White Sox = World Champions. Now there is a statement that has not been true for a very long time. I plugged into the Sox when I hit the Chicago area in the late 1970's - I was at opening day in old Comiskey Park in 1977, cheered for the "South Side Hitmen" owned by Bill Veeck. Harry Carey and Jimmy Piersal were in the broadcast booth. Richie Zisk, Greg Luzinski, Oscar Gamble (with the cool 'fro). Chet Lemon, LaMar Hoyt on the mound, etc. etc. The shower in the center field bleachers. I followed the Sox with great interest until old Comiskey was pulled down in 1990. The new Sox Park is uggg-leee. I drifted away - I re-married, had two more children with my beautiful new wife, and found that baseball was not a high priority. But I missed the game. Forgive me - I even started going to see the Cubs because Wrigley Field is so marvelous. This past season has forced me to re-engage as a Sox fan.
The 2005 White Sox took off like a rocket - a 15 game lead at the beginning of September! Of course, none of the long-time Sox fans believed that this could continue, and it did not. The lead shrank to 1 1/2 games by the end of September. But the collective spines of the Sox stiffened and they won the division. Then real magic began - The World Champion Red Sox - swept out in 3 games; the former World Champion Angels - handled in 5 games; and the "never done nuthin" Astros - swept in 4. So Ozzie Guillen and his crew - Konerko, Dye, Podsednik, Crede, Garland, Garcia, Jenks, Uribe, and, yes, even Geoff Blum - have made all White Sox fans deliriously happy and connected to each other.
Why do we care about baseball or any team sport? Here is my theory - humans are gregarious creatures that crave community. We have organized in large urban mobs that make it hard to connect and love each other. Baseball teams (and football and basketball) are our proxies for the large extended families we all want. After the Sox became world champs, I could join a large family here in the Chicagoland area simply by wearing my Sox cap. Strangers smile at me and we have shared experiences that we can speak about together. White, black, Latino - we are family when we talk about Uribe's dive into the stands, Konerko's hitting, Dye's sterling offensive and defensive play. Yes, sports are a blessing to humans.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Friday, October 21, 2005
Getting Back to New Orleans
I am a member of the Evanston Meeting of Friends (Quakers) and we have been working to help a musical group in New Orleans. Shades of Praise is an inter-racial gospel choir in NOLA that was scattered across the country by Katrina. The Evanston Quakers received the following message from Allison, one of the members of the choir, who recently returned to the city:
"Sunday Oct 16th
As soon as I crossed into northern Mississippi, hours north of New Orleans, there were scores of trees down all along the highway and dozens of crews working to clear them. About two hours north of New Orleans, the green highway signs were bent over backwards. I had to whip my head around to get a glance at them upside down after passing them to identify my exit.
When I exited the highway, still an hour and a half north of New Orleans, most of the buildings from Poplarville to Covington had "blue roofs." That's the term for the tarps FEMA is stringing across the holes in people's roofs. until you can get a roofer to your house to fix it. Waiting for the roofer may take weeks. Waiting for FEMA can take almost as long. Lots of folks are risking the roof walk to strap up the huge blue tarps themselves.
Telephone lines were down across the road. Crews everywhere working to restore this and that. But the most shocking thing for me was arriving at Paula's in Covington. This beautiful home in a lovely wooded setting now looks like a logger's camp. Dozens of trees are down. Tractor tracks all over the yard where clearing of fallen trees has taken place. Paula assured me, "This looks like a natural disaster. New Orleans looks like a very unnatural disaster."
The next morning Paula accompanied me into New Orleans. Valerie and Alice were already at my house. Valerie wanted to be sure I would not see it for the first time by myself.
I took a route boarding the Industrial Canal, an area that never was very pretty. Now it was quite a bit less pretty and rather deserted.
My neighborhood was quite deserted. We pulled in front of the house. There was a huge pile of garbage out front. But the house had on it a colorful, handwritten sign that said, "Welcome home, Allison. Love, your house." Clearly the handiwork of Valerie and Alice.
The shutters were all flung open. I walked up the steps and my office was stripped bare, the floor covered in dust, and some of the sheet rock wall already torn out. This did not look like my house. This looked like an amazing architectural gem of a house in an abandoned town. A house that itself had been abandoned, but its mantle pieces, hard wood floors, and cypress columns were still stunning. "Somebody ought to fix this house up. What an amazing house," I kept thinking.
My friends had spared me the greatest shock. By arriving days before me, and stripping out as much moldy stuff as they could, the house didn't look like mine. It wasn't my house that sat there in ruins. Just this gorgeous architectural gem.
Alice, Valerie, and Paula watched me wander through the house, worried looks on their faces. But it wasn't till I opened one of the bathroom cabinets and saw my stuff in there. That's when the shock started to set in. I recognized this stuff. It was my stuff. What was it doing here????
Oh. this is my house.. and it was a mess!
I didn't know where to start. My toiletries were in a heap of mold at the bottom of the cabinet. Should I try to wipe each off? Throw them out? Leave them? What was I supposed to do?
Valerie gave me instructions. "Allison" she said gently, "the next step is to start wiping the mold off the antiques. We've carried them all out to the driveway. They look largely salvageable. Some will definitely need some expert care. But the next thing we need to do is to wipe off the antiques."
So I started.
I've been working on the house for 4 days now, usually with Valerie, sometimes with other friends. And everyday the garbage pile in front of the house has gotten bigger. What was I able to salvage? Well, look around your house at everything that is at least one foot off the ground. Most of this I was able to salvage. Most of my books, CDs, and clothes. (Although the clothes have required multiple washings with ammonia to get the mold smell out). My shoes are history as is all my upholstered furniture.. My mattresses and pillows must be tossed because of mold spore contamination, but my bedding is largely salvageable because it can be washed. My artwork, my knick knacks, dishes, and some pots and pans are OK. And then (there was) an assortment of useless items that I happened to have stored in plastic bins. One bin full of sarongs. One bin full of little purses. One bin full of gloves and scarves. And some of the antiques look salvageable, with a fair amount of professional help.
So suddenly I find myself moving. moving out of my house. but moving to nowhere. I don't have anywhere to move this stuff. And there are no available self-storage units for 50-100 miles around New Orleans. But I've got to get it all out as fast as I can lest this stuff, too, contracts mold. And also to give the house more chance to breathe. I have no electricity, and I won't have power until I get the house completely rewired. So the only hope for getting rid of the mold in the house is to tear out the wet sheet rock, tear out the cabinets, and leave the windows open.
I keep praying it won't rain.
And New Orleans is barely able to support a mold remediation project of this size. I'd say only about 1/8 of the stores that are on "high ground" are now open (and high ground accounts for only about ¢® of the entire city). And those stores that are open have only reduced hours. If I don't get to the grocery store by 4:00, it closes. And the lines are long.
For the first three days, I kept missing my opportunities to get to a store. Luckily Alice had done some major shopping in Houston and had stocked us with plenty of bleach, ammonia, gloves, masks, hand-sanitizer, etc. etc. And friends kept inviting me over to eat, or brought sandwiches by the house. Had they not, I wouldn't have eaten.
New Orleans is a sad, sad place. Even in Uptown, which was the least affected, every house has a refrigerator and a great deal of debris in front of it. Trees are down all over the place, and blue roofs abound. And Lakeview, which was one of the hardest hit, is completely brown. There is barely a living thing in Lakeview. By the second day there, I was so grateful to drive back across the lake to the "logging camp" where the birds are chirping and everyone is not walking around with a drooping head.
Last night there was a gathering of the Shades of Praise. There are about 20 of us back in town. We've been working hard to help every member of Shades of Praise to come back. Finding apartments, paying rental deposits when necessary, getting people some cash so they can buy a few basic household items. 20 out of 65 is a huge accomplishment, and I was overjoyed to see who was in attendance at the gathering. I got some of the biggest hugs I've ever gotten in my life. And for the first time I was in a room full of people, half of whom had lost much more than I had. Gary, after hugging me said, "How's your house?" I shook my head sadly. "How's yours?" I asked. "Gone," he said. "But more importantly," he asked, "how are all your loved ones?" "Fine, fine" I answered, as tears welled up in my eyes. Little did he know that he was one of the loved ones I had been worried about the most.
The Shades are all accounted for now, but we won't rest until all, who want to be, are back in New Orleans. Last night, the 20 of us stood in a circle, held hands, and with Al's familiar accompaniment, we sang, "Let Your presence fill this place." Tears rolled down our faces.
