David's 2019

Even in my youth,I was fascinated with the Year in Review news programs that would pop up and during my Top 40 days would always listen to the program that would have the Top 100 songs of that particular year.
I've never been one to make New Year's Resolutions,with me things happen or they don't. Example: I never once set out to quit tobacco,but with a limited income,I decided to place buying more marijuana as a priority over tobacco. Not long afterwards cancer hit and just decided to continue course. Instead of resolutions,I've adopted my own version of the Year in Review where I name my life's top events. Last year's was moving to Fountain Colorado with Rose and the Grandkids.. Here's this years:

#1 Birth of Sohfeya

With both Johnathan and Kahlea I got to visit them when they were 2 weeks old. If I was lucky,I got to spend an entire week with them in Georgia and Florida respectively and even luckier if I got to visit them once a year afterwards. I knew Rose was pregnant when I moved to Fountain and part of my coming here had to do with helping out the household during the last few months of her pregnancy and afterwards. Sohfeya came a few weeks early and this time I was at the hospital for her birth. Since then,we have become quite the team as often I spend the bulk of the day with her. Here's one thing I notice. With Johnathan and Kahlea while we have a close relationship,when the in laws are in town,they quickly bond as they were with them from birth and grew up with them till they moved to Colorado. Sohfeya,while she's getting adjusted to the in laws visiting over the holidays is still wanting her Granddaddy time.

#2 Seeing the Mets and Broncos

While it is very part time and sporadic,one of the most enjoyable jobs I've ever had has been working as an Events Assistant.While I mostly work sporting events,one of the more notable events was working as security for Former Colorado Governor John Hickenlooper's Presidential kickoff rally. It might be the only time I'll ever receive compliments from the Police. I've worked Denver Nuggets basketball and Colorado Avalanche hockey,but the most enjoyable assignment has been working Colorado Rockies baseball games. Of all the events I work,baseball crowds are the most easy going. No confiscations of weapons or people attempting to sneak alcohol in or out. One of the perks as a baseball fan is anytime between the 4th and 7th inning,depending on crowd attendance,we are free to watch the game. In September,my favorite New York Mets came to Colorado for a three game series. There's a couple in town where our annual get together involves taking in one Mets game. My job permitted me to take in the other two and for the third and final game,I was able to see from the fourth inning on. Mets won two out of three games.
Tickets to Denver Broncos games are hard to obtain. In Denver, there is a 10 year waiting list for season tickets and the few individual game tickets are expensive and gone within hours after they are put on sale.If you want to Denver Broncos and don't have a season ticket,one best bet is knowing someone with season tickets. I've been a Broncos fan since 1977 and have lived in Colorado off and on since 1980 and never got to see a game in Denver till this season. The owner of a hair salon where the daughter of a friend works has season tickets and as a perk he gives tickets away to his employees. Saw the Denver Broncos vs the Jacksonville Jaguars. Attended the game with my friend Valerie who is as hard core a Bronco fan as I am.My style of rooting for the Broncos which outside of Colorado has elicited complaints and ire completely fit in at Mile High. Broncos lost unfortunately.

#3 Recording with Charlie Parr

From the time of our Adventures in Music and Storytelling event in Duluth,Charlie Parr and myself said we would collaborate again and at the many shows of his where I would attend,if we had a chance to chat,it would come up. When Charlie and I first met,on the late Jazzy J's program Twin Cities Radio on the Net,he was a recognizable name in the Twin Cities music scene and was just beginning to branch out. Plans were made for the Duluth show when Charlie was in Denver,performing in a park where people had to bring their own lawn chairs. At the time Charlie and I could make plans by talking one on one in person. We would still try to talk one on one but much went on in Charlie's life since Duluth..Tours in Europe,New Zealand and Australia. East Coast and West Coast tours as well as signing on when the major folk record label Red House Records. We had agreed to do a second Adventures in Music and Storytelling in Minneapolis at the Hook and Ladder Theater. One problem arose,Charlie has management now and they had other plans for him. I brought up the idea to record something and Charlie quickly agreed. To insure this project going forward Charlie,his manager,and myself met for lunch at the Hard Times when I was in Minneapolis in May and his manager was in attendance at my show Adventures in Music and Storytelling held at the Hook and Ladder. In November,Charlie and I went into the Minnehaha Recording Studio and we recorded " Annie Jones" an original story of mine. It is scheduled for release in January. Charlie's latest album,the self titled "Charlie Parr " was named one of the top Americana releases of 2019. 2020 should be an exciting time.


#4 Fountain Colorado 

The original plan was for me to move to Colorado 4-5 months ahead of Rose and her family. They were going to sell their Florida home and return to Colorado. When they arrived,I was going to live with them. It was assumed that the new home would be in the Denver Metro area. As we all know,plans change in the human experience. It took them a year to move,and for various reasons like the skyrocketing cost of housing in Denver and Rose's husband preference for a smaller area,they ended up in Fountain Colorado.
Fountain Colorado is a suburb of Colorado Springs. It is in close proximity to the Fort Carson Army Base. The entire Colorado Springs area is a military stronghold with NORAD, Peterson AFB,and the Air Force Academy located here. It is also a highly conservative area. The fundamentalist group Focus on the Family is located here. In the 2016 Election,the area gave overwhelming support for Donald Trump,the strongest in Colorado.
It was for those very reasons that Rose's husband preferred to live in Fountain. He and Rose are both Army veterans and he in particular relates best with active service people and vets. Fountain works well for Rose and her husband.
While it is great living with and being a regular part of my grandkids' life,living in Fountain has been difficult for me. There is no public transportation in this town. Seeing as I don't own a car,I am completely dependent on Rose to get anywhere. Uber/Lyft rides run about $10 each way in town and to get to Colorado Springs it cost even more.With jobs mostly being in Colorado Springs,I've estimated it would cost me $50 a day in transportation costs alone. I love my part time job in Denver,but I need 2 or 3 days of work in the week to make it worthwhile given transportation costs and it doesnt work out a lot of the time. While I was living in Denver,working an entry level job in addition to the part time job I still hold,I was just a few thousand dollars short of reaching the limit to what I can make under Social Security. Now,even with a family friendly discount on rent,I'm barely cutting it. In moving in with the family,I only committed myself to a couple years depending on what was going on with the kids. With Johnathan and Kahlea both in school,the time to move on could be approaching. I'm on a few low income senior housing waiting lists in Denver,a couple of them because I'm not a resident of Denver,I get pushed back on. I'm hopeful about one list I'm on,but we'll see what happens.

