Thumbnail Sketches from a (nearly) 60 Year Old Part 2B

                                                                        Alaska

I  made my first trek to Alaska in 1972,but the Alaskan spirit got to me long before that initial Northwest Orient flight.It first came through Jack London stories and National Geographic Magazines.
Then November 22,1963 hit,and by 1964 I decided I wanted to become President of the United States.
All the things I had read about Alaska seemed to indicate that Alaska seemed to be full of folks considered "outside the norm". That was me! To that end, by 1966 I was subscribing to the Anchorage Daily News and determining that my" Road to the White House" would begin in Juneau.

1973-I was a student at Alaska Methodist University in Anchorage,a small liberal arts college of about 400 students,but much larger than my 120 student experience at Watkinson.

Alaska of 1973 meant there was no live TV. Programs were aired on a 2 week delay basis,the Anchorage Daily News front page was just as likely if not more likely to carry a story about the Fur Rendezvous dog races, as opposed to a national or international story and KENI AM with Chuck Roberts late night was the only place to hear non Top 40 music.
The campus atmosphere at AMU was quite different than what was taking place on many college campuses in the "Lower 48"..No anti Vietnam protests,no militant student union organization.The only creature blocking buildings might be 3 or 4 Moose on any given occasion. One thing AMU did have in common with just about every other college however: There was LOTS of marijuana.

Seemed like for me in the course of one Northwest Orient flight,I went from the elementary school kid some wanted to beat up to being a noticeable character on campus. After all I had come to Alaska from the East Coast,had been to the big Cities and had attended the big concerts and for many Alaskan students,particularly Native students from the villages,I was the first real live black person they had ever encountered!

Now there will be a time to delve into greater detail,but remember,these are thumbnail sketches,and this is all part of the canvass.

 1973:I get elected to AMU's Student Assembly.The key to that election was using pothead code words in my candidates statement piece published in the campus newspaper.
Despite Alaska's seeming isolation,the outside world seemed present for a day when students who were in the Military were called out of the classroom and into active duty because of the Yom Kippur War. All seven games of 1973 World Series between the New York Mets and Oakland A's is listened to on the radio.One game I remember the announcer describing 80 degrees at Shea Stadium while I'm looking out my dorm room window watching the snow fly.


1974: I meet one of the greatest friends I've had in my life. David Trent. Son of an Army brat. Attended High School in Anchorage.His parents ended up in Kansas City.He turned down Yale University in order to return to Alaska.
The potheads who elected me Student Assemblyman are rewarded by my using Student Activity funds to bring Quicksilver Messenger Service's John Cippolina on campus (see http://rootswriterdaviddaniels.blogspot.com/2011/08/when-john-cipollina-came-to-alaska.html )
Later brought local Anchorage jazz musicians on campus who previously had no other place to play.

 Theater Professor Frank Brink invites me to be part of a play he's written. "Song of the Great Land". Theater had never entered my mind at this point. I was intrigued but ultimately turned the role down due to a kissing scene.(I had never kissed a woman at this point) Song of the Great Land wins awards and tours the country. Did play a role in a Frank Brink radio drama afterwards.

I experiment with mescaline and LSD.Mescaline I enjoyed,Never felt comfortable with acid,though once I remember Charles DeGaulle appearing from my bathroom wall.

Thought I was going to spend the entire summer of 74 with my mom and brothers in Connecticut when I get a call from David Trent. 2 weeks later I'm on a plane to Kansas City.
  Crosby,Stills,Nash,and Young Royals Stadium Kansas City followed by a most memorable road trip. Near marijuana bust at Sweetgrass Montana.. story swaps with Canadian hitchkiker Doug Shand from Winnepeg. There was travelling on the Alcan (mostly dirt road) Highway  3 days of partying with back to the land hippies and retirees in their Winnebagos due to the road being washed out in Fort Nelson B.C
All this topped by a 30 car pileup due to the dust when the road dried up. David and I get the damaged car started despite knowing nothing about cars and the rest of the trip becomes a non stop legal speed addled adventure through some of the most breathtaking scenery put here on this earth.