My plan for now is to stay in Covington with Paula and Jim. They have a couple extra bedrooms, and Paula has agreed to move her office out of one of them so I can live here. They also have a little attic storage space where I can stash my ridiculous abundance of artwork, knick knacks, and bin of small purses. I talked this morning with my sister about the antiques to try to determine the real value of each. I may send some to her, and some to my cousin. I definitely want to travel
lighter. Several times a day I mutter something about the ridiculous amount of stuff I own. Valerie keeps reminding me that compared to most people, I have very little stuff. But right now, if I had my druthers, I'd have just a little condo in the sky.
To those of you who have contributed to Shades of Praise, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!! Shades is the bright spot in all this for me.Rebuilding New Orleans will be hard and oftentimes very sad work. Shades of Praise is my source of hope and joy, laughter and song. A couple of you emailed and asked how you could contribute. The easiest way is through our web site at www.shadesofpraise.org
Please forgive me for not answering all your emails individually. I am still quite overwhelmed with emails and phone calls. Paula's phone isn't working (actually her number is ringing at someone else's house!) and I am running through my cell phone minutes fast just in talking to adjusters, calling my credit card company, figuring out where I can get my mail, etc. etc. I hope that this email is a reasonable, if somewhat less than satisfying response.
I love you all dearly. And please please know that it is your love and support and all your offers of help, that have helped me to trust. to know that no matter what (and this was a darned big "what"), I will be OK, I will be taken care of, and I will be loved. Thank you!
Love,
Allison"
"Sunday Oct 16th
As soon as I crossed into northern Mississippi, hours north of New Orleans, there were scores of trees down all along the highway and dozens of crews working to clear them. About two hours north of New Orleans, the green highway signs were bent over backwards. I had to whip my head around to get a glance at them upside down after passing them to identify my exit.
When I exited the highway, still an hour and a half north of New Orleans, most of the buildings from Poplarville to Covington had "blue roofs." That's the term for the tarps FEMA is stringing across the holes in people's roofs. until you can get a roofer to your house to fix it. Waiting for the roofer may take weeks. Waiting for FEMA can take almost as long. Lots of folks are risking the roof walk to strap up the huge blue tarps themselves.
Telephone lines were down across the road. Crews everywhere working to restore this and that. But the most shocking thing for me was arriving at Paula's in Covington. This beautiful home in a lovely wooded setting now looks like a logger's camp. Dozens of trees are down. Tractor tracks all over the yard where clearing of fallen trees has taken place. Paula assured me, "This looks like a natural disaster. New Orleans looks like a very unnatural disaster."
The next morning Paula accompanied me into New Orleans. Valerie and Alice were already at my house. Valerie wanted to be sure I would not see it for the first time by myself.
I took a route boarding the Industrial Canal, an area that never was very pretty. Now it was quite a bit less pretty and rather deserted.
My neighborhood was quite deserted. We pulled in front of the house. There was a huge pile of garbage out front. But the house had on it a colorful, handwritten sign that said, "Welcome home, Allison. Love, your house." Clearly the handiwork of Valerie and Alice.
The shutters were all flung open. I walked up the steps and my office was stripped bare, the floor covered in dust, and some of the sheet rock wall already torn out. This did not look like my house. This looked like an amazing architectural gem of a house in an abandoned town. A house that itself had been abandoned, but its mantle pieces, hard wood floors, and cypress columns were still stunning. "Somebody ought to fix this house up. What an amazing house," I kept thinking.
My friends had spared me the greatest shock. By arriving days before me, and stripping out as much moldy stuff as they could, the house didn't look like mine. It wasn't my house that sat there in ruins. Just this gorgeous architectural gem.
Alice, Valerie, and Paula watched me wander through the house, worried looks on their faces. But it wasn't till I opened one of the bathroom cabinets and saw my stuff in there. That's when the shock started to set in. I recognized this stuff. It was my stuff. What was it doing here????
Oh. this is my house.. and it was a mess!
I didn't know where to start. My toiletries were in a heap of mold at the bottom of the cabinet. Should I try to wipe each off? Throw them out? Leave them? What was I supposed to do?
Valerie gave me instructions. "Allison" she said gently, "the next step is to start wiping the mold off the antiques. We've carried them all out to the driveway. They look largely salvageable. Some will definitely need some expert care. But the next thing we need to do is to wipe off the antiques."
So I started.
I've been working on the house for 4 days now, usually with Valerie, sometimes with other friends. And everyday the garbage pile in front of the house has gotten bigger. What was I able to salvage? Well, look around your house at everything that is at least one foot off the ground. Most of this I was able to salvage. Most of my books, CDs, and clothes. (Although the clothes have required multiple washings with ammonia to get the mold smell out). My shoes are history as is all my upholstered furniture.. My mattresses and pillows must be tossed because of mold spore contamination, but my bedding is largely salvageable because it can be washed. My artwork, my knick knacks, dishes, and some pots and pans are OK. And then (there was) an assortment of useless items that I happened to have stored in plastic bins. One bin full of sarongs. One bin full of little purses. One bin full of gloves and scarves. And some of the antiques look salvageable, with a fair amount of professional help.
So suddenly I find myself moving. moving out of my house. but moving to nowhere. I don't have anywhere to move this stuff. And there are no available self-storage units for 50-100 miles around New Orleans. But I've got to get it all out as fast as I can lest this stuff, too, contracts mold. And also to give the house more chance to breathe. I have no electricity, and I won't have power until I get the house completely rewired. So the only hope for getting rid of the mold in the house is to tear out the wet sheet rock, tear out the cabinets, and leave the windows open.
I keep praying it won't rain.
And New Orleans is barely able to support a mold remediation project of this size. I'd say only about 1/8 of the stores that are on "high ground" are now open (and high ground accounts for only about ¢® of the entire city). And those stores that are open have only reduced hours. If I don't get to the grocery store by 4:00, it closes. And the lines are long.
For the first three days, I kept missing my opportunities to get to a store. Luckily Alice had done some major shopping in Houston and had stocked us with plenty of bleach, ammonia, gloves, masks, hand-sanitizer, etc. etc. And friends kept inviting me over to eat, or brought sandwiches by the house. Had they not, I wouldn't have eaten.
New Orleans is a sad, sad place. Even in Uptown, which was the least affected, every house has a refrigerator and a great deal of debris in front of it. Trees are down all over the place, and blue roofs abound. And Lakeview, which was one of the hardest hit, is completely brown. There is barely a living thing in Lakeview. By the second day there, I was so grateful to drive back across the lake to the "logging camp" where the birds are chirping and everyone is not walking around with a drooping head.
Last night there was a gathering of the Shades of Praise. There are about 20 of us back in town. We've been working hard to help every member of Shades of Praise to come back. Finding apartments, paying rental deposits when necessary, getting people some cash so they can buy a few basic household items. 20 out of 65 is a huge accomplishment, and I was overjoyed to see who was in attendance at the gathering. I got some of the biggest hugs I've ever gotten in my life. And for the first time I was in a room full of people, half of whom had lost much more than I had. Gary, after hugging me said, "How's your house?" I shook my head sadly. "How's yours?" I asked. "Gone," he said. "But more importantly," he asked, "how are all your loved ones?" "Fine, fine" I answered, as tears welled up in my eyes. Little did he know that he was one of the loved ones I had been worried about the most.
The Shades are all accounted for now, but we won't rest until all, who want to be, are back in New Orleans. Last night, the 20 of us stood in a circle, held hands, and with Al's familiar accompaniment, we sang, "Let Your presence fill this place." Tears rolled down our faces.
My plan for now is to stay in Covington with Paula and Jim. They have a couple extra bedrooms, and Paula has agreed to move her office out of one of them so I can live here. They also have a little attic storage space where I can stash my ridiculous abundance of artwork, knick knacks, and bin of small purses. I talked this morning with my sister about the antiques to try to determine the real value of each. I may send some to her, and some to my cousin. I definitely want to travel
lighter. Several times a day I mutter something about the ridiculous amount of stuff I own. Valerie keeps reminding me that compared to most people, I have very little stuff. But right now, if I had my druthers, I'd have just a little condo in the sky.
To those of you who have contributed to Shades of Praise, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!! Shades is the bright spot in all this for me.Rebuilding New Orleans will be hard and oftentimes very sad work. Shades of Praise is my source of hope and joy, laughter and song. A couple of you emailed and asked how you could contribute. The easiest way is through our web site at www.shadesofpraise.org
Please forgive me for not answering all your emails individually. I am still quite overwhelmed with emails and phone calls. Paula's phone isn't working (actually her number is ringing at someone else's house!) and I am running through my cell phone minutes fast just in talking to adjusters, calling my credit card company, figuring out where I can get my mail, etc. etc. I hope that this email is a reasonable, if somewhat less than satisfying response.