And that pretty much sums up 2019! All I can say about 2020 is I'll be turning 65 shortly,looking forward to the release of " Annie Jones " and I'm making tentative plans to be part of the 2020 Minnesota Fringe
Happy New Year!

World Series Memories

1963's World Series between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the New York Yankees was the first Series I recall. I remember my grandmother following the games on her radio and being thrilled that the Yankees got swept. With the exception of catcher Elston Howard,the first black to play for the Yankees,she had no love for that team.

The 1964 World Series was between the St Louis Cardinals and the New York Yankees. Mr Eugene Green was my 4th Grade teacher. Mr Green brought in a television set so we could watch the games. World Series games were played during the day then. If a teacher didn't allow a TV in the classroom,a kid's best hope was that the game was still on by the time one got home from school. Mr Green still made the World Series a learning experience as we were to bring in any news clippings about the game and if the Cardinals won,those clippings were posted on red construction paper and blue if the Yankees won.. Cardinals won in 7 games

The 1965 World Series between the Minnesota Twins and Los Angeles Dodgers was the first Series where I had a rooting interest. By then,I had become a full blown baseball fan and had seen the Twins play earlier in the season. Twins pitcher Jim "Mudcat" Grant was one of my favorite players and when the Twins jumped out to a 2 games to none lead,I thought for certain they would win. Learned you can never count out a team that had Sandy Koufax on its roster.

1969's World Series was like Christmas in October. I'm certain it was like that for every fan of the New York Mets. How could one not believe in miracles after the clown princes of baseball defied 100-1 odds to beat the mighty Baltimore Orioles?? It was worth getting busted with my transistor radio in Colonel Leiby's Algebra class and being met at my front door by my grandmother after school warning me not to go crazy like Mets fans at Shea Stadium.

With Alaska not having live TV yet,I was reduced to following the 1973 Series between the New York "You Gotta Believe" Mets and Oakland A's on my radio..vivid memories of Lindsay Nelson talking about 80 degree weather in New York as I am looking at snow falling from my Anchorage college dorm room.

I hate that the first World Series game I got to attend live was Game 4 of the 1976 World Series between the New York Yankees and the Cincinnati "Big Red Machine" Reds. Didn't really like the Reds and hated the Yankees but when you have a chance to go to a World Series game live,what are you supposed to do? I do remember leaving with a quiet smirk,quiet because though I was happy to see the Yankees go down,I saw openly happy Reds fans leaving being punched out and needing hospital attention due to asshole Yankee fans.

Game 6 of the 1986 World Series with 2 outs and the Boston Red Sox leading the New York Mets in the bottom of the 10th inning,I had unplugged my landline phone,had put my Mets cap on and was planning to drown my sorrows at a Denver bar. Thanks to Bill Buckner,I woke up my 4 month old daughter and for Game 7, Denver Police visited my apartment thinking there was a domestic disturbance.

Game 7 of the 1991 World Series between the Minnesota Twins and Atlanta Braves found me catching the game at Liquor Lyle's in Minneapolis. With 2 for 1 beers and chicken wings,I caught Jack Morris's 10 inning masterpiece. The atmosphere at Lyle's was like being in the Metrodome,and after the game, in joining Twins fans on Hennepin Avenue in Downtown Minneapolis, I learned Minnesotans do have a wild side.

2015's World Series and now we're in the era of the internet and social media. I'll remember that Series between the New York Mets and Kansas City Royals for the texting and social message commentary between myself and fellow Mets fan Andrew Ward (who I met online) as much as my concern for when Manager Terry Collins left pitcher Matt Harvey in the game for one inning too long.

The World Series through the years has provided lots of memories both on the field and off. I wonder what awaits this year's Series?
One last note..I dont care if I'm 100 years old and can barely see or hear,I'm hoping to still be on this earth to see the New York Mets defeat the Yankees in the World Series!

Crashing Down..

Since everyone and their kin are sharing their thoughts on the anniversary of 9-11,I figured I'd throw my two cents in for what its worth.

In short,9-11 led to one of my greatest adventures as well as one of my messier breakups,but let me share the details..

I was working at Linden Hills Coop in Minneapolis when word of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers hit. My first thought was "Chickens had come home to Roost" It was just a matter of time before America got a taste of its terroristic foreign policy and the time was now. I was working in the Deli Department and instead of the usual music being played in the kitchen,the radio was turned to MPR.
At one point,it sounded like planes were headed to the Capitol,instead something hit the Pentagon.

When I got a break, I called my girlfriend at the time. We were living together in the Nokomis Neighborhood. She described herself as a "Revolutionary Feminist Marxist" Needless to say,she had been glued to the TV and was fired up over the events. She was surprised Linden Hills wasn't closing down and was hoping I'd make it home before the bombs started flying.. I did notice during my break that while normally planes would be flying over the Coop regularly that it was eerily quiet.

The rest of the day at work was business as usual,I was surprised as how few customers commented on the event. A co worker of mine, a Native American man and I were convinced war was imminent and he assured me in case hostilities broke out,I would be welcomed to join him on tribal land where dissidents such as myself would be welcomed in case the US Government wanted me to join in actions I disapproved of.

I was scheduled to perform with a group of musicians at Sursumcorda, later on in the week. Sursumcorda was a Downtown Minneapolis club that booked poetry and spoken word performers and I had a rehearsal scheduled for that evening. With everyone being on various schedules,previous rehearsals had been cancelled. This was going to be the only chance to get together before the show,and as much as I wanted to cancel the rehearsal to watch the news,the rehearsal had to go on.
I was already worried about the show as the plan was for me to perform the poetry of Eugene McCarthy under a reggae rhythm. I had no idea how this was going to work,but I saw similarities in the themes of McCarthy's work and themes heard in reggae music and I was determined to pull it off.
The rehearsal went smoothly and after a couple hours,I was able to catch up on the events of the day.