Richard Nixon's resignation is marked with champagne with Professor Charles Konigsberg.David and I continue the party hopping from one dive bar to another till Gerald Ford is sworn in the next day.

Maybe it was the disillusionment stemming from Watergate,or the belief that my marijuana usage would keep me from the White House,but as a result, I begin to question everything.Came to the conclusion that while I found success in the classroom,I hadn't experienced much in the classroom of life,and perhaps I needed that balance. I then walked away from an A average,grants, scholarships,and a political life that was looking as if was possible to accomplish.
Took a second cross country trip..this time from Connecticut to Alaska via the Trans-Canada Highway. This time with an old high school friend,and this time in the winter.I remember on the Alcan hearing the sounds of a domestic dog being taken apart by a wolf pack.
It was not a good idea to travel the Alcan in 1974 without chains on one's tires.

On New Years Eve I saw a bunch of college age kids go from drunk to sober in a matter of seconds when we realized  the ground below us was not shaking because of the amount of alcohol in our systems.The quake had cracked a wall in my apartment.David suggested afterwards that we go to a ski hill and watch the aftershocks send Anchorage in the sea.

First job I had after leaving AMU was cleaning up an apartment after a man had blown his brains out.Alaskan winters can be dark on many levels.
The brains blown out could have been me a month or so previously,only it was my high school friend pointing a rifle to my head. At this point  cocaine had infiltrated my circle of friends. Ron Buickie,my first college roommate died from an overdose of downers and life seemed as dark as the Alaskan winter

1975 I'm picked up hitchiking by  a man named Richard Twiss. He was a Lakota Sioux from the Rosebud Indian Reservation in South Dakota.He was driving an old vehicle that was serving as a bakery delivery truck. Before coming to Alaska,Richard had been involved in the American Indian Movement takeover of the Interior Department building in Washington DC. Now he was delivering bread to various grocery stores in Anchorage because  he had found Jesus,and now was living in a communal farm called the Lord's Land just outside of Wasilla Alaska. He told me I could find Jesus too and invited me to spend the weekend at the farm. I wasnt so sure about the Jesus trip he was laying on,but a weekend at a Jesus Farm seemed like an alternative to the darkness surrounding my roommates,so I went along..

The Bread of Life Bakery at the time was the only fresh bread bakery in the state of Alaska,and the cinnamon rolls were delicious.
The Lord's Land was a blend of Stephen Gaskin's Farm and old time Revival hour. Was read scripture to by a man as he was cutting up and frying a moose steak.  Church services were most unlike the Methodist services I attended as a child. .Men in everyday clothes,mostly flannel shirts and blue jeans and the women in flowing long dresses. No suits.No traditional hymns but  acoustic guitars leading services,and those services were lively complete fire and brimstone preaching, speaking in tongues and the laying on of hands for healing,and prophecy. After the services,folks loved to hug each other.

2 days later I was living at the Lord's Land.

When one lived at the Lord's Land,one was not merely "saved",but  given over to "Discipleship".
"Discipleship" meant giving up friends,family,"worldly habits" and bank accounts for Jesus. No TV.
It meant living on a $5 a week allowance(which when one wasn't permitted to buy "worldly" music ,go to movies or go into town alone would go a long way) It meant turning one's life direction over to a group of "elders"

A day was filled listening to tapes of Christian Music (imitations of rock with Jesus lyrics) and the teachings of a man named Jim Durkin from Eureka California to whom we were told was an Apostle in the same manner of the Biblical Paul as well as the occasional visit by bears.

The Lord's Land was part of a network of churches called Gospel Outreach. We'd call it G.O.  Started by a group of "Jesus Freaks" in Northern California,it had branches in different parts of the U.S. as well as in Germany and Guatemala.

Sooner or later,those of us living at the Lord's Land were to be "called" to either assist with the established communes across the country or help develop new teams.

