David's Original Fantasy Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Honor of National Beer Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy National Beer Day.

Rastaman on the Statehouse Floor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cancer through the Rearview Mirror..

"To hell with your cancer. I’ve been living with cancer for the better part of a year. Right from the start, it’s a death sentence. That’s what they keep telling me. Well, guess what? Every life comes with a death sentence, so every few months I come in here for my regular scan, knowing full well that one of these times – hell, maybe even today – I’m gonna hear some bad news. But until then, who’s in charge? Me. That’s how I live my life."- Breaking Bad's Walter White

The first chapter in this journey is still vivid.. the early symptoms that I would ignore until I couldn't any longer...the shortness of breath and the dizziness..the feeling I had wasted a doctor's time when nothing was said immediately afterwards when I finally did break down to see a doctor..waiting for Mitch in the McDonald's parking lot after missing my bus and feeling too cold to wait for another one.. the phone call while in Mitch's truck,changing the destination of the ride from my apartment to the Emergency Room..the look of concern on Mitch's face as he's contacting family and friends while an oxygen mask is slapped on me..nurses bringing other nurses into my hospital room.. "He walked into the Emergency Room can you believe that?" then getting the word a day or so afterwards "You have Cancer"

I tell the complete story of that episode and more in my one man play "Cancer,Peace,Love,and Assorted Realities"

It's been six years now since I got that phone call. Doctors have been saying for the past five years that I'm in remission now,I don't feel anything now like I felt then,but still for whatever reasons,the doctors won't declare me cancer free yet.

6 Years later and about the only time I think about cancer now is those couple times a year when I have to do the scans and  visit with the oncologist or at the anniversary of the diagnosis.

Is it like it never happened? Not on your life. Since the days of my initial diagnosis,I have had friends who have passed on due to the disease,and some of the very people who gave me a hand during my early moments have since have been diagnosed with various forms of cancer themselves.There's an instant recognition that takes place with those who get diagnosed,and the "Why them and not me" question arises when someone passes away.

I think everyone in the course of one's life, experiences events,whether tragic or merely momentous that alters one's perceptions on it. As I begin to look at  the cancer experience from the view of the rearview mirror,it becomes one of a handful of events that helped shape my perceptions.I never let cancer define me.

During the days of my initial treatment,I was introduced to,and became an immediate fan of the TV series Breaking Bad.  I made an immediate connection with its main character,Walter White,in large part due to the fact that he was dealing with his own cancer diagnosis. Walter White in the end lived a life that I would never hope to imitate but in the act of doing the things he did,he would describe himself as being alive.

Having a sense of mortality does push one to live more freely and fully doesn't it? Or as Bob Marley would say "Wake up and Live"

Ramblings on a Daniels Family Thanksgiving

Anyone who has known me for any period of time knows that the Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Years holiday run has never been a favorite of mine.For me,the causes of those feelings stem from various issues that I won't get into now. I can't say all those feelings are erased,but I am noticing within myself a slight change which I believe comes from now having grandchildren.

For most children in America,the holiday period is an extremely magical time and I was no exception.

...and it would begin on Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving in the Daniels household would begin early in the morning,but never quite as early as my mom said it had to be on that day. Mom always said we had to be on the road early,but while we generally were on the road before noon,it never turned out to be the 8 or 9 am departure time my Mom would talk about.
The time it took for us to get ready for the road gave us Daniels brothers enough time to tune into the big High School football game in Hartford between Weaver and Hartford Public. On the radio or TV,we'd know who won the game,but  for us Hartford kids,it was important to know not only who won the game,but which school won the inevitable fight after the game.We'd find out the result of the fight after we returned from our trip.
Thanksgiving in the Daniels household meant sometime in the morning,the three Daniels boys,Mom,our grandmother and sometimes my grandfather piling into the Daniels family vehicle for a 5 hour drive from Hartford to Darby Pennsylvania,a town just outside of Philadelphia..
Seating arrangements in the car depended upon whether my grandfather was there or not and which Daniels brother needed to be separated.
For us Daniels boys,the trip to Darby was in a sense a trial run before the summer trip to Washington DC. After all,we would stop in Darby for the night on our way to Washington,and just like on our Washington trip,there would be the request to stop at the Howard Johnson's just off seemingly every highway stop.(the answer was usually no)There was also the unmistakable aroma of oil refineries driving on the New Jersey Turnpike.