We all know what the days and weeks following 9-11 were like..hyper patriotism,wars and rumors of wars. Downtown clubs were closed for a few days,including Sursumcorda. As it turned out,my show was going to be the first after 9-11. Social media was in its infancy then,word about various events got passed on mostly on message boards. Quite a bit had been written about my work in various reggae publications globally. This despite the fact that I had only performed in Minneapolis and Denver at the time. Sursumcorda webcasted its shows,so given the attention the work had garnered,I posted the info about the show on various reggae message boards.

The show went well,and from that show,I learned a little about the power of the internet as within a week after that performance,I received an email from a reggae promoter in Germany inviting me to perform there. The shows were set for the spring of 2002. How was I to know the peace oriented poetry of McCarthy was going to be performed so soon after 9-11??

My girlfriend had always been the more militant sort and though we both were passionately interested in politics and world events,she was by far more focused on them than me. 9-11 served as an explosion in her mind,it seemed and to communicate with her,the subject had to be around revolution or the downfall of the United States,otherwise a fight was going to be on our hands.
In October,the New York Yankees played the Arizona Diamondbacks in the World Series. In the media's eyes this was fitting,and despite the Yankees with their Nixon loving greedy owner and representing everything wrong with America,they were the sentimental favorites. I hate the Yankees and no post 9-11 empathy was going to extend to the Yankees with me.  I watched all seven games of the Series. This drove my girlfriend crazy and at one point she asked me "How could you be watching this when America and the world is preparing to burn?" I replied "Because I like Baseball"

I had a performance that month at Intermedia Arts. There I was was to perform with an avant garde jazz saxophonist and a number of noted spoken word artists. The performance was politically charged as the saxophonist described himself as a "Revolutionary Marxist" The work I contributed to the show was less militant than the others but seeing as most of the other spoken word artists had never worked with musicians before,it served as a bridge and kept the flow of the show going. My girlfriend loved the show and liked the saxophonist too. An ongoing correspondence began with those two and once an open computer with an email addressed to him informed me that there was more than art and revolutionary politics going on between them. I knew what was going on but played dumb when she began to talk with me about the possibility of my moving out shortly after I returned from Europe. Did the fact she told me I was free to have any encounter I wished in Europe have anything to do with the knowledge she was going to have a certain house guest while I was there?

During this relationship,I was still friends with an old girlfriend of mine.We had maintained an on and off relationship through the years. Her interest in me seemed greatest when I was involved with someone else and she had this seemingly psychic knowledge about contacting me when she sensed things were running its course with another.  I generally kept a certain distance from her when I was dating someone else,but this time when she invited me over for dinner,I took her up on it. I did not come home that night.
Needless to say,things got very explosive when I did come home. I did openly what was being done discreetly,not the wisest thing to do when I look back,but that's what happened.
I ended up moving out before I went to Europe,and I do have notes on a play linking the destruction of the Twin Towers with the destruction of a relationship..

G.O.

His name was Richard Twiss,a tall Sioux Indian from the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota. I learned that fact shortly after he picked me up. He was a person about my age. Hitchhiking was commonplace in Alaska in the 70's,in fact I believe at one time it was against the law NOT to pick up someone once the temperature reached -20 or colder.

I would meet a lot of interesting people hitchhiking. Getting picked up usually meant I was going to have someone to smoke marijuana with,or I was going to find my way to a party somewhere in Anchorage or I was going to hear a person's life story. In a place like Alaska,most of the life stories you'd hear were fascinating. There were few rides done in complete silence.

Richard was no different.  Learned from him that at one time he was active in the American Indian Movement. He told me about his associations with Russell Means and Dennis Banks and about his involvement with AIM's takeover of the Bureau of Indian Affairs office. He told me it changed his life. He then began to tell me about the various spiritual searches he began to undertake afterwards as well as the psychedelics he'd consume in the midst of his search.

Richard came across like many countercultural sorts of the day.

I developed an instant rapport with Richard. To me,he came across as another one of those folks from the "Lower 48" who came to Alaska to create a new life. I could relate to that.

Richard was delivering bread to various stores in Anchorage and was finishing up his route at the time he picked me up. I would have never known he was a bakery delivery driver based on the truck he was driving. It wasn't unlike any truck I might see in Alaska. It was older and somewhat beat up,however you wouldn't expect an outsider of sorts to be delivering bread in a corporate company bakery truck anyhow.

Further proof of this countercultural sense was he told me the bread was being made by a community in Palmer Alaska,about 40 miles away from Anchorage.

Then Richard hit me with a question I would not have expected from him given the flow of our  conversation.

"Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ?"

It wasn't the first time I had been asked that question in Alaska.  Anchorage in the 1970's still had vestiges of a frontier town,and it seemed like for every bar that lined the streets,there was a church.

Once while still living on AMU's campus, on the invitation of one of my classmates,I was invited to a service at Abbott Loop Christian Center in Anchorage. Abbott Loop was a large and growing church in Anchorage. Abbott Loop's services were much livelier than those of the Methodist Church I grew up in. Although the congregation was predominately white,it reminded me of the predominately black churches my grandparents attended. In addition,this was a "charismatic" church,meaning the church operated on what is called "Gifts of the Spirit"..speaking in tongues and laying on of hands in prayer for healing. After the sermon,space was given for non believers to come forward and be "saved". My classmate wanted me to come forward,but I didn't.

Now I'm being confronted with the same question. The difference was unlike the classmate who took me to an Abbott Loop service,Richard was more like me with experiences I could relate to. This bakery he was delivering for still seemed outside of the "establishment" and according to Richard,most people living on the farm in Palmer had lived lives similar to those of he and I.

I mostly evaded Richard's question although he would always come back to it. I did however enjoy his company and I was curious about this farm of ex hippies living the self sufficient,back to the land ideal promoted by many hippies.