I love you all dearly. And please please know that it is your love and support and all your offers of help, that have helped me to trust. to know that no matter what (and this was a darned big "what"), I will be OK, I will be taken care of, and I will be loved. Thank you!
Love,
Allison"
Sunday, October 16, 2005
L.C. Walker - Gone Too Soon
He was only 53 years old - 53, for God's sake. In a blink, he was gone, felled by a massive coronary. Yes, he was not buff - built for comfort, not for speed, to quote Willie Dixon. But he was not out of control, he was a pretty clean guy for a bluesman - no terrible habits. Lawrence Cornell Walker was a huge personality, a deep soul and blues singer, an entertainer that ranked with the best ever produced here in Chicago. He was a mentor to many musicians in this town. And he was always up for a gig - money didn't matter, the size of the crowd didn't matter, all that mattered was the music and the passion.
L.C. was the front man for two blue-collar blues bands in Chicago - Two for the Blues and Trouble No More. He also performed with a myriad of other R&B and blues groups in Chicago. L.C. Walker had a smile for friends and strangers alike. He had many interests beyond music. He was a hot bowler, a strong chess player, a self-taught computer geek, and a devoted parent. He became a parent via marriage - five stepsons, I believe. He worked for 16 years for the U.S. Postal Service, and walked away to build a life free of a bureaucratic master.
I am writing as if L.C. was one of my best friends. I learned most of this at his memorial service. He was a blues buddy, but I didn't know him that well. I keep a list of people that I want to know better; L.C. Walker was at the top of the list. I thought I had plenty of time to act on my intent. L.C. fell, and I am left with regrets and a lesson - if you intend to do something, ACT NOW!
L.C. Walker's memorial service was packed last Friday. It was an amazing to see how many lives this man touched - black and white, young and old, male and female. The Chicago blues community was out in force, but so were L.C.'s bowling partners, his neighbors, his extended family. After the service, a bunch of the mourners headed to a bowling alley in Blue Island to roll some games in honor of the deceased. L.C. Walker was booked at Bill's Blues in Evanston that Friday night with Two for the Blues. L.C.'s partner, guitarist Tom Crivellone, bravely went on with the show. Toronzo Cannon sat in - he was tight with L.C. Walker, and he is another bluesman with a "regular guy" job (L.C. worked for the post office, Toronzo drives a bus for the Chicago Transit Authority). The club was jammed; emotions ran hot and high; I drank too much and that was the right thing to do.
L.C. Walker didn't make much money singing the blues. He could care less about that. His goal was to make as much music as possible, to generate as much joy as possible, to convert strangers into friends.
Good bye, L.C. Maybe we can spend time together on the other side.
L.C. was the front man for two blue-collar blues bands in Chicago - Two for the Blues and Trouble No More. He also performed with a myriad of other R&B and blues groups in Chicago. L.C. Walker had a smile for friends and strangers alike. He had many interests beyond music. He was a hot bowler, a strong chess player, a self-taught computer geek, and a devoted parent. He became a parent via marriage - five stepsons, I believe. He worked for 16 years for the U.S. Postal Service, and walked away to build a life free of a bureaucratic master.
I am writing as if L.C. was one of my best friends. I learned most of this at his memorial service. He was a blues buddy, but I didn't know him that well. I keep a list of people that I want to know better; L.C. Walker was at the top of the list. I thought I had plenty of time to act on my intent. L.C. fell, and I am left with regrets and a lesson - if you intend to do something, ACT NOW!
L.C. Walker's memorial service was packed last Friday. It was an amazing to see how many lives this man touched - black and white, young and old, male and female. The Chicago blues community was out in force, but so were L.C.'s bowling partners, his neighbors, his extended family. After the service, a bunch of the mourners headed to a bowling alley in Blue Island to roll some games in honor of the deceased. L.C. Walker was booked at Bill's Blues in Evanston that Friday night with Two for the Blues. L.C.'s partner, guitarist Tom Crivellone, bravely went on with the show. Toronzo Cannon sat in - he was tight with L.C. Walker, and he is another bluesman with a "regular guy" job (L.C. worked for the post office, Toronzo drives a bus for the Chicago Transit Authority). The club was jammed; emotions ran hot and high; I drank too much and that was the right thing to do.
L.C. Walker didn't make much money singing the blues. He could care less about that. His goal was to make as much music as possible, to generate as much joy as possible, to convert strangers into friends.
Good bye, L.C. Maybe we can spend time together on the other side.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Nature and Humans
Mother Nature can be accused of piling it on us lately. The tsunami in Asia, Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, mudslides in Guatemala and now this terrible earthquake in Kashmir! The human race is under siege! It has been a tough, tough year.
Add on the man-made catastrophes, and the list becomes truly daunting. Genocide in Darfur, Islamo-facist attacks in Britain, the Iraq war, narco-terrorism in Latin America.....our current era seems very precarious.
It is also interesting how quickly non-affected populations forget natural disasters. Guatemala had a horrible disaster in 1998 when Hurricane Mitch hit the country with 180 MPH winds - 9,000 people died from that storm. In January, 2001 India was hit with a huge earthquake that killed tens of thousands of people - does anyone here in Chicago remember those disasters?
The bluesman sayeth, "There is no sense worrying about the things you can't do nothin' about." "Mourn, rebuild, move on" is the credo of many people that survive natural disasters.
In Chicago, we don't have hurricanes or earthquakes. Our natural disasters are smallish events - a tornado or two, blizzards, heat waves. This is another reason why I love Chicago.
Add on the man-made catastrophes, and the list becomes truly daunting. Genocide in Darfur, Islamo-facist attacks in Britain, the Iraq war, narco-terrorism in Latin America.....our current era seems very precarious.
It is also interesting how quickly non-affected populations forget natural disasters. Guatemala had a horrible disaster in 1998 when Hurricane Mitch hit the country with 180 MPH winds - 9,000 people died from that storm. In January, 2001 India was hit with a huge earthquake that killed tens of thousands of people - does anyone here in Chicago remember those disasters?
The bluesman sayeth, "There is no sense worrying about the things you can't do nothin' about." "Mourn, rebuild, move on" is the credo of many people that survive natural disasters.
In Chicago, we don't have hurricanes or earthquakes. Our natural disasters are smallish events - a tornado or two, blizzards, heat waves. This is another reason why I love Chicago.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Lincoln, Nebraska
I traveled with my wife, two daughters and two dogs to the capital of Nebraska. We left Saturday in the late afternoon, the Volvo wagon packed to max capacity with people and animals (not to mention luggage). The event was my wife's exhibit at the Elder Gallery which is located on the Nebraska Wesleyan University campus. It was terrific to see my artsy wife's work featured in this large, attractive space. I took a picture of the large sign with her name on it. She has worked hard in obscurity, so it is a great day when she gets the recognition she deserves.
NWU is a nice little school, completely overshadowed by the gargantuan University of Nebraska. UN permeates everything in Lincoln, especially during football season. The Cornhuskers are 4-0. They spanked Maine and Wake Forest, then squeaked by Pitt and Kansas State. Next up is Texas Tech, who is ranked #7 I think. Husker Nation is all atwitter.
I expected Lincoln to be a pretty bland, landlocked, midwestern burg. I underestimated the "college town" effect. During my trip to the SuperValu grocery store, I saw tatooed Goth girls, fully cloaked Muslim women, muscled-up African Americans, an Asian family and some of the expected middle-aged and elderly white folks. This is a "blue" island in the "red" sea of Nebraska. UN is the largest employer in the area and the town has the liberal tilt and the cultural trappings of a larger city. And, of course, Lincoln is the home of an internationally famous institution, The Zoo Bar, a miraculous blues oasis in the flat wasteland between Chicago and the West Coast.
Since I was in Lincoln on Sunday and Monday, the Zoo Bar was quiet. It was closed completely on Sunday, and open for drinking only (no music) on Monday. I visited Monday afternoon around 5:30 to soak in the karma of the place. This is a long, narrow club - about as wide as three or four bowling lanes and as long as a single bowling lane. The stage area is small, but not ridiculously so. It can accommodate a band with 5 or 6 members with ease. The dominant decorating touch is the unique wall treatment - the Zoo Bar is plastered with old promotional posters dating back to its opening date (in 1973), and the featured artists are the "who's who" of the blues - B.B. King, Charlie Musselwhite, Lefty Dizz, Magic Slim, Luther Allison, James Harman, Eddy 'the Chief" Clearwater, and on and on. The second generation owner (youngish fella, close-cropped hair) was tending bar - he was friendly in a quiet way. There were only a few patrons hanging off the bar - clearly regular customers given the banter they exchanged with the bartender. My wife and I had a couple of drinks, small-talked with the bartender and bought Zoo Bar t-shirts.