Darby Pennsylvania was the home of my grandmother's sister. To us she was Aunt Nell. We called her husband Uncle Garvin. He like my grandfather was a World War 1 vet,and when they got together they'd swap various war stories,and sometimes perform the drills they did back then. If my grandfather didn't meet us in Connecticut,he'd meet up with us in Darby.It was certainly a shorter trip coming from Washington.

We'd also be greeted by our cousins from Philadelphia,as well as our cousins from New York.I especially looked forward to that because it meant I got to hang out with my favorite cousin Allen.
Long before the advent of the internet,my cousin Allen and I would maintain a letter writing correspondence,mainly centered around our favorite team- New York Mets.Thanksgiving would give us a chance to discuss the Mets season in detail along with speculating possible trades and ponder the age old question as to whether the next season would be THE season for the Mets.

Though Aunt Nell's modest house would be filled with anywhere from 15-25 relatives,she would insist on preparing the entire meal alone.Anyone was welcomed to converse with her in the kitchen,but assisting her in any way was a no-no.She knew how she was going to do things and when she was going to do things. She kept that practice until she was felled by a stroke in her late 80's. After that she merely stood in the kitchen barking out orders as to how she wanted things done.

We usually arrived in Darby too late to catch the televised Macy's and Gimbel's parades,but that usually meant that we would arrive just in time for the Thanksgiving NFL games.

There would be two tables set up at Aunt Nell's house-there was the "Adult" table and the "Children's" table. Reaching adult age was not the prerequisite of being admitted onto the adult table.Deaths and/or marriage with children might eventually land one from the children to the adult table.. Another Aunt Nell rule came into play as the offspring go older: No girlfriends or boyfriends allowed.That rule created a few sparks.

The TV would be turned off for the Thanksgiving prayer but given the abundance of Giants,Eagles,Cowboys,and Washington fans in the family,if any of those teams were playing,the prayer would be much shorter!
There would be a Southern tint to Thanksgiving at Aunt Nell's.In addition to the traditonal turkey,one could count on collard greens and candied sweet potatoes as part of the Thanksgiving feast.

I always looked forward to Aunt Nell's homemade blueberry pie with blueberries from New Jersey after dinner.

After dinner and after football,the living and dining rooms would be transformed into a  blanket and pillow filled master cousins bedroom. Luckily the rules about being quiet once the lights were turned off were never applied here.

The trip back home the next day would be delayed as my Mom,Allen's mom,and various cousins shopping expedition to Philadelphia would have to take place first. If my grandfather had to return to Washington,the shopping expedition gave my grandmother more time to spend with him.

The most memorable ride home came one year where fog started to roll in somewhere in Pennsylvania and got progressively worse going through New Jersey and New York.
My Mom,because of an incident where I put our car into a snowbank on my first attempt at driving,never became a passenger with me,even after I obtained my license. By the time we reached Westchester County in New York,Mom had enough..She turned the car keys over to me,and I got us safely back to Hartford..
It's all about the memories created..

Annie Louise Moore Jones-thumbnail sketches

Annie Louise Moore Jones was my Grandmother. She was born and raised in Greenville South Carolina. She met my Grandfather while attending Allen University in South Carolina. They married shortly after his return from World War 1.

After they married,they moved from South Carolina to Washington D.C.where my Grandfather first worked for the Census Bureau and later ran a successful real estate business. After several miscarriages,they gave birth to Helen Louise Jones-my mother.

A doctor's experiment which was often done to black patients left her crippled. This absolutely devastated my Grandfather,but my Grandmother seemed to have a way of taking it in stride. I remember her telling him on more than one occasion "You better be thankful I'm crippled,I'd have you running all over town!" Supposedly she loved to dance while my Grandfather was content to hang out with his pals swapping stories.