It was now time to be dropped off. While Richard still could not get me to commit to that personal relationship,I liked Richard and when he invited me to spend the weekend at the farm,I obliged.

I had nothing to lose by spending a weekend in Palmer. Life outside of college was turning out to be a rough one.My first job after dropping out was with a cleaning company and my first assignment was cleaning up the blood and brains at a place where someone had committed suicide, A couple months earlier,I had persuaded a high school classmate from Connecticut into moving to Alaska. Through him I had another Alaska Highway adventure with the highlight being going over high mountain passes with no guardrails in a van that didn't have chains during a snowstorm. Things got rough for us shortly after that trip and our friendship pretty much ended with his pointing a rifle at my head. We were still roommates at the time of that Palmer weekend.

The Farm,(called the Lord's Land by those who lived there) in Palmer was on beautiful land in Alaska's Matanuska Valley. When one stepped outside,there was a stunning view of the Chugach Mountains. Snow covered the garden spot but there was a barn with pigs and chickens in it. Behind the houses on the land was a heavily wooded area. The two structures included the main house which housed the married couples and single women (known as sisters) and an older more rundown house where the brothers stayed. The main house also had a large dining area. I would imagine that there were 30-40 people living there at the time. The main house also maintained a shop where folks could drop by and purchase the bakery products made there. At the time,the Bread of Life Bakery was the only place in Alaska where one could buy fresh bakery items. The basement at the main house was the home of the bakery. It had been remodeled to where this was no small operation. Hundreds of loaves were produced daily. Everyone I met seemed genuinely glad to see me,yet many seemed to have the similar stories.Either they were wanderers or had experienced rough times before getting "saved",and they all thought I should too. I remember at one point debating one member as he was attempting to convert me over moose steak he had cooked up for me.

Prior to mealtime was like a mini service..there was no simple prayer before eating. In some ways it reminded me of what I had witnessed at Abbott Loop,however instead of organs,pianos and a band,acoustic guitars and tambourines set the worship tone. These truly were hippies except that Jesus had replaced the high of drugs and outlaw living.

Sunday services followed suit..no suit and ties or fancy dresses instead guys were dressed in flannels and jeans just like me and the women largely wore the granny dresses often seen in pictures of Haight-Asbury,but it was Abbott Loop all over again with healing and tongues.
Richard promised to take me back to Anchorage after the service,but before that time came to pass,just like at Abbott Loop there was going to be time alloted for non believers to be converted. With Abbott Loop being a big congregation,maybe 10-20 folks would come forward. At the Lord's Land,at this service,the only non converted one was me and instead of one classmate hoping I'd come forward,all adult eyes were on me.

I didn't come forward at the end of the service and told Richard it was time for me to return to Anchorage. I wasnt going to be allowed back to Anchorage without at least one more attempt at conversion. This time the attempt was in a smaller room and Richard was joined by a couple others,known as "elders" While there were many things I liked about this weekend at the farm,there was no way in my mind I was to be converted,then one of the "elders" said something about my life being messed up. That struck a chord..By the time I had landed on the farm,I had walked away from a near full scholarship,disappointing my mom greatly. After planning out a political career for myself starting from the time I was in 4th grade,upon witnessing what I did through Watergate and my experiences with Sen. Mike Gravel,I wasnt certain that I wanted to follow through with it. In addition I figured,no one would ever vote for someone who smokes marijuana. Surely,there would be an old classmate that would spill the beans,and my political career would be over with. My limited experience outside of the classroom seemed to indicate my future was with jobs similar to the cleaning job I had. In other words,my life was messed up. I prayed with Richard and the elders. Next thing you know,everyone is giving me hugs from the elders in the room to any brother or sister in the path of Richard and myself heading to the truck.
When I was dropped off,I was given an invitation to return to live at the Farm. I was encouraged to do so as that would be the best way to begin my "new life" and was given an address in Anchorage where I should appear should I wish to return to the farm

One day back at the apartment with the roommate and ex friend who had pointed a rifle at me and I thought maybe they were right. The following day,I left my record collection to my roommate,packed up what few items I had,showed up at the Anchorage house and next thing you know,I was being given a ride to become a full time member of the farm or as they called it, a disciple

Beginnings

I guess every memoir has a point of origin,a beginning of sorts,so here's my beginning.

I was born January 4,1955 at Mt.Sinai Hospital in Hartford Connecticut. My parents were Dr.Evans H. Daniels Jr. and Helen Louise Jones Daniels. They owned a home in Hartford Connecticut's North End. I am the oldest of three boys. Evans Howard Daniels the Third and Austin Eugene Daniels. We called my brother Evans Howie growing up. 

We lived on Cambridge Street. 15 Cambridge Street to be exact I still remember the neighbors on that street. There were the Mounds. Laurie and Carla. Donny,Gary and Joy. Next to them were the Hills. Our neighbors were Mr. and Mrs Clark and their daughter Phyllis. Mr.Clark was known for sitting on his front step,smoking a pipe while listening to Yankees baseball on his transistor radio. Then on the other side of 15 Cambridge St. were the Nash's and the Jackson household. Mr. Jackson was an older retired man. I don't know what he did while he worked,but it seemed like it had something to do with balls as he was always giving kids in the neighborhood baseballs and softballs. Next to the Jackson house were the Ford's. Mr. Ford ran a pharmacy.The Ford and James Pharmacy.His daughter Anita was a pal and classmate beginning at the Sherman Nursery School in nearby Bloomfield Connecticut. While they were around the corner from us and in reality on our neighboring street,I regarded the Davis and the Pickens as part of our street. Chris and Pete Davis were my best friends in the neighborhood,and their Dad,Allen Hodge Davis was a successful realtor and whose campaign for Hartford City Council was the first campaign I leafleted for. Mr.Pickens was a Professor who at one time taught at Morehouse College in Atlanta. The story is that his Dad was involved in the framing and imprisonment of Marcus Garvey.

  Directly Across from 15 Cambridge Street were the Carrolls. Edgar Carroll at one point served on Hartford's Board of Education. Next to the Carrolls were the Stewarts, Mr. Stewart owned an auto repair garage. 