We stayed at a strange motel near the interstate. It had an olde English motif (including a large plastic knight on horseback in the parking lot). The accommodations were adequate, but the place was haunted by a strange long-term resident. A long-haired late-50's guy, an amputee in a very speedy motorized wheelchair, buzzed around the place at all hours. I have a story about this man, but will save it for another day.
On Monday afternoon, we loaded up the rental truck with Connie's paintings; Connie drove the Volvo. We hit the road at 5:30 a.m. for the long drive back to Chicago. The posted speed limit was 75 MPH in Iowa; most people ignored that and put the hammer down. I am sure many of the folks that passed my truck were pushing triple digits. The gasoline conservation message has yet to reach the travelers on Interstate 80. We were home in time for dinner, our rumps and backs sore from the hours of sitting in the vehicles as they covered the 567 miles between Lincoln NE and Evanston IL.
NWU is a nice little school, completely overshadowed by the gargantuan University of Nebraska. UN permeates everything in Lincoln, especially during football season. The Cornhuskers are 4-0. They spanked Maine and Wake Forest, then squeaked by Pitt and Kansas State. Next up is Texas Tech, who is ranked #7 I think. Husker Nation is all atwitter.
I expected Lincoln to be a pretty bland, landlocked, midwestern burg. I underestimated the "college town" effect. During my trip to the SuperValu grocery store, I saw tatooed Goth girls, fully cloaked Muslim women, muscled-up African Americans, an Asian family and some of the expected middle-aged and elderly white folks. This is a "blue" island in the "red" sea of Nebraska. UN is the largest employer in the area and the town has the liberal tilt and the cultural trappings of a larger city. And, of course, Lincoln is the home of an internationally famous institution, The Zoo Bar, a miraculous blues oasis in the flat wasteland between Chicago and the West Coast.
Since I was in Lincoln on Sunday and Monday, the Zoo Bar was quiet. It was closed completely on Sunday, and open for drinking only (no music) on Monday. I visited Monday afternoon around 5:30 to soak in the karma of the place. This is a long, narrow club - about as wide as three or four bowling lanes and as long as a single bowling lane. The stage area is small, but not ridiculously so. It can accommodate a band with 5 or 6 members with ease. The dominant decorating touch is the unique wall treatment - the Zoo Bar is plastered with old promotional posters dating back to its opening date (in 1973), and the featured artists are the "who's who" of the blues - B.B. King, Charlie Musselwhite, Lefty Dizz, Magic Slim, Luther Allison, James Harman, Eddy 'the Chief" Clearwater, and on and on. The second generation owner (youngish fella, close-cropped hair) was tending bar - he was friendly in a quiet way. There were only a few patrons hanging off the bar - clearly regular customers given the banter they exchanged with the bartender. My wife and I had a couple of drinks, small-talked with the bartender and bought Zoo Bar t-shirts.
We stayed at a strange motel near the interstate. It had an olde English motif (including a large plastic knight on horseback in the parking lot). The accommodations were adequate, but the place was haunted by a strange long-term resident. A long-haired late-50's guy, an amputee in a very speedy motorized wheelchair, buzzed around the place at all hours. I have a story about this man, but will save it for another day.
On Monday afternoon, we loaded up the rental truck with Connie's paintings; Connie drove the Volvo. We hit the road at 5:30 a.m. for the long drive back to Chicago. The posted speed limit was 75 MPH in Iowa; most people ignored that and put the hammer down. I am sure many of the folks that passed my truck were pushing triple digits. The gasoline conservation message has yet to reach the travelers on Interstate 80. We were home in time for dinner, our rumps and backs sore from the hours of sitting in the vehicles as they covered the 567 miles between Lincoln NE and Evanston IL.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Michael Coleman Rocks
Eddy "The Chief" Clearwater had to cancel tonight at Bill's Blues Bar, and he was replaced by Michael Coleman. Michael is one of those unsung blues guitar heroes in Chicago - he has a great singing voice, too. Mike has played with the greats, most notably James Cotton. His show was red hot. I sat in on a few tunes, but Michael was the Man - he had the crowd eating out of his hand.
Pray for the Chief...............They say it is a virus, but he is in the hospital.....
Pray for the Chief...............They say it is a virus, but he is in the hospital.....
Friday, September 30, 2005
Last Minute Gig
I got a call from the manager of our local blues bar in Evanston, Illinois. This weekend is the second anniversary celebration of Bill's Blues Bar; the headliner is the world-famous Eddy "The Chief" Clearwater. Well, Eddy is sick and can't make it. I have been asked to front Eddy's band for a few numbers this evening. Bill is calling around trying to find other front men/women to sit in at the last minute. This is not good - the crowd will be expecting the Chief and they are going to get a motley crew of nobodies.
This will be an edgy evening. I hope that it all works out.
This will be an edgy evening. I hope that it all works out.
A Theory of Stupidity
I found this essay to be quite interesting and entertaining - The Basic Laws of Stupidity. Read it and laugh (or cry, depending on your mood).
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Action of the Monroe Street Bridge
I am coping with my Rita-related unease by focusing on specifics. I have friends in Houston; my business partner grew up in Texas and has lots of friends in South Texas. It is hard to watch a catastrophe approach and have no way to stop it.
So I am shifting my attention to local stuff in Chicago's great Loop to keep my hurricane anxiety down. If you don't know downtown Chicago, the major train stations are just west of the Chicago River, a bit outside of the Loop. The Union Pacific Metra station is at Canal and Monroe; Union Station (more Metra and Amtrak) is at Canal and Adams. The bridges over the Chicago River that lead to the train stations are prime real estate for panhandlers, street musicians, and pamphleteers. One of the top "bucket drummers" in Chicago has staked his claim to a spot in the middle of the Monroe Street bridge. I usually don't tip the bucket drummers - they are mostly loud and annoying - but this guy has style. He plays a medium tempo funk beat in 4-bar spurts, then breaks to shout out messages. I will try to write out what I hear when I cross the bridge:
"boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boomcrack booma booma boom crack..boom..THANK GOD ITS FRIDAY!..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom..LET'S GO WHITE SOX!!"
That's the general idea. The Bucket Beater also makes brief observations about the people passing by, which he shouts out during the breaks (example: "Nice Dress, Baby!!"). Sometimes he shouts out something with a religous theme (example: "Just Love Jesus"). His energy level is high and he grins ferociously as he pounds and shouts. You just gotta tip a guy like that.
Outdoor bucket drumming season is winding to a close - when the temps drop, the buckets go away. Chicago's policemen are fond of rousting the buskers and panhandlers - a group of beggars are suing the Chicago Police Department, claiming harassment and violation of free speech right (yikes! Pleas for spare change is convered by the First Amendment?). On some days, my favorite Bucket Beater is absent, having been sent packing by Chicago's Finest. There are many folks on the street that should be rousted, but not the Monroe Street Bridge Bucket Beater.
So I am shifting my attention to local stuff in Chicago's great Loop to keep my hurricane anxiety down. If you don't know downtown Chicago, the major train stations are just west of the Chicago River, a bit outside of the Loop. The Union Pacific Metra station is at Canal and Monroe; Union Station (more Metra and Amtrak) is at Canal and Adams. The bridges over the Chicago River that lead to the train stations are prime real estate for panhandlers, street musicians, and pamphleteers. One of the top "bucket drummers" in Chicago has staked his claim to a spot in the middle of the Monroe Street bridge. I usually don't tip the bucket drummers - they are mostly loud and annoying - but this guy has style. He plays a medium tempo funk beat in 4-bar spurts, then breaks to shout out messages. I will try to write out what I hear when I cross the bridge:
"boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boomcrack booma booma boom crack..boom..THANK GOD ITS FRIDAY!..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom crack booma booma boom crack..boom..LET'S GO WHITE SOX!!"
That's the general idea. The Bucket Beater also makes brief observations about the people passing by, which he shouts out during the breaks (example: "Nice Dress, Baby!!"). Sometimes he shouts out something with a religous theme (example: "Just Love Jesus"). His energy level is high and he grins ferociously as he pounds and shouts. You just gotta tip a guy like that.