By now,the White House dreams were buried, there was going to be no way to recover the grants and scholarships from AMU,and given the alienation created amongst some friends upon my decision to live at the farm,there was no reason for me to remain in Alaska. I told the "elders" that I felt "called" to return to the East Coast and to the G.O. team in Brooklyn New York,and in 1976,hands were layed on me,and I was sent to New York.

Thumbnail Sketches from a (nearly) 60 Year Old Part 2A (The 70's)

I could have easily subtitled this segment "A Tale of Three Places" because in many ways it's true,and that's how I'm going to share it.

 Connecticut

By this time,sports was becoming a huge thing in the Daniels household,which was interesting because in the interest of pushing books over bodies,sports were not emphasized.

Thanks to my grandfather,Sandy Evander Jones who from the time I can remember would travel from Washington D.C .to spend holidays at our Connecticut home and whom we would spend our summers with in his home,watching football was becoming a Daniels Brothers ritual.

In 1970,the Minnesota Vikings played the Kansas City Chiefs in the Super Bowl.My brother Austin  because of their purple uniforms became a Vikings fan. Howie and I rooted for other teams,but for the Super Bowl we teamed up against the youngest Daniels. On a tiny cassette recorder,we recorded all the scores of the game.The Chiefs took up most of the 30 minute tape.There was however room on the tape to record our merciless trashing of the Vikings. Last words from a crying Austin: "The Vikings are still good". 

Then there's the memory of Christmas of 1971 with my Grandfather,my Dad,my Brothers,and some of the neighborhood boys glued to the TVwatching the longest game in NFL History between the Kansas City Chiefs and Miami Dolphins.

In 1970, I was part of a lesson in stereotyping gone wrong.Being one of a handful of black students at Watkinson,when I arrived on campus,it was assumed by many a white student that I knew a thing or two about playing basketball. Previous to my time at Watkinson,I played basketball enough to know I wasn't very good at it,and only played it when forced to in gym class.When invited to tryout for the team,I looked at it as an opportunity to show well meaning but naive kids that Oscar Robertson I was not. I was told prior to the tryouts that Watkinson wasn't very good. I should have listened.They were worst than I thought and I ended up as a starting player for all four years I attended school there.

In 1972,my grandfather passed away in my arms at Walter Reed Army Hospital in Washington DC.

In the summer of 1972,my mom and I  attended the Democratic Party Platform Commitee meetings in Washington.Saw Sargent Shriver become the Vice Presidential candidate.At a Youth for McGovern party,Maria Shriver became the first woman I ever hit on.(Thwarted when my mom showed up)

In the fall of '72 on a senior class camping trip at Lake George in the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York I smoked marijuana for the first time.Returned from Lake George and started reading Thoreau,Emerson,and the poetry of Richard Brautigan. I was becoming the hippie folks were afraid I was years before!

Later in the fall of 72,I was accepted at Alaska Methodist University in Anchorage.

Graduated from Watkinson in 1973,and in the fall of 73,left Connecticut,never to live there again.
The Alaska Adventure was to begin..

Thumbnail Sketches from a (nearly) 60 Year Old Part 1

As many of you know,come January 4th of 2015,I'll be turning 60 years old. I happen to think that those "decade" birthdays,if one is going to recognize birthdays at all,are the ones  most noteworthy.(Though it seems like for various reasons, the 21st birthday looms larger than the 20th in the eyes of most).
When one hits 50,one begins to realize that one's lived a lot of life and has experienced a number of events that those younger will never experience. My grandfather and my mother would share stories of their experiences on December 7,1941. I could never experience it the the way they did. I can only pass their experiences down to those wishing to listen. When one approaches 60,it begins to dawn on,at least on me,that the odds are against being in this particular life form for another 50 years.


With that in mind,I'm going to begin,in not such great detail for now,how I experienced each decade of my life to date.Strangely enough,I can remember the exact years of earlier events much more vividly than those of  more recent times.

There are those out there who say those early memories are the formulative ones. Maybe they are,maybe they're not.,but I'm going to start there..