Next to the Stewart's lived an elderly Italian lady we'd call Mrs.Mo Alley. Mrs. Mo Alley was the meanest person in the neighborhood. When I would see the images of kids in Birmingham Alabama circa 1963 being sprayed by Bull Connor's water hoses,it would remind me of what Mrs.Mo Alley would do to us when we'd try to retrieve baseballs that would land in her front yard. The alternative was Mrs Mo Alley keeping the baseballs that would land in her yard.  Next to Mrs. Mo Alley was the Goldsteins. Mrs Mo Alley and the Goldsteins were the last white families in the neighborhood. The story goes,the others moved out shortly after my Dad and Mom moved in..

Most of my memories surrounding 15 Cambridge Street involve my Mom,my brothers and my grandmother. My grandmother came to live with us after Mom and Dad split up and in so doing guaranteed us summers in Washington DC so she could spend time with my grandfather. I shared a room with my two brothers.

15 Cambridge Street had a basement,a kitchen,a dining room,and living room. Upstairs were all the bedrooms and the bathroom. My grandmother's room was originally a rec room,and the television where the popular shows were Captain Kangaroo,Superman reruns,and the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite was still situated there.

The backyard was primarily the territory of my dog named Gyp. To this day I couldn't tell you what breed a dog he was. We all agreed he was a mutt. We'd tell people Gyp was a blend of German Shepherd and Collie,but his floppy ears and stub for a tail seemed to belie that story. When it came to being a watchdog,Gyp certainly had the fierceness that you might expect from a German Shepherd,but when it came to dealing with the Daniels family,his temperament was akin to the friendliest dog on the planet.

There was a plum tree and an apple tree in the backyard. I loved eating the plums. The apple tree never seemed to produce good apples although I remember once my grandmother making a nice apple pie from it. For me,the apple tree's main usefulness was having something to climb on.

There was also a swing set in the backyard. Perhaps I shouldn't say it was a swing set because it only had one swing to it. At one time there was an aluminum slide attached to it,however somehow that got twisted and dangerous,thus my grandfather during one of his many visits to Connecticut removed it.

There were two spots at 15 Cambridge St that could be viewed as my favorites in the house. One was the basement. No one else liked to go to the basement. Because no one else liked it was one of the primary reasons I liked it. It had dim lighting and had spider webs,but that didn't stop me from reading books in the basement..alone
The other was the swing. My brothers had other places in the neighborhood to play so the swing allowed me to ride high while living in my own world.

I listened to a lot of music at 15 Cambridge St. There was Beethoven,Brahms and music from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir from my mom's collection. Erroll Garner and Miles Davis from my dad's. My early favorite was an artist I sensed both of them liked-Harry Belafonte.

I would play Harry Belafonte's Calypso album over and over again. Then I would go on the swing and sing every song on the entire Calypso album in order from the first song on side one to the last song on side two.

I was to find out I wasn't as much in my own world as I imagined when I'd sing from the swing. Turns out Mom would hear me out on the swing and apparently liked what she heard.

Mom was active in several organizations and at any given time there would be people gathered at the house. It could be members from the NAACP or the Urban League. On other occasions it could be the North End branch of the Hartford Democratic Party or her Sorority,Alpha Kappa Alpha,noted for being the first black sorority. It could even be her bridge club.
In any case,on more than one occasion,Mom would deem it important to trot me out in front of her friends and colleagues in order for them to get a sample of those backyard concerts of mine.
                                           They wouldn't get one.

I wouldn't out and out say no to my mom,that would result in unwanted punishment. I would just refuse to open my mouth.

I'm not certain where a certain degree of defiance comes from. Maybe it's inherent in every human being with some exercising it more than others. Could be hereditary..after all,my Dad beat huge odds going from the son of a sharecropper in East Texas to becoming a prominent Doctor in a prominent New England City. My mom and grandmother showed me pictures of my great grandmother who defied slavery.

Perhaps its all of it,but I wouldn't put past the realm of possibility,that a certain seed was planted in listening to the music of Harry Belafonte,a man from the West Indies and one who would through the years defy social norms,that would sprout in later life in listening to the music from a man from Jamaica,Bob Marley,one known for going his own way..

Annie Louise Moore Jones-The Fan

 Annie Louise Moore Jones was born and raised in Greenville South Carolina.

She attended Allen University in South Carolina where she met Sandy Evander Jones. She eventually married him and at her insistence primarily,the couple left South Carolina for Washington DC.

It was in Washington DC where Mr. Jones worked for years for the Census Bureau before getting into the real estate business. They had a child.. a daughter.

 Part of the history of this country is medical experiments on black folks.Most folks only know about the Tuskegee Experiment,disguised as free government healthcare that intentionally infected black men with syphilis,but it goes back to Slavery Days. As the Rastaman say:Know your History. There would have to be a philosophy built that would hold one race superior and another inferior that the Emperor Haile Selassie and later Bob Marley would speak of. To build this philosophy,the medical establishment of the day had to play its role in creating it.

These practices continued long into the 20th Century

The story goes that it was another type of doctor's experiment that left Annie Louise Jones crippled for life.

The story goes that while it slowed her down it didn't stop her.

The story goes that she would tease her husband,telling him to be thankful she was crippled otherwise she'd be dragging him to some dance.

I know about these stories and more because Annie Louise Jones was my Grandmother.

When my folks divorced leaving Mom with three boys to raise,Annie Louise Jones,with the blessing of her husband,moved from Washington DC to Hartford Connecticut to help Mom raise us. One of the results of that move meant that every summer we'd pack up the station wagon and spend what would be wonderful summers in Washington DC..but those are other stories for another time.

Between my mom and her,she was the one you didn't want to cross. Being crippled was just an obstacle to overcome. Sometimes us Daniels boys thought the best way to escape our punishment was to simply outrun her,often times running up a fairly steep flight of stairs leading to our room. There,we would think we were safe,but like I said before,being crippled simply slowed her down but did not stop her. If the punishment warranted,she would get down on all four knees climb up those stairs,hold on to various handles leading to the boys room,and in doing so trapping us.