Outdoor bucket drumming season is winding to a close - when the temps drop, the buckets go away. Chicago's policemen are fond of rousting the buskers and panhandlers - a group of beggars are suing the Chicago Police Department, claiming harassment and violation of free speech right (yikes! Pleas for spare change is convered by the First Amendment?). On some days, my favorite Bucket Beater is absent, having been sent packing by Chicago's Finest. There are many folks on the street that should be rousted, but not the Monroe Street Bridge Bucket Beater.
NOLA Evacuees
My eldest daughter's boyfriend hails from New Orleans - he grew up in Chicago, but he still has lots of family in NOLA. A group of them have evacuated to Skokie, Illinois, where Patrick's mother lives. I stopped by to visit them recently - three befuddled people, lives upended by Katrina. Two out of the three happened to be on vacation, visiting friends in Cincinatti when the storm hit. The third family member stayed in New Orleans, got flooded out of her house, got stuck in the Superdome, moved to the Houston Astrodome and finally was put on a plane to Chicago. She arrived the day of my visit. Mary (not her real name) is a 50-something woman, fairly heavy, an insulin-dependent diabetic with bad hips and knees. She had that "hundred-yard stare" usually associated with infantrymen after the battle is over. Mary was trying to play cards with the family, but gave up and found a dark room where she hid. I think the Superdome experience will be with her forever.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
NOLA - A Native Remembers and Reflects
A professor in Pittsburg wrote a lovely reflection on New Orleans, her home town. Hit this link and read this - this woman has passion for the Crescent City.....
Help New Orleans Musicians!
Here is an e-mail I received today from "Roots and Rhythm," a great outfit that keeps obscure and excellent blues, jazz and old rock music available for fanatics like me. I appreciate the list of saved NOLA musicians; I encourage all music lovers to donate to the musician relief agencies listed in this message:
Dear Friends,
We've all watched with horror the devastation wreaked on Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama by Hurricane Katrina and particularly the ongoing tragedy in New Orleans. It's hard to imagine the American musical landscape without the contributions of so many musicians from the Crescent City. And that musical heritage continued until a week ago when the levees broke. Now there are hundreds of musicians left without a job or a home and it may be a very long time before they are able to work again, if ever. There are also musicians whose whereabouts are unknown and may number among the dead when we learn the whole story.
We thought it appropriate to pass along to you some information about musicians that are known to be safe and also let you know ways in which you can help musicians directly.
Firstly - here is a list of musicians that are known to be safe, courtesy of Mary Katherine Aldin of the Post War Blues mailing list:
Jeffrey "Jellybean" Alexander, Steve Allen, Kevin Allman, Brint Anderson, Theresa Andersson, James Andrews, Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrews, Johnny Angel, Christine Balfa, Marcia Ball, Lucien Barbarin, Mike Barras and family, Rebecca Barry, Bruce "Sunpie" Barnes, Dave Bartholomew, Harold Battiste, Jamal Battiste, Russell Batiste, Tab Benoit, Beausoleil (Michael Doucet and all band members), Doug Belote, Better Than Ezra, Terrance Blanchard, Eddie Bo (plus sister Veronica and his band), Bonerama, Big Chief Monk Boudreaux, John Boutté, Lillian Boutté,Tricia "Sista Teedy" Boutté, Alonzo Bowens, Russ Broussard, Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, Jody Brown, Maurice Brown, Wendell Brunious (Preservation Hall Jazz Band), George and Nina Buck (Palm Court Cafe), Henry Butler, Grayson Capps, Big Al Carson, Ricki Castrillo, Topsy Chapman, Alex Chilton, Evan Christopher, Jon Cleary, Rick Coleman, Harry Connick, Jr., Cowboy Mouth, Susan Cowsill, Davell Crawford, Jack Cruz, Dash Rip Rock, Jeremy Davenport, Theryl "Houseman" DeClouet, Dirty Dozen Brass Band (all members), The Dixie Cups (but lost everything), Big Chief Bo Dollis and the Wild Magnolias, Michael Dominici, Fats Domino, Rockin' Dopsie & the Zydeco Twisters (all members), Dr. John, Snooks Eaglin (and family of 12, all nowhomeless), Lars Edegran, Nancy Edwards, Joe Espino & New Orleans Brass Potholes Band (all members), Charlie Fardela, Jack Fine (of the Palmetto Bug Stompers), Pat Flory & Donna, John Fohl, Frankie Ford, Andy Forrest, Gina Forsyth, Pete Fountain, Derrick Freeman, Jonathan Freilich (N.O. Klezmer All-Stars), Bob French, Peter Fuller, Funky Meters, Galactic, Katrina Geenen (WWOZ dj), Banu Gibson, Steve Goodson, Tim Green, John "Papa" Gros and all members of Papa Grows Funk, James Hall, Tony Hall, Jeff Hannusch, Corey Harris, Leigh "Lil' Queenie" Harris, Duke Heitger,Clarence "Frogman" Henry, Corey Henry, Andi Hoffman, Kenny Holladay, Peter Holsapple, Hot Club of New Orleans (all members), The Iguanas (all members), Burke Ingraffia, Benny Jones Sr., Leroy Jones, Dave Jordan and family, Kirk Joseph, Jerry Jumonville, Chris Thomas King and family, Joe Krown, Julia LaShae, Joe Lastie (drummer, Preservation Hall Jazz Band), Tim Laughlin, Washboard Chaz Leary, Bryan Lee, David Leonard & Roselyn Lionheart (David & Roselyn), Herman Leonard, Lil' Rascals Brass Band, Li'l Stooges Brass Band, Eric Lindell, A.J. Loria, Jeremy Lyons, Ronald Markham, Ellis Marsalis, Jason Marsalis, Steve Masakowski, Irvin Mayfield, Tom McDermott, Humberto "Pupi" Menez (and aunt Caridad Delatorre), Charlie Miller, Charles Louie Moore, Deacon John Moore (band members unknown), Bill Morgan, Tom Morgan, Chris Mule, Kenny Neal, The Neville Brothers, Charmaine Neville, Ian Neville, Ivan Neville, Kevin O'Day, Anders Osborne, Joshua Mann Paillet (owner of A Gallery for Fine Photography), Stevenson Palfi, Earl Palmer, Panorama Jazz Band, Joshua Paxton, Michael Pearce, Spike Perkins, Dave Pirner, Renard Poche, Pocketfoxx, George Porter Jr., Dirk Powell, Shannon Powell and family, Gloria Powers, Wardell Quezergue, Quintron & Miss Pussycat, The Radiators, Jan Ramsey & most Offbeat staff, Rebirth Brass Band (Kabuki unknown), Herlin Riley, Marcus Roberts, Coco Robicheaux, John Rodli (New Orleans Jazz Vipers), Biff Rose, Brent Rose and family, George Rossi, Wanda Rouzan, Dixie Rubin, Kermit Ruffins, Scott Saltzman, Mark and Will Samuels (Basin Street Records), Ben Sandmel, Jumpin' Johnny Sansone, Marc and Ann Savoy and family, Alexandra Scott, Mem Shannon and the Membership, Derek Shezbie, James Singleton, Johnny Sketch, Michael Skinkus, Robert Snow (New Orleans Jazz Vipers), Steamboat Willie, Sally Stevens, Armand St. Martin, Brian Stoltz, Marc Stone, Bill Summers, Ken Swartz, Irma Thomas, Dave Torkanowsky, Rick Trolsen, Allen Toussaint, Willie Turbinton, Johnny Vidacovich, Rob Wagner, Mark Walton, Walter "Wolfman" Washington, Melissa Weber, Raymond Weber, Mike West, Dr. Michael White, Marva Wright, June Yamagishi
Here is some information on how you can help the surviving musicians - from the Jazz Foundation of America:
(Message from Wendy Oxenhorn Executive Director at the Jazz Foundation
of America)
Two Organizations helping the musicians in New Orleans:
We are directing folks to the New Orleans Musicians Clinic (NOMC) which has the names and addresses of so many musicians in New Orleans, and are working now to find them and find temporary housing for them in schools etc.
But let us remember...
... it will be the Jazz Foundation who will be called upon to provide
money to the musicians for first month rents and security deposits on new
apartments and relocations. As well, we're going to try to get instruments replaced.
Please let your contacts know if you think they can help, ask them to
email me.
** New Orleans Musicians Clinic (NOMC) **
This is a fantastic hands on organization who has the names and addresses of
so many great musicians because they have them all coming to their FREE health
clinic all these years and now, they are the ones who are tracking down the local musicians and finding them shelter.