 I was born January 4th,1955 at Mt.Sinai Hospital in Hartford Connecticut. I am the son of Dr.Evans H.Daniels from Kansas City Missouri and Helen Louise Jones Daniels from Washington DC I am the oldest of 3 brothers. I can't say I have many memories from 1955-1961. 2 however DO come to mind. I do have a memory of being picked up from my crib as well as one of getting my diaper changed..

February of 1962,I remember getting pissed off at my brother Austin for having the audacity to come down with pnumonia when my mom and I were having such a good time watching the orbital flight of John Glenn on TV. Mom had to rush him off to the hospital,thus ending the all the fun for me.

The summer of 1962,I recall my mom,my brothers,and my grandparents loading up in my grandfather's car for a road trip from Washington DC to my grandfather's family in rural South Carolina. I would listen to my mom's and grandparent's conversations and would watch the news with them sometimes,so I had an inkling as to what what taking place in the South at that time. I'd ask "Is the Ku Klux Klan going to get me?" My grandmother's response would mostly be "Ku Klux Klan doesnt want you.",however I do recall a time when I aggravated her to the point of her saying "If you don't start behaving,I'll tell the Ku Klux Klan to come get you!"
Once in South Carolina,I remember the dirt roads and seeing my grandfather take off his shoes and walking barefoot like he did as a kid. Rode on a tractor too for the first time and saw my first snake.

There was the Fall of 1962,when my mom,grandmother and brothers gathered in front of this portable Admiral TV to listen to President Kennedy speak about nuclear missiles in Cuba,and my brother Howie asking "Are we going to Die?"

1963: A violent year. JFK is assassinated while I was in Miss Amato's third grade classroom studying math. A couple months earlier,I had been beaten by my Dad for failing math.On top of that,I was teased a lot by classmates. I felt as if I could relate to JFK because he found out what it was like to be hated. I decided then,that I was willing to be hated..and loved like JFK. Earlier in the year however,Mom,Howie,Austin and myself took our first cross country trip.First leg of the trip being with the Rowe family from Washington DC to Minneapolis where we dropped our car and the Rowe family who drove with us. Uncle Yancey as we called him,the man who never smiled was developing the zip code and had to spend time in Minneapolis. We then took the Greyhound to Yellowstone,and then to LA and Disneyland! On the return trip to Minneapolis,we made a visit to the Minnesota State Fair.
Summer of 1964,in one of the biggest days in my entire life,Mom took me to the Democratic Party Platform Committee Meetings where in one day I got a newsroom tour by NBC Correspondent Elie Abel,met Dr.Martin Luther King,was nearly run over by Robert Kennedy,and had lunch with Connecticut Secretary of State Ella Grasso,later to become the first ever woman Governor. That didn't prevent me however from,in my school's mock election from casting the only vote in the entire school for Republican Barry Goldwater. Had to be escorted home by teachers because of that vote,Earlier that year,I was escorted home for striking out with the bases loaded in the classroom championship baseball game.I knew nothing about baseball then.Teachers told my mom that maybe I should learn a little about baseball if for nothing else avoiding getting beat up. I soon afterwards began to watch baseball,and developed a fondness for the New York Mets. Seemed to me like people loved the Mets despite the fact that they sucked..
I wrote and directed my first play in 1964. It was based on a story about a battle during the Korean War. For the cast,I brought on some of the kids who earlier wanted to beat me up as well as those who liked to play with guns. (I never liked playing with guns). We went from classroom to classroom with our presentation.

In 1965,my 10th Birthday Party was held at an Italian Restaurant in Hartford that was a known hangout for Hartford politicians.The Mayor of Hartford made an appearance at my birthday party,but the biggest treat of the party was receiving the birthday present from my Mom- a flight ticket to Washington DC where I would be escorting my mom to the Inaguration of President Lyndon Johnson. My Mom forgave me for voting for Goldwater.
 The summer of 65 saw me witnessing my first live baseball game. a doubleheader at DC (later to become RFK) Stadium between the Washington Senators and the Minnesota Twins. Frank Howard! Harmon Killebrew! Earl Battey!