Spring and Summer were her favorite seasons. Summer because it meant she could be with her husband in the house they had purchased for themselves and spring because it meant the beginning of the baseball season.

Annie Louise Jones was an avid baseball fan.

The story goes the two things she most enjoyed doing  growing up in Greenville South Carolina was smoking a corn cob pipe behind the barn with the boys and playing baseball with them.

These were segregated times and as Major League Baseball reflected the society at large, there was the Negro Leagues. Negro League teams often barnstormed from one city to the next. Greenville South Carolina was a destination for Negro League games and my grandmother often attended those games. Satchel Paige, Monte Irvin,Cool Papa Bell..she had seen them all and till the day of her death,she'd declare to anyone who would listen,that Josh Gibson was the greatest player of all time.

In the summertime,her idea of a hot date with my grandfather consisted of first banning my brothers and myself along with my mom from interrupting them on their front porch as they swung on their swing,feasting on watermelon while listening to Washington Senators baseball on WTOP  radio.

Back in Connecticut,she would talk baseball with Mr.Clark,our next door neighbor. Mr. Clark was a Yankees fan. My grandmother hated the Yankees primarily because they were one of the last teams to integrate,but Mr Clark was the only one in the vicinity that knew as much about baseball as she did,so they'd get together to talk baseball and on occasion,listen to Yankee games on WINF radio.

My introduction to baseball came while I was in third grade as part of gym class. At my very first at bat,I hit the ball and ran to third base. This set me up for a lot of ridicule from my classmates. That at bat was the very last time the wood of the bat hit the ball the rest of the season. I was like the automatic strikeout leading to further ridicule from classmates,later turning into hostility.
In what was billed as the "Third Grade Championship Game" between My class,Miss Amato's class and Miss Canwell's class ,it became up to me to deliver the winning hit with the bases loaded and two outs.

I struck out again,forcing the gym teacher into bodyguard mode as kids from my class tried to throw a few punches at me and because there was talk that there would be a few kids after school ready to kick my ass because of my strikeout,he escorted me home.

It was then when my gym teacher encouraged Mom and my grandmother that maybe,if for nothing else avoiding the possibility of getting my ass kicked again that it would be a good thing for me to learn a little bit about baseball. My grandmother was thrilled. While it was going to be up to my mom to get a bat,glove and ball for me,my grandmother was going to be more than happy to watch and listen to baseball games with me.

In Connecticut,there were three teams that were easy to follow..there was the New York Yankees,perennial contenders and the team my grandmother hated. There was also the Boston Red Sox whose games on the radio were broadcast on the station Mom always listened to WTIC 1080. Mom wasn't much of a baseball fan,but with all her other favorite programming on that station,the radio dial never left 1080. New York Mets games were broadcast only on Saturdays and Sundays on Independent TV Channel 18,known mostly for being one of the first stations in the country to experiment with "Subscription TV" as well as carrying the bizarre rantings of Evangelist Dr.Gene Scott. That was good enough for me. I began following Mets games.

It didn't take long to discover that the New York Mets were not a very good baseball team. Their futility made them even easier to relate to. Their manager Casey Stengel provided comic relief despite losses and their owner Joan Payson would give Mets players hugs despite their futility. This introduction to baseball seemed much nicer than the one I experienced on the playing field. The Mets were my kind of team.

While my grandmother was happy I chose a National League team to like over an American League team,for the life of her she could not understand why I would like the Mets. They were losers. Because of Jackie Robinson,she liked the Dodgers but was put off by their moving from Brooklyn to Los Angeles. She didn't like the move of the New York Giants to San Francisco either,but the Giants signed Monte Irvin from the Negro League and besides having Willie Mays,had one of her favorite ballplayers,first baseman Willie McCovey. To her,the New York Mets were a poor substitute for National League baseball in New York.So much so that if I wasnt watching the game,she'd rather listen to a Yankee game with Mr.Clark. "At least they know how to win" she'd say. When the Mets would engage in a 10 game losing streak,lose a game 12-0 or blow a game she easily should have won,she'd give me this exasperated look while stating "How could you like this team?",At the same time,this was her grandson showing interest in the game she loved,so we saw our share of Mets games. She had to tell me to be quiet when for the first time I could recall,the Mets beat the San Francisco Giants. The hero of the game was an obscure utility player,Dan Napoleon whose pinch hit led to a come from behind Mets victory. When I finally calmed down,calmed down,she explained that loss wasnt too bad to take as Danny Napoleon was from a nearby South Carolina town.

My last baseball memory of my grandmother came in 1969,two years before her death. The New York Mets went from 100-1 odds to their first ever winning season leading to their first World Championship. She was happy for me that the Mets were winning for once but concerned that they'd find a way to blow it. She liked Tommie Agee,the Mets centerfielder,but when they reached the National League Championship Series,she reminded me that the Mets were facing the Atlanta Braves featuring the great Hank Aaron and when they got past them,she reminded me they were now facing the Baltimore Orioles featuring the great Frank Robinson.

I was in school listening to the 1969 World Series on my transistor radio. The Mets were on the verge of winning the World Series,helped my a miraculous catch by Tommie Agee. No wonder the 69 Mets were known as the Miracle Mets.
When the final out was recorded,crowning the Mets as World Champs,I was glad school was almost over. I had been restrained at school,but now I was going to go home where through the years,my reputation for making noise whenever the Mets did well. I would bang on the piano reciting a poem I wrote in 5th grade whenever outfielder Ron Swoboda would hit a home run
                                                  Ron Swoboda Give me a Soda
                                                  I'll take a Grape,
Ron Swoboda was a hero during the 69 Series prompting a revival of that old poem much to the dismay of the rest of the house. With the Mets as World Series Champs,the household was going to see a Mets celebration like they've never seen before.