When my parents divorced when I was 5,my Grandmother came from Washington to Hartford to assist my mom raising the three Daniels Brothers. This meant her time with her husband was limited to his Connecticut visits,and we'd spend our entire summers in Washington so that they could be together. My Grandmother's efforts in the household enabled my Mom to pursue her Masters Degree in Education which led to her fulfilling her life long dream of becoming an Educator.

Being crippled merely slowed her down.It did not stop her. She did most of the cooking in our household. The things I learned about cooking came from her as I would follow her around the kitchen.

Being crippled did not stop her from being the prime disciplinarian in our household either. There were times when us Daniels boys thought we were being slick by running away from her when she was angry at us. We also thought a flight of stairs would discourage her from pursuing us. She would patiently wait for us. We all loved sitting on her lap and sooner or later we'd forget about what we had done and would find our way to her lap. She'd play along and be nice to us..for a minute before she grab us with the tightest grip imaginable. She didn't forget.
One was also better off if one took the punishment early as opposed to forcing her to climb up our stairs and in doing so,trapping us in our room. We'd then get whupped for the original crime in addition to running away from her.

She was well suited for handling the Daniels Brothers.Supposedly she was a "tomboy" growing up,known for playing baseball and smoking a corn cob pipe with the guys. There was very little that we could sneak by her.

She was an avid baseball fan. She would tell me stories about seeing Negro League games and would tell anyone interested that Josh Gibson was the greatest player of all time. She knew rosters stats and strategies better than any other adult I knew and older baseball fans both in Connecticut and in D.C.would love to stop by and talk baseball with her.

When I reached high school age,my grandmother announced to us that it was time for us to be on our own and that she was returning to Washington full time. I believe she knew her time on this earth was limited and she wished to spend the last of her days with her husband.

Shortly after returning,she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Just before returning to the hospital and falling into a coma,she called my mom and my brothers into her bedroom.There she gave each of us profound instructions and advice. I'd be a little better off today if I had heeded some of the advice she gave me.

At the end,she told us something we thought was a case of delirium setting in. She kept saying "I'll be taking Sandy with me"

I didn't know what it meant then,but I understood later when,almost exactly to the year after she passed,my Grandfather passed away too.

Memories of Julian Bond

Julian Bond was one of the few Civil Rights activists who also spoke out against the Vietnam War. It was his opposition to the war which gave the Georgia State Legislature the cover to try not to seat him when he was elected to the Georgia House of Representatives. He again bucked the tide in 1968,by endorsing Sen.Eugene McCarthy for President over first President Lyndon B.Johnson and later Sen.Hubert Humphrey.

At the tumultuous 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago,McCarthy supporters placed his name in nomination for Vice President as a protest to the Johnson-Humphrey policies.This despite the fact that he was Constitutionally too young to assume the office. In 1988,when Eugene McCarthy,on one of his third party runs for the Presidency asked me to run as his Vice Presidential candidate,I quipped to him that I was following in Julian Bond's footsteps as at the time I too was Constitutionally too young to assume the office.

Julian Bond was a friend of my High School History Teacher,the late Jack Chatfield who passed away last year.. The two worked together in the Student Non Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) In fact Bond was with Jack when he was wounded in a rifle attack by the Ku Klux Klan.

He was the Graduating speaker for the Watkinson School Class of 1974. My brother Howie was part of that graduating class. I was in Alaska at the time,and was planning to spend my summer there.However upon hearing that Julian Bond was to be the speaker,I flew from Alaska to Connecticut for the Graduation Ceremony,and thanks to Jack,I got to speak with him afterwards. My brother told me he even showed up to the Graduation party.

In the year 2000,I had another chance meeting with Julian Bond. He walked into the Barnes &Noble bookstore where I was working at the time. Over coffee we had a wide ranging discussion from politics to poetry. At the time I was the Grassroots Party candidate for US Senate. Julian Bond was responsible for me being the first Third Party Candidate permitted to present my candidacy to the local chapter of the NAACP. It was one of the proudest moments of that campaign.

Job Well Done Julian Bond..Rest in Peace