I had said the wrong thing in front of my mom.
"If I EVER,find out you smoke marijuana she said "then woe be unto you." When mom said "woe be unto you", it amounted to the most serious offense in her eyes.

In 1968,the Vietnam War was raging and a soft spoken,rather intellectual poet and Senator Eugene McCarthy challenged incumbent President Lyndon Johnson for the Democratic nomination for President. McCarthy ran on an anti Vietnam War platform. Many "hippies" got involved in the McCarthy campaign and got "Clean for Gene". Johnson later withdrew from the race,and his Vice President,Hubert H. Humphrey became a candidate carrying the Johnson banner. In 1964,my mom worked for the Johnson-Humphrey ticket. Hubert Humphrey was her political hero. As a seventh grader,I spent my weekends stuffing envelopes and leafletting for the McCarthy campaign. A rumor was going around at the time that with so many hippies behind the McCarthy effort,his campaign headquarters were a hotspot for marijuana smokers. I never witnessed any marijuana smoking at McCarthy headquarters,but my mom,partially out of parental concern,and partially as a Humphrey supporter looking for ways to discredit the McCarthy effort would interrogate me about marijuana use when I would return home. "Woe unto you if I find out you are smoking marijuana at McCarthy headquarters." she'd say.

In eighth grade,at Mark Twain School,I'd go to school wearing a suit jacket and sometimes a tie and I would carry my books in a briefcase. I'd also wear a "Nixon's the One" button. Because I went to a different school in seventh grade,no one knew I had volunteered for McCarthy previously and that my Nixon button was part of my protest. There was one student however who seemed to see through me. Deborah Caskey. She told me,she knew I was a hippie and she would invite me to her house after school where we could smoke weed. I said no,but Deborah,like my mom seemed to sense I was a pot smoker in the making.

Fast forward to 1972 and my senior year in High School. Marijuana smoking had been widespread since my sophomore year. I had not smoked it myself yet,but one of the things I had done was to read information about it both pro and con. One of the pro marijuana pieces I had picked up was a book titled "A Child's Garden of Grass" It was funny,quirky and much more interesting than any other piece of literature I had read on the subject. After reading the book,I knew it was inevitable that I would try marijuana. At this point,seeing as I had been accused and interrogated enough on the subject I felt as if I had nothing to lose if I tried it.

In 1972,the Senior class at Watkinson School went on a camping expedition at Lake George in the Adirondack Mountains in Upstate New York.Teachers knew that students would drink on this trip and attempted to place limits on the amount of alcohol brought. Of course high school students were going to exceed any limits and our first night in the outdoors was nothing short of a debacle. I drank everything that came my way..beer,wine,tequila,and it didn't take long before I began to feel sick. Most students were by then to drunk to notice I was in trouble. There was one exception however.

Her name was Roberta Markowicz.She had come to Watkinson for her senior year after the school she attended previously,The Austin School, had folded. Watkinson was a private college prep school,and most of us prep school students had a certain "air" about us. Not Roberta. She was rather down to earth.In talking with her,it was clear she didn't really like prep school life The drinking was taking place in a cabin. When I stumbled outside to get some fresh air,Roberta followed me out and stayed with me till I felt better.

While the days on this trip were full of hiking,canoeing and observing nature,the evenings were full of drinking and high school debauchery.The second night of the trip was turning out much like the first. As students were beginning another night of drinking in front of the campfire,Roberta tapped on my shoulder and asked me to come with her.
I remember her words."I have something that's better for you than alcohol" as she along with another student,Lori Redfield took me to their tent. It was inside Roberta and Lori's tent where I saw my first marijuana joint. I immediately enjoyed the aroma the joint had.

We smoked two joints that evening. I felt nothing from it that night,but I knew and understood life was not going to be the same from here on out.

Skip

Sometimes in life,one comes across a person whose impact on ones life isn't fully realized till long after they've gone from it.


Stanley "Skip" Jarocki was one of those people. I knew him from my four years at Watkinson School.
"Skip" was my high school basketball coach. He had been a star athlete at Haverford College in Pennsylvania where as the story goes,until he coached the Varsity Basketball Team at Watkinson,had never been associated with a losing team in his life.

Let me emphasize:UNTIL he coached the Varsity Basketball Team at Watkinson. Watkinson's Basketball team was a collection of wannabe and never-will-be players,and that's being generous. If not for the fact that Watkinson was a small school of 120 students,there were some on the team that would be hard pressed to make a third grade roster at other schools. My stint on the Varsity team was the result of a failed lesson in teaching a predominantly white student body that all blacks cannot play basketball.
Our team never won more than 4 games in a 15-20 game schedule during my entire 4 years on the Varsity team.
Coaching a losing team was not  an easy task for Skip. His coaching style was hard nosed. I would compare him to noted Indiana basketball coach Bobby Knight. He'd harass the refs and was prone to receiving technical fouls. He'd slam his clipboard onto the court. On one memorable occasion,after a 40 point loss,he smashed a can of soda pop against a locker,causing the can to puncture,the end result being soda sprayed all over his suit. Just like Bobby Knight,he did things that in today's world would be unacceptable such as clutching my throat following a series of errors by the team.
One would think given Jarocki's temperament and history that his memory at best would be a negative one. Truth is,the voice of Skip Jarocki sometimes still coaches me today. In playing for Watkinson,there was rarely a game where we didn't face adversity from the moment of the tip off. In many cases,for all practical purposes,the game was over within minutes of the first quarter. At that point,there would be players ready to quit and quitting was precisely what Skip Jarocki would not permit you to do unless you wanted a seat on the bench. It didn't matter if we were losing by 10,20 or 50 points..Lost a game by 73 points once..players played,quitters sat.

Sometimes life has been like the equivalent of losing by large margin with a hostile audience on one's case. Sometimes one "loses" but quitting is not an option and once we beat a previously undefeated team that had never faced adversity.

Skip Jarocki was also my English Teacher at Watkinson School and playing a game in the evening was no excuse for not finishing an assignment the next day in his classroom. He was known to pick on members of the team for answers,figuring that if we cant play basketball we were going to know our assignments. I once thought a snowstorm was going to cancel class and there was no need for me to study for an English exam. The snowstorm never materialized and Skip never hesitated in giving me a 0 for my efforts.
Given the description of Skip Jarocki on the basketball court and in the classroom,one might get the impression of a teacher,especially one teaching in a Connecticut prep school such as Watkinson as one leading a rather traditional and morbitly dull English class. Let me give you a partial list of required reading in Mr.Jarocki's classroom:
                                                       In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan
                                                       Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan
                                                        Soul on Ice by Eldridge Cleaver
                                                        Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein
                                                        The Greening of America by Charles Reich

Sometimes subversives come in the form of a Bobby Knight impersonator..



Watkinson School