That was before walking up to my front doorstep for meeting me at the door,holding herself up by the front handle of the door was my grandmother.
 " I am happy that the Mets won and happy for you that the Mets won,but if you think you're coming into this house with that noise you have another thought coming!
That was Annie Louise Moore Jones..my grandmother

Denver County Dreadlock

Dreadlocks nowadays are considered widely fashionable..Rastas grew dreadlocks in part as a defiant act against the mainstream culture. In Jamaica cops were known to attack and shave off dreadlocks. While Rastas saw dreadlocks as natural,the culture looked at them as dirty. Outside of a reggae band that a resort might hire,the only way a Rasta was going to benefit from the lucrative tourist culture was to sell tourist marijuana which is illegal in Jamaica.

 My decision to dreadlock came inside a Denver County Jail Cell.. I was in the cell for failing to pay a traffic ticket. I had forgotten about the ticket,but when I remembered the circumstances as to why I didn't pay the ticket initially I remembered,it to be a time when I had to choose between paying the ticket or to provide groceries for my then wife and infant Rose. I chose groceries. I'm not going to make any excuses for not paying it later,I will say in the years between the time I first got the ticket,I had gotten divorced and had moved to Minnesota.

I had returned to Colorado to witness a Denver Broncos victory in the Super Bowl against the San Francisco 49ers. Broncos lost 55-10. Denver is not a nice place when the Broncos lose a Super Bowl. It's especially not nice when you have a warrant out for your arrest and you're going door to door canvassing for Greenpeace where it was commonplace for people to call police about a "suspicious black man" walking the neighborhood.(One of the perks for working for Greenpeace was that one could canvass anywhere Greenpeace had an office in nearby Boulder,that was how I was going to pay for this Super Bowl trip)
As a black man with no college degree and with limited practical skills,there were 2 things I felt I could never do 1. Get fired from a job and 2. Land in jail. I had already experienced the first.
Being in jail really seemed like the end of the line for me. There was no chance of returning to school,Mom who would have assisted me in returning was long gone,and my Dad who had been negligent in paying child support when I was younger had long given up on me from the time I dropped out of college and ended up in the Gospel Outreach Jesus commune.In Dad's eyes now,I was a bad investment.
I was paying child support,however working a job that didnt pay much meant that child support didn't amount to much and the amount of child support taken from an entry level job. Greenpeace was an interesting job with interesting people,but from the beginning,you knew canvassing wasnt a lifetime job and now I had a jail record going forward.

Not long after leaving Gospel Outreach,I discovered Reggae music for myself. It took some listening to get accustomed to the off rhythms of the music,but once I got through that I found myself increasingly drawn to the essence of the music. It was at its heart speaking about my heritage,my African heritage as well as my personal one. It told me to be proud of it. I could relate to its Biblical imagery,but unlike the repression I had experienced in G.O,this seemed to speak of Liberation. There were songs of political protest and yet calls for Peace and Love similar to the hippies of the '60 and 70's Speaking of hippies,there was a lot of open praise for marijuana in the music. All this had a way of speaking to who I am.
Now I'm in jail I am the person Bob Marley,Peter Tosh and Lucky Dube speak of in their music.

I was sentenced to 30 days and I would get 10 days off for good behavior.Because this was my first offense and deemed low risk,I was assigned to work in the kitchen. One had to be deemed low risk to work in the kitchen because there were knives in the kitchen. That didn't stop a couple fights from breaking out in the kitchen. One of the fights broke out over music. Being in the kitchen gave us privileges other prisoners didnt have like the ability to listen to music on the shift and everyone who worked in the kitchen could listen to the radio station of their choice for a half hour. For some,a half hour of Spanish music was too much, The favorites were hits by Janet Jackson or Lionel Richie. There was a noticeable groan in the kitchen when it was my turn for the radio and I turned the station to KBCO in Boulder. For some in Denver,Boulder conjures the image of rich white people.This is not the impression you want to give to folks who already had a strong sense that jail was a new experience for me. Chances were if folks didn't like my choice in radio stations,I'd have to give up part of my time or be willing to fight. I didn't like my chances in a fight and I was still hoping to get the 10 days off  for good behavior.
Bob Marley would speak of a Natural Mystic in the air..that day the Natural Mystic took flight in the Denver County Jail as the announcer introduced the Denver County Jail to an hour of Bob Marley. Though this music was new to everyone but me,the rhythms offended no one.
For me this was almost like being released. I might have been washing dishes in the Denver County Jail but for a moment there were no bars.I guess I could have been written up for dancing in the kitchen,but no boss did and the other prisoners just looked at me.
After the shift was done and we're back in the jail living room,a couple prisoners approached me with questions about Rastafari and reggae music. The discussion delved into Bob Marley,Marcus Garvey, One Love and Malcolm X. From that day on it seemed like some sort of shield was placed over me. I had one prisoner warned me of various traps that could get one in trouble either with the cops or other inmates.Another said he wanted to be the first to inform me that Nelson Mandela had been released from prison in South Africa..
I knew then that as soon as my time was up,it was time for me to Dreadlock.
The prisoners in the Denver County Jail were the first to know of my intention.
It was a Denver County prisoner who stated it would be an honor to be the last person to cut my hair.
Denver County Jail was the last place where I had a haircut

Where Are You Floyd?

Floyd Bedford was a fellow student at Alaska Methodist University. Our backgrounds and lifestyles were as different as Night and Day. I being from Connecticut and with a prep school background while Floyd was from the South Side of Chicago having received an education from the streets. Floyd liked to dress exquisitely even going to class while blue jeans and a flannel shirt was fine by my standards. I was a quiet reflective sort.  Floyd was  boisterous. While Floyd smoked marijuana,he couldn't be considered as one of the school's infamous potheads and often said to me when we were together was "Get that damn reefer out of my face!"

While the differences were pronounced,we were linked as the only blacks on campus at Alaska Methodist University and became friends largely because of that reason.

Sometimes the cultural differences between us frustrated Floyd. "Daniels sometimes I think the only reason I'm friends with you is because you're the only nigger on campus!" (In the 70's it was okay for blacks to use the N word when speaking to each other..this was the era of Richard Pryor) Nevertheless,we'd hang out and he found my circle of friends on campus as interesting as any.
Our reasons for attending AMU were different as well. My road to the White House was going to be through getting elected Governor of Alaska and attending AMU was part of the plan. Floyd was chasing a woman from Chicago who joined the military and found herself stationed at Elmendorf AFB in Anchorage. Sometimes that relationship seemed to go well,but at other times,it didn't go well and she also had military engagements that kept her away and during those times well,Floyd wasnt averce to pursuing and spending time with other women.