1966  First trip to Denver Colorado.Fun cousins and a trip to Buffalo Bill's grave sold me on the place.

In 1967,I received a scholarship to attend the Kingswood School, a prestigious all boys private school located in West Hartford Connecticut,the most affluent town in the Greater Hartford area.Graduating from Kingswood boosted ones chances of being admitted into an Ivy League college by 90%. I wasnt the most liked kid in the elementary school I attended previously,and I wasn't the most liked kid at Kingswood either.It was strange how in one year I went from the kid harassed because I didn't fit in inner city Hartford to the kid harassed because I was from inner city Hartford.

In 1968,I was spending my weekends leafletting and stuffing envelopes for the Presidential campaign of Senator Eugene McCarthy. Dinner table discussions would be lively as I supported McCarthy,Mom supported first Johnson,then Hubert Humphrey,and brother Howie liked RFK.Because "Hippies" were known to hangout at McCarthy headquarters,Mom wondered if I was smoking marijuana.(Not yet) In March,King was assassinated causing riots in Hartford and Washington DC,and in June RFK was assassinated causing Howie to begin hanging out at Black Panther Headquarters. Also in June,I was kicked out of Kingswood School for flunking math. Was relieved both for not having to return there and not getting beat for flunking math this time.
In the Fall of 68 at the Mark Twain School,a public school in Hartford,I brought to school as part of a project a copy of Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix. Kids at Mark Twain didn't tease me as much..they just thought I was plain weird,and the English Teacher who I later discovered was a friend of my Mom's encouraged my mom to watch out for "possible drug use."

1969 NEW YORK METS WIN THE PENNANT!! NEW YORK METS WIN THE WORLD SERIES!! 1969 also marked my entry at Watkinson School,another private school but not with the prestige of Kingswood. I was one of a handful of blacks attending Watkinson,but it lacked the aristocratic atmosphere permeating Kingswood. I was welcomed and began a four year experience that was by far the richest educational experience in my life.

To be continued...

Ode to Charlie Braden

Just heard the notes floating down from the clouds..
High Notes Low Notes
Notes from another dimension.
It could only be Charlie Braden
Notes Full with Quiet Intensity
Charlie Braden doing his thing
Charlie Braden Sax Man
Charlie Braden Music Man
I know that sound when I hear it
Braden getting down to business

It's good to hear it one more time.,

Lessons from the Court

My High School basketball team from Watkinson School in Hartford Connecticut was terrible..and that's being nice about it. When I first entered Watkinson,I never imagined myself playing basketball on the Varsity level. Initially,my primary reason going out for basketball was to utterly destroy at this predominantly white prep school  the stereotype of all black guys being good at basketball.
But that's another story for another time.

We were short. I was the second tallest on my team one year. We were slow. In Basketball,being short and slow is a fatal condition and with the Watkinson Varsity Basketball team of the early '70's it proved itself with 20,30,and 50 point losses not being uncommon.

The coach of this hapless team was Stanley "Skip" Jarocki. He doubled up as an English teacher at the school. How that worked out as a student also is another story for another time. Skip was part of the Haverford College championship soccer team,and never had been associated with a losing team..till he met us.

Skip was a Bobby Knight type coach. Tough on the refs. Would get called for several technical fouls. Tough on his players too. In a game against Milford Academy we had 5 consecutive backcourt violations. On the sixth try,we got the ball past halfcourt. I then traveled. On the ensuing time out,I thought he was going to strangle the entire team. The image on his face is burned in my memory forever.
 "DANIELS!!"
There's something else from Coach Jarocki that has burned in the heart ever since. When one is getting beatdown time after time,it would be easy to call it quits,and given certain situations,it would have made sense. With this team,the outcome of the game was often decided within the first few minutes of the first quarter. By the fourth quarter,even the opposing team would be laughing at us. Nevertheless,the thing that got you benched in a hurry was NOT the mistakes,but rather giving up no matter how out of reach the game was.