They can be contacted at musiciank@swlahec.com
They are the New Orleans Musicians Clinic and know the whereabouts of the local musicians down there.
Contact: Kathy Richard directly at 337 989-0001
Send donations to:
NOMC Emergency Fund
funds will be distributed by:
SW LA Area Health Education Center Foundation, Inc.
103 Independence Blvd.
Lafayette, LA 70506
desk: 337-989-0001
fax: 337-989-1401
email: finance@swlahec.com
http://www.swlahec.com
The New Orleans Musicians Clinic is determined to keep Louisiana Music Alive!
It is our beacon to soothe our souls. We want to relocate our New Orleans musicians
into the Lafayette/ Acadiana community where they can remain a life force! But most of them have lost everything... we must help them rebuild their lives.
They can't access any of their NOMC accounts. They desperately need money to fund these efforts.
** Jazz Foundation of America **
We will be addressing the longer term needs of these jazz and blues artists who will have just lost everything.
We will be raising funds and distributing money for the musicians to get a new
apartment or room for rent: by giving a first month's rent, possibly more, for
them to start over, a place to live. (This is what we normally do on a daily
basis for musicians across the country who become sick and can't pay their rent,
we also keep food on the table and get employment to hundreds of elderly musicians
through our Jazz in the Schools program. Our operations normally assist 35 musicians
a week.)
As well, we will be attempting to help New Orleans musicians by replacing the thing that matters most and the only way they can ever work again: their instruments. To those who lost their instruments, like drummers and bassists who could not carry their heavy equipment, and guitarist with their amps, we will be making an effort to work with manufacturers and music stores to replace those instruments for as many as we possibly can.
Remember, New Orleans was only “New Orleans” because of the musicians...
Send donations to:
Jazz Foundation of America
322 West 48th Street 6th floor
NYC 10036
Director: Wendy Oxenhorn
Phone: 212-245-3999 Ext. 21
Joyce@jazzfoundation.org
http://www.jazzfoundation.org
To make an online CREDIT CARD DONATION OR PLEDGE:
go to: http://www.jazzfoundation.org/index2.html and click bottom right corner of page where it says “instant pledge”
Thank you, from our hearts.
Dear Friends,
We've all watched with horror the devastation wreaked on Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama by Hurricane Katrina and particularly the ongoing tragedy in New Orleans. It's hard to imagine the American musical landscape without the contributions of so many musicians from the Crescent City. And that musical heritage continued until a week ago when the levees broke. Now there are hundreds of musicians left without a job or a home and it may be a very long time before they are able to work again, if ever. There are also musicians whose whereabouts are unknown and may number among the dead when we learn the whole story.
We thought it appropriate to pass along to you some information about musicians that are known to be safe and also let you know ways in which you can help musicians directly.
Firstly - here is a list of musicians that are known to be safe, courtesy of Mary Katherine Aldin of the Post War Blues mailing list:
Jeffrey "Jellybean" Alexander, Steve Allen, Kevin Allman, Brint Anderson, Theresa Andersson, James Andrews, Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrews, Johnny Angel, Christine Balfa, Marcia Ball, Lucien Barbarin, Mike Barras and family, Rebecca Barry, Bruce "Sunpie" Barnes, Dave Bartholomew, Harold Battiste, Jamal Battiste, Russell Batiste, Tab Benoit, Beausoleil (Michael Doucet and all band members), Doug Belote, Better Than Ezra, Terrance Blanchard, Eddie Bo (plus sister Veronica and his band), Bonerama, Big Chief Monk Boudreaux, John Boutté, Lillian Boutté,Tricia "Sista Teedy" Boutté, Alonzo Bowens, Russ Broussard, Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown, Jody Brown, Maurice Brown, Wendell Brunious (Preservation Hall Jazz Band), George and Nina Buck (Palm Court Cafe), Henry Butler, Grayson Capps, Big Al Carson, Ricki Castrillo, Topsy Chapman, Alex Chilton, Evan Christopher, Jon Cleary, Rick Coleman, Harry Connick, Jr., Cowboy Mouth, Susan Cowsill, Davell Crawford, Jack Cruz, Dash Rip Rock, Jeremy Davenport, Theryl "Houseman" DeClouet, Dirty Dozen Brass Band (all members), The Dixie Cups (but lost everything), Big Chief Bo Dollis and the Wild Magnolias, Michael Dominici, Fats Domino, Rockin' Dopsie & the Zydeco Twisters (all members), Dr. John, Snooks Eaglin (and family of 12, all nowhomeless), Lars Edegran, Nancy Edwards, Joe Espino & New Orleans Brass Potholes Band (all members), Charlie Fardela, Jack Fine (of the Palmetto Bug Stompers), Pat Flory & Donna, John Fohl, Frankie Ford, Andy Forrest, Gina Forsyth, Pete Fountain, Derrick Freeman, Jonathan Freilich (N.O. Klezmer All-Stars), Bob French, Peter Fuller, Funky Meters, Galactic, Katrina Geenen (WWOZ dj), Banu Gibson, Steve Goodson, Tim Green, John "Papa" Gros and all members of Papa Grows Funk, James Hall, Tony Hall, Jeff Hannusch, Corey Harris, Leigh "Lil' Queenie" Harris, Duke Heitger,Clarence "Frogman" Henry, Corey Henry, Andi Hoffman, Kenny Holladay, Peter Holsapple, Hot Club of New Orleans (all members), The Iguanas (all members), Burke Ingraffia, Benny Jones Sr., Leroy Jones, Dave Jordan and family, Kirk Joseph, Jerry Jumonville, Chris Thomas King and family, Joe Krown, Julia LaShae, Joe Lastie (drummer, Preservation Hall Jazz Band), Tim Laughlin, Washboard Chaz Leary, Bryan Lee, David Leonard & Roselyn Lionheart (David & Roselyn), Herman Leonard, Lil' Rascals Brass Band, Li'l Stooges Brass Band, Eric Lindell, A.J. Loria, Jeremy Lyons, Ronald Markham, Ellis Marsalis, Jason Marsalis, Steve Masakowski, Irvin Mayfield, Tom McDermott, Humberto "Pupi" Menez (and aunt Caridad Delatorre), Charlie Miller, Charles Louie Moore, Deacon John Moore (band members unknown), Bill Morgan, Tom Morgan, Chris Mule, Kenny Neal, The Neville Brothers, Charmaine Neville, Ian Neville, Ivan Neville, Kevin O'Day, Anders Osborne, Joshua Mann Paillet (owner of A Gallery for Fine Photography), Stevenson Palfi, Earl Palmer, Panorama Jazz Band, Joshua Paxton, Michael Pearce, Spike Perkins, Dave Pirner, Renard Poche, Pocketfoxx, George Porter Jr., Dirk Powell, Shannon Powell and family, Gloria Powers, Wardell Quezergue, Quintron & Miss Pussycat, The Radiators, Jan Ramsey & most Offbeat staff, Rebirth Brass Band (Kabuki unknown), Herlin Riley, Marcus Roberts, Coco Robicheaux, John Rodli (New Orleans Jazz Vipers), Biff Rose, Brent Rose and family, George Rossi, Wanda Rouzan, Dixie Rubin, Kermit Ruffins, Scott Saltzman, Mark and Will Samuels (Basin Street Records), Ben Sandmel, Jumpin' Johnny Sansone, Marc and Ann Savoy and family, Alexandra Scott, Mem Shannon and the Membership, Derek Shezbie, James Singleton, Johnny Sketch, Michael Skinkus, Robert Snow (New Orleans Jazz Vipers), Steamboat Willie, Sally Stevens, Armand St. Martin, Brian Stoltz, Marc Stone, Bill Summers, Ken Swartz, Irma Thomas, Dave Torkanowsky, Rick Trolsen, Allen Toussaint, Willie Turbinton, Johnny Vidacovich, Rob Wagner, Mark Walton, Walter "Wolfman" Washington, Melissa Weber, Raymond Weber, Mike West, Dr. Michael White, Marva Wright, June Yamagishi
Here is some information on how you can help the surviving musicians - from the Jazz Foundation of America:
(Message from Wendy Oxenhorn Executive Director at the Jazz Foundation
of America)
Two Organizations helping the musicians in New Orleans:
We are directing folks to the New Orleans Musicians Clinic (NOMC) which has the names and addresses of so many musicians in New Orleans, and are working now to find them and find temporary housing for them in schools etc.
But let us remember...
... it will be the Jazz Foundation who will be called upon to provide
money to the musicians for first month rents and security deposits on new
apartments and relocations. As well, we're going to try to get instruments replaced.