AMU was the first place in my lifetime where I seemed to "fit in" culturally and socially. I had studied Alaskan culture long before I attended,so much so that many Alaskans were surprised that I was not born or raised there. Alaskans are very provencial and can be indifferent at best to "outsiders" AMU was a college attended mostly by Alaska natives. After being considered a "nerd" or "outsider" for so many years,it was a weird new experience having a social life and even weirder observing Floyd with his Southside Chicago ways as the "outsider" although my circle of friends tended to be pretty accepting. Floyd appreciated that,but there was this problem: My circle of friends was a representation of the man to woman ratio in Alaska which was 8 men to 1 woman and while there were a couple women in my circle,they were either involved with someone else or they too "smoked too much reefer" in his estimation. Besides,we tended to get into what he called "hippie talk" mostly discussions about Alaska politics and philosophy..a lot of us during that time were reading the likes of Carlos Casteneda,Kahlil Gibran and Thoreau. This type of talk would even follow us to the bar we would attend on weekends-The Pines,a dive bar not too far off campus serving cheap drinks and featuring 70's rock cover bands.. No dress code. This frustrated Floyd to no end. He preferred some of the downtown Anchorage clubs..places where he had a better chance of showing off his wardrobe as well as the dance moves he learned in Chicago nightclubs and on Soul Train. He also had a better chance at picking up women in those clubs.

There was onc club where he would never bring me or fellow students. It was called The Black Orchid. It was attended mostly by black servicemen and women stationed on the Air Force and Army bases. That's where he and his Air Force woman friend would attend.

One New Years Eve,either Floyd and his girlfriend had split up again or she was away on assignment.I dont remember now. All I know is Floyd was going to spend New Years Eve at the Black Orchid. He was determined not to spend New Years Eve alone and to accomplish that goal,he could not be seen walking into the Black Orchid alone and the only "acceptable" partner to accomplish that goal was me. Asking me to go with him was not an easy task for him. I was not the most ideal person for him to bring,but I guess he felt bringing me was better than bringing anyone White,Eskimo,Tlingit Indian,or Japanese. That's what my social circle looked like on campus.
It also created another set of problems for him. 1.My clothes did not fit the dress code 2. My hair,while being in an Afro was more like the Jimi Hendrix wild style. Once I agreed to go with him,Floyd took matters into his own hands to rectify the problem. In the early 70's Anchorage Alaska's black population was miniscule and the only black barbers were on the base. Floyd had a pass to Elmendorf and he used it to bring me to one of the black barbers. By being on base,Floyd was able to knock out two birds with one stone as in the military commissary there were outfits deemed "acceptable" to wear to the Black Orchid. Floyd covered the cost of the hair trim and shape as well as the jumpsuit. I now was transformed into this Earth,Wind,and Fire like image. We were now ready to appear at the Black Orchid.

Unlike at The Pines,where men and women were as likely to walk in alone as with a group,it was clear that no one went to the Black Orchid alone. It was either couples or groups.After scouting the bar,Floyd discovered a table with 2 women and 2 empty chairs. That is where we sat. We were barely seated when the DJ played a particular song. The three of them immediately hit the dance floor. I sat at the table and ordered a beer when the waitress came to my table. Floyd was dancing with his newly found friend and her friend wasnt on the dance floor alone for too long before she had a partner. When the series of songs had ended,the man dancing with her started to return to our table but turned around when he saw me sitting there.
I must have broken some sort of protocal because when Floyd and friends returned from dancing,I guess I was supposed to let Floyd order a round for everyone first. He scowled and I could just hear him mumbling "the only reason.." under his breath again,but he couldn't say it out loud. He had a woman to impress and I was to be his foil.
I quietly listened as the three of them engaged in small talk,then the music started again.Once again the three of them jumped onto the dance floor. I remained at the table, finishing the beer I had ordered and enjoying the second one that Floyd had bought. I found wearing the jumpsuit a little out of my comfort zone,but in my own way,I was enjoying observing the Floyd he would tell me stories about when he lived in Chicago. It was too bad others didn't quite see it that way. When they returned from the dance floor,one began to get the sense that my ongoing silence was becoming a problem. My senses were confirmed when Floyd's new found friend with her friend sitting next to me asked me a question.
                         "What are into?"
For a moment I found my element.Just recently through one of my friends,I had discovered the writings of Jean-Paul Sartre and found myself fascinated with his Existential Philosophy. At the time I had also been digging the writings of Hermann Hesse,and don't get me started on Thoreau!
In sharing all this at with Floyd and guest at the table,I am also sharing the enthusiam I'm receiving in reading the Sartre play NO EXIT.
I was soon seeing my exit from the Black Orchid for after completing my explainations and just before the music was to start again,Floyd grabbed me and pulled me away from the table. He then slipped me a $20 bill,had the bartender call a cab for me.
Floyd "GO! I cant have you here! You'll ruin my game!" "GO!"
For many years after leaving Alaska,Floyd was one of the few AMU students who kept in touch. 20 years ago,I stayed with him while attending the Chicago Blues Festival. I was living in Minneapolis then,and after leaving Alaska,Floyd had returned to the South Side of Chicago. He greeted me coming off the Greyhound Bus. He observed my dreadlocks "You crazy nigger Still! I know you're smoking reefer!" He did find it fascinating and in keeping with my talks on Rastafari.
One night we were returning to his apartment when 2 men came running towards us.As they approached us and passed us,we heard them saying "Respect to the Rasta.Rastafari." Seconds later we heard gunshots.Floyd then turned to me and said "That Rasta stuff gave us some protection,we were supposed to get shot"
In this day and age of technology and social media,I have attempted to find Floyd again. Before social media came into existence,I tried reaching him through the telephone operator.His previous number had been disconnected.
I hope he's alright.