There have been those moments in life when it would seem like I'd be down 10 points within the first few minutes of a game. Life can throw one for a loop at times. I'd hate it when Skip would bench me,and generally would not permit it from happening.
When times have been tough,I still see Skip's image and hear the voice..and I keep playing. Hard.

By the way,we did beat a previously undefeated team once..
 

The Nor'easter that Never Happened

Chances are that if you lived in the Greater Hartford Area in the '60s or '70s,you began your morning listening to Bob Steele on radio station WTIC. Bob Steele played Big Band and Easy Listening music,told corny jokes,made poor baseball predictions,and made note of your birthday if you were 80 years old or older.

If you were a kid growing up in Hartford,you kinda hated him based on the music he'd play,plus the mere fact that your parents loved him,but on the other hand,you kinda liked him too. Chances are when one was younger,you listened to his Children's Story segment..something like Peter and the Wolf which he'd break up in segments throughout the week... "Part 3 Tomorrow" in his distinctive voice.
Later when you went to school,there was another reason worth listening to Bob Steele. During the winter,when there was a severe blizzard or Nor'easter,when school was cancelled,you'd hear it first from Bob Steele. If I knew snow was in the forecast,soon as I heard the radio going off in my mom's room,I'd peak out the window,and if it was snowing,I would strain to listen..waiting to hear the words "No School for..."

Stanley "Skip"Jarocki was my English teacher in both my sophomore and senior years of High School,and for me,one of the more memorable teachers I had during that time. Thanks to Mr.Jarocki,I was introduced to the writer who became my all time favorite-Richard Brautigan. Trout Fishing in America and In Watermelon Sugar were both required reading! So was the Hermann Hesse classic Siddartha. Based on that,one might get the impression that Skip Jarocki was some non-conformist teacher,constantly in trouble with the Administration. Nothing could be further from the truth. Skip Jarocki was a hard nosed,highly driven man who also doubled up as the Varsity Basketball Coach. On the court,Skip was the second coming of Indiana basketball coach Bobby Knight..not afraid to send a player on his ear for a mistake made on the court,and not above yelling at the refs and incurring numerous technical fouls. Problem was,unlike Indiana and Knight,Skip Jarocki's basketball teams didn't win. In fact,losing by 20 and 30 points wasn't uncommon. In fact,there were games where his teams lost by 50 or more points.Before this experience,Skip had never been associated with losing teams..even won a soccer championship at Haverford College. It drove him crazy at times and while most of the time,Skip's basketball persona never entered the classroom,it was never a good idea for a member of the Varsity Basketball team to enter his classroom on a day after a loss unless one was absolutely on top of all the assignments.

After a 30 point loss on the road,I returned home to do my homework. Had a few assignments to complete but weighing most heavily was an English test in Mr.Jarocki's class. It was a test on a book I just could not get into and had continually put off completing till the night before the exam. The week before, during a discussion of the book,Mr Jarocki continually called upon members of the team in the classroom. When none of us gave the answers he was looking for,those in our classroom who never attended a Varsity game hear in true Bobby Knight fashion that we were not going to perform in the classroom like we did on the basketball court!
I knew there was going to be hell to pay by not reading the book,but I also knew there was something going in my favor...Weather forecasters were predicting a monster Nor'easter to be coming up the coast with enough snow predicted that would surely mean the cancellation of school.
I started to read the book,realized I wasn't retaining anything,put the book down and then began to devise a plan to spend my snow day absorbing this book.
When my mom's radio alarm went off at 6 am with Bob Steele on the radio,I didn't bother to look out the window.Instead I kept my eyes shut. I wanted to enjoy the fact that I would be able to stay in bed longer. I also wanted to lay and think as to how soon in the day I wanted to start reading this book again.I knew I would have to shovel some snow first.