Please let your contacts know if you think they can help, ask them to
email me.
** New Orleans Musicians Clinic (NOMC) **
This is a fantastic hands on organization who has the names and addresses of
so many great musicians because they have them all coming to their FREE health
clinic all these years and now, they are the ones who are tracking down the local musicians and finding them shelter.
They can be contacted at musiciank@swlahec.com
They are the New Orleans Musicians Clinic and know the whereabouts of the local musicians down there.
Contact: Kathy Richard directly at 337 989-0001
Send donations to:
NOMC Emergency Fund
funds will be distributed by:
SW LA Area Health Education Center Foundation, Inc.
103 Independence Blvd.
Lafayette, LA 70506
desk: 337-989-0001
fax: 337-989-1401
email: finance@swlahec.com
http://www.swlahec.com
The New Orleans Musicians Clinic is determined to keep Louisiana Music Alive!
It is our beacon to soothe our souls. We want to relocate our New Orleans musicians
into the Lafayette/ Acadiana community where they can remain a life force! But most of them have lost everything... we must help them rebuild their lives.
They can't access any of their NOMC accounts. They desperately need money to fund these efforts.
** Jazz Foundation of America **
We will be addressing the longer term needs of these jazz and blues artists who will have just lost everything.
We will be raising funds and distributing money for the musicians to get a new
apartment or room for rent: by giving a first month's rent, possibly more, for
them to start over, a place to live. (This is what we normally do on a daily
basis for musicians across the country who become sick and can't pay their rent,
we also keep food on the table and get employment to hundreds of elderly musicians
through our Jazz in the Schools program. Our operations normally assist 35 musicians
a week.)
As well, we will be attempting to help New Orleans musicians by replacing the thing that matters most and the only way they can ever work again: their instruments. To those who lost their instruments, like drummers and bassists who could not carry their heavy equipment, and guitarist with their amps, we will be making an effort to work with manufacturers and music stores to replace those instruments for as many as we possibly can.
Remember, New Orleans was only “New Orleans” because of the musicians...
Send donations to:
Jazz Foundation of America
322 West 48th Street 6th floor
NYC 10036
Director: Wendy Oxenhorn
Phone: 212-245-3999 Ext. 21
Joyce@jazzfoundation.org
http://www.jazzfoundation.org
To make an online CREDIT CARD DONATION OR PLEDGE:
go to: http://www.jazzfoundation.org/index2.html and click bottom right corner of page where it says “instant pledge”
Thank you, from our hearts.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Dazed
The floodwaters of New Orleans are slowly receding as the massive pumps start up. Of course, Lake Ponchatrain will turn into a massive toxic cesspool when all the brackish water from the streets of New Orleans is pushed back over the levee. The mayor of NOLA is predicting 10,000 fatalities. The price of crude dropped to $66/barrel due to releases from the strateigic oil reserve. The finger-pointing blame game is picking up momentum (seems to me that everyone from all levels of government can assume some of the blame for this tragedy). For the first time in my lifetime, the U.S. is accepting foreign aid!!! From Bangladesh, among others!!!!
My 9 year old started fourth grade at a new school today. I saw her off this morning. I was dazed and fuzzy as I waved good-bye to her - the Gulf Coast disaster and unrelated mundane nonsense caused me to sleep fitfully last night. My mind was flopping like a fish in a boat. My dazed state has continued as I sat in my Chicago Loop office trying to be productive. I actually was productive, but it was a huge effort.
And to add to my sense of spaciness, Bob Denver died.
I am a baby boomer; Gilligan meant something to me, as did Maynard G. Krebs. Yes, they were fluffy, inconsequential TV creations, but they put my whole family in a good mood for 30 minutes each week (not an easy achievement, believe me). Bob Denver was 70 years old - not very old by today's standards. He will live forever in syndication.
At least Fats Domino survived Katrina and is safe. Like so many residents of the Gulf Coast, he has lost everything. Allen Toussaint also got out and is in New York after being evacuated from a flooded NOLA hotel. The music has been silenced in New Orleans for now - washed away by the evil storm.
My 9 year old started fourth grade at a new school today. I saw her off this morning. I was dazed and fuzzy as I waved good-bye to her - the Gulf Coast disaster and unrelated mundane nonsense caused me to sleep fitfully last night. My mind was flopping like a fish in a boat. My dazed state has continued as I sat in my Chicago Loop office trying to be productive. I actually was productive, but it was a huge effort.
And to add to my sense of spaciness, Bob Denver died.
I am a baby boomer; Gilligan meant something to me, as did Maynard G. Krebs. Yes, they were fluffy, inconsequential TV creations, but they put my whole family in a good mood for 30 minutes each week (not an easy achievement, believe me). Bob Denver was 70 years old - not very old by today's standards. He will live forever in syndication.
At least Fats Domino survived Katrina and is safe. Like so many residents of the Gulf Coast, he has lost everything. Allen Toussaint also got out and is in New York after being evacuated from a flooded NOLA hotel. The music has been silenced in New Orleans for now - washed away by the evil storm.
Monday, September 05, 2005
The Lyrics to a Great Song about NOLA
Louis Armstrong and Harry Connick, Jr. both have versions of this marvelous old song........
DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO MISS NEW ORLEANS
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
And miss her each night and day
I know I'm not wrong because the feeling's
Getting stronger the longer I stay away
Miss the moss-covered vines, tall sugar pines
Where mockingbirds used to sing
I'd love to see that old lazy Mississippi
Running in the spring
Moonlight on the bayous
Creole tunes fill the air
I dream about magnolias in June
And I'm wishin I was there
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
When that's where you left your heart
And there's one thing more, I miss the one I care for
More than I miss New Orleans
DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO MISS NEW ORLEANS
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
And miss her each night and day
I know I'm not wrong because the feeling's
Getting stronger the longer I stay away
Miss the moss-covered vines, tall sugar pines
Where mockingbirds used to sing
I'd love to see that old lazy Mississippi
Running in the spring
Moonlight on the bayous
Creole tunes fill the air
I dream about magnolias in June
And I'm wishin I was there
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
When that's where you left your heart
And there's one thing more, I miss the one I care for
More than I miss New Orleans
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Katrina, NOLA and NYC
I have been in New York since Wednesday, August 31. Monday and Tuesday were days filled with bad news about Katrina, but the true nature of the catastrophe didn't really become clear to me until Wednesday. My older brother lived in New Orleans for several years in the 1970's; I came to know the town then when I visited him. I have returned often since that time, but not recently. As a jazz and blues fan, I worship the musicians that have emerged from New Orleans and Mississippi. The Meters, Louis Armstrong, the Marsalis family, Slim Harpo, Professor Longhair, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Dr. John (Mac Rebennack), Harry Connick Jr., Terrence Blanchard, Allen Toussaint, Troy "Trombone Shorty" Andrews, Anthony "Tuba Fats" Lacen.....the list could go on forever for me. I have been trolling the web, looking for news on the living people on this list. Most of the current "bigger name" musicians got out with the evacuees (Dr. John is playing in Detroit this weekend), but some were trapped. Fats Domino was pulled off a roof top. I am sure some NOLA musicians perished. Many things have been lost - one blues musician acquaintance of mine escaped, but has lost all of his equipment, recordings and his home. New Orleans music is part of the spiritual world and cannot be destroyed by a hurricane - it will continue. And NOLA will rise again - I read in the New York Times this morning that the French Quarter has not flooded. But what carnage and sadness!! I have sent money, and want to do more.
After a few days of pursuing my investment banker career, my family joined me here in NYC. Connie loves this town - she would like to live here once the girls are grown and gone. It is heaven for a visual artist - so much art is here, and so much inspiration for art is here. Sarah and Amanda are another story - the busy-ness and urban landscape are not to their liking. We attended a bat mitzvah on Saturday - Amanda's best friend was the bat mitzvah.
I did a lot of walking on the streets of Manhattan this week - walking and thinking. New York seems to be cleaner and calmer than it was during my last visit. The infrastructure seems stronger - I saw three street cleaning vehicles this week, and everyone seems to be washing down sidewalks and picking up trash. The social connections appear solid. In NOLA, much of the infrastructure and social connections were washed away by Katrina. I feel ashamed of what has happened, what is still happening. The money for beefing up the levees was cut from the Federal budget even though this catastrophe was clearly forseen by many people (I read the Times Picayune series in 2002 on the aftermath of a Category 5 hurricane on NOLA, and they had everything right). I think this is worse than not protecting against the 9/11/01 attacks - flying jets into buildings hadn't happened before; hurricanes on the Gulf Coast are regular occurances that can be anticipated.
Here in NYC, there are certainly race and class divisions, but the city is humming along, mostly too busy to worry much about that stuff. I have had pleasant conversations with lots of people, ranging from wealthy private equity investors in the Chrysler Building to raggedy homeless fellows on 3rd Avenue. But when a major calamity strikes and all those with money flee, the ones that stay left behind are usually poor - black and/or elderly. The ignored sub-structure of society becomes visible when the super-structure gets stripped away. NOLA is huge example of this.
They say that good things can come from tragic events and it is often true. So maybe New Orleans and the Gulf Coast will get better protection from hurricanes. And maybe the poor folks will get more attention from U.S. society. Right now, I am hopeful but not optimistic.
After a few days of pursuing my investment banker career, my family joined me here in NYC. Connie loves this town - she would like to live here once the girls are grown and gone. It is heaven for a visual artist - so much art is here, and so much inspiration for art is here. Sarah and Amanda are another story - the busy-ness and urban landscape are not to their liking. We attended a bat mitzvah on Saturday - Amanda's best friend was the bat mitzvah.
I did a lot of walking on the streets of Manhattan this week - walking and thinking. New York seems to be cleaner and calmer than it was during my last visit. The infrastructure seems stronger - I saw three street cleaning vehicles this week, and everyone seems to be washing down sidewalks and picking up trash. The social connections appear solid. In NOLA, much of the infrastructure and social connections were washed away by Katrina. I feel ashamed of what has happened, what is still happening. The money for beefing up the levees was cut from the Federal budget even though this catastrophe was clearly forseen by many people (I read the Times Picayune series in 2002 on the aftermath of a Category 5 hurricane on NOLA, and they had everything right). I think this is worse than not protecting against the 9/11/01 attacks - flying jets into buildings hadn't happened before; hurricanes on the Gulf Coast are regular occurances that can be anticipated.
Here in NYC, there are certainly race and class divisions, but the city is humming along, mostly too busy to worry much about that stuff. I have had pleasant conversations with lots of people, ranging from wealthy private equity investors in the Chrysler Building to raggedy homeless fellows on 3rd Avenue. But when a major calamity strikes and all those with money flee, the ones that stay left behind are usually poor - black and/or elderly. The ignored sub-structure of society becomes visible when the super-structure gets stripped away. NOLA is huge example of this.
They say that good things can come from tragic events and it is often true. So maybe New Orleans and the Gulf Coast will get better protection from hurricanes. And maybe the poor folks will get more attention from U.S. society. Right now, I am hopeful but not optimistic.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
One Fine Morning
I was up and astride my Cannondale Hybrid bicycle at 5:27 a.m. this morning. The air temperature was in the sixties; scattered clouds were being shoved about by stiff breezes. The Cannondale is a recent acquisition - my old Mongoose lived through one too many crashes, and it felt so heavy and clunky on the roads and bike trails. As its name implies, the Hybrid is a cross between a fat-tire mountain bike and a skinny tire road racer. It is still sturdy but not as heavy as the Mongoose. I can actually keep up with some of the Lycra-suited dandies on their $5,000 racers.
My goal on these rides is to sweat. I am not dawdling and gazing at the surroundings. But this morning was impossible to ignore. The cool air from the north chased away the summer humidity. The winds blew away the haze and smog. The clouds on the horizon amplified the light show as dawn broke. As I rode back south across the lakefront Northwestern campus, the towers of downtown Chicago were flashing in the light of the rising sun. It was all so clear, so clear.
There were an unusual number of bicyclists, runners and dog-walkers out early this morning. I saw lots of smiling faces, several friendly people called out to greet me as I whizzed by. I felt lifted up and encouraged. Strangers can still share their delight as they experience a fine morning - all is not lost, after all.
My goal on these rides is to sweat. I am not dawdling and gazing at the surroundings. But this morning was impossible to ignore. The cool air from the north chased away the summer humidity. The winds blew away the haze and smog. The clouds on the horizon amplified the light show as dawn broke. As I rode back south across the lakefront Northwestern campus, the towers of downtown Chicago were flashing in the light of the rising sun. It was all so clear, so clear.
There were an unusual number of bicyclists, runners and dog-walkers out early this morning. I saw lots of smiling faces, several friendly people called out to greet me as I whizzed by. I felt lifted up and encouraged. Strangers can still share their delight as they experience a fine morning - all is not lost, after all.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Demise of the One-Eyed Cat
If you dig into the archives of this blog back to December 20,2004, you will read about Jade, the one-eyed cat. This creature was dying slowly of Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP), but continued to be a friendly feline presence around the house. The vet told us that FIP would kill Jade quickly, but she kept on living. Jade had a special fondness for yogurt, hopping up on the kitchen counter to lick the yogurt cup after I finished my breakfast early each morning. My wonderful 13-year old daughter, Amanda, showered that cat with love and attention. I think that this helped to prolong her life.
Jade managed to sneak out of the house into the backyard a couple of weeks ago. She was happy in the yard - we let her out regularly. This time, she did not return. When cats feel death approaching, they often wander off to an isolated spot to face the reaper alone. This is what Jade did. Amanda was very upset and searched for the cat for days. We haven't found her. She is certianly dead, and I expect that her body is not going to be found. We have wild critters that wander through our leafy suburb at night, and the little cat's corpse probably ended up as a midnight snack.
Well. of course this event has been expected - FIP is always fatal - yet there remains a feeling of surprise and mystery to this ending. We won't have our anticipated cat burial in the backyard. Amanda has recovered from her grief, but we still feel unsettled.
Jade managed to sneak out of the house into the backyard a couple of weeks ago. She was happy in the yard - we let her out regularly. This time, she did not return. When cats feel death approaching, they often wander off to an isolated spot to face the reaper alone. This is what Jade did. Amanda was very upset and searched for the cat for days. We haven't found her. She is certianly dead, and I expect that her body is not going to be found. We have wild critters that wander through our leafy suburb at night, and the little cat's corpse probably ended up as a midnight snack.
Well. of course this event has been expected - FIP is always fatal - yet there remains a feeling of surprise and mystery to this ending. We won't have our anticipated cat burial in the backyard. Amanda has recovered from her grief, but we still feel unsettled.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Old Colleagues
From 1987 until the end of 1996, I was employed by a company called Heller Financial. Heller was one of the first commercial finance companies in the United States, founded in 1919 by a cantankerous curmudgeon named Walter Heller. The company went through many phases in its history, and shifted in a big way back in 1984 when the firm was sold to a large Japanese bank. The new owners had bought a "pig in a poke" and the company's problems were immense. New professionals were hired and the turnaround effort began. To make a long story short, the effort succceeded - eventually. The Japanese took the company public in 1998, and Heller was sold at a huge price to GE Capital in late 2001. During the last years, and especially after the sale to GE, many Hellerites jumped ship. Here in Chicago, there are dozens of organizations with former Heller folks in positions of responsibility. GE absorbed the Heller organization, discarded its name and brand and lost or fired almost all of the poeple.
A small group of Heller alumni had a fine idea. Since Heller was a seminal experience in the careers of so many people, perhaps there would be some interest in a reunion. The word went out, e-mails flew through cyber-space and the event occured on Thursday, August 11 at a two-story bar just north and west of the Loop. It was wild - probably 500 people crammed into the joint. All sorts of folks came to the reunion - from mail room staff to Group Presidents. It was equal parts nostalgia and networking. Many fermented beverages were consumed and many backs were slapped.
I have always found it interesting how work experiences augment, or even substitute, for family units in modern America. Heller was a corporation but it was also a social grouping and a collection of shared experiences that caused people to bond. I was sad when I left, and I am told there was basically a wake on the night before the company was officially sold to GE Capital. All of this merger and acquisition activity has a large emotional component, and the emotions live on for quite a while - they were on display at the Heller reunion last Thursday.
A small group of Heller alumni had a fine idea. Since Heller was a seminal experience in the careers of so many people, perhaps there would be some interest in a reunion. The word went out, e-mails flew through cyber-space and the event occured on Thursday, August 11 at a two-story bar just north and west of the Loop. It was wild - probably 500 people crammed into the joint. All sorts of folks came to the reunion - from mail room staff to Group Presidents. It was equal parts nostalgia and networking. Many fermented beverages were consumed and many backs were slapped.
I have always found it interesting how work experiences augment, or even substitute, for family units in modern America. Heller was a corporation but it was also a social grouping and a collection of shared experiences that caused people to bond. I was sad when I left, and I am told there was basically a wake