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