Now when Bob Steele would announce snow days,he would often start with the cancellations of schools farther out of the Greater Hartford area.Many of those kids had longer distances to travel,and there weren't many roads for those kids to travel on,so I'd wait to hear about those schools first. Bob Steele would start with the school cancellations shortly after the hour and again shortly after the half hour. I thought it was strange that no school was mentioned after the hour.
My mom would start to get on my case about getting ready for school around 7. 6:30 comes and goes and there is the bad music,Bob Steele's "Word of the Day"..and no school cancellations anywhere. There's a little concern,but in my mind,I cant hear everything coming from the radio in my mom's room,and maybe I missed it.

7 am. My mom begins getting on my case. I want to resist and stay in bed,but unless Bob Steele gives the word,I WILL have to prepare for school or at least respond to my mom's pleadings. 7:05 and there's more music and no announcement. I look out the window,and instead of white,I see the ground.
The best Skip got out of me in that exam was my signature,signifying that I indeed was responsible for this 0 grade exam.
I think there was a lesson in there somewhere..

Christmas with Granddaddy

Sandy Evander  Jones was the Grandfather I grew up with. He was born and raised in rural South Carolina and moved to Washington DC after marrying my Grandmother,the former Annie Louise Moore. My mom was their only child.
After my parents divorced,my grandmother came to live with my mom and my brothers in Connecticut during the school year. During the summer,we'd all pack the car and spend our entire summer in Washington at my Grandfather's house.

We called him Granddaddy.

While we would spend our summers in DC,so that in part my grandparents could be together,there would be a few times a year when Granddaddy would show up at our Hartford home.Sometimes only my Grandmother would know when he was coming,other times he'd surprise everyone and just show up! Christmas, however were the holidays we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd be with us.

When Granddaddy would come to town,he would come via the Greyhound Bus,and despite my mom's willingness to pick him up at the Greyhound station,the only time I can ever remember him calling for a ride home was April 4,1968 after Martin Luther King was assassinated,and something tells me if he could have gotten a cab that night,he would have. He'd leave DC early in the morning,and as soon as dusk struck,no matter what my brothers and I might be doing,we'd take time to look out the window in anticipation of his arrival.
..Then sometime in the evening it would happen. A Yellow Cab would pull up in our driveway. A moment or so later,he'd emerge,complete with his fedora hat and a single suitcase.

GRANDDADDY!!

 My brothers and I would yell,and we'd start to run out the door to greet him. We'd inevitably be stopped by my Grandmother. When I look back,I think my Grandmother was determined to be the first to greet him when he'd walk through our doors.

There's a saying "You can take the man out of the country,but the you can't take the country out of the man." That was  Granddaddy. Awake and doing something by 6 am..Grits and gravy with biscuits for breakfast. He never quite understood why my brothers and I liked to stay in bed in the morning,and after a couple days in town,there he'd be,trying to break us of that habit. My brothers and I would be on our best behavior when he was in town. Just his talk about "the switch" and using it was enough to keep us in line. He was a man of sayings and stories,some of which he'd repeat so many times,you knew the endings before he got to them. His stories and sayings had a moral tale behind them,so it was important for him to get the point across. One he'd repeat to me is "Cleon Jones (a New York Mets outfielder I admired) is not going to be around to help you when you grow up!"

 I was good at baffling him. For the life of him,he could NOT understand how I could name all the Presidents,get A's and B's in school and fail to see the piece of trash that was right in front of me..or not notice that my shoes were untied.At the same time,he was proud that I could do the things I could do.
Granddaddy never came bearing gifts at Christmastime. He could have if he wanted to,he was successful in Real Estate and owned various properties around D.C.,including a plot of land large enough to put a house on,but instead was used as a garden plot. The gift he'd bring was that of himself. His gift was making people want to be around him,and until his passing in 1972 the best gift one could ask for.. I'd be remiss if I didn't recall one of my fondest Christmas memories..That of Granddaddy,my Dad,my brothers along with some neighborhood kids watching the 1971 playoff game between the Miami Dolphins and Kansas City Chiefs in what became the longest game in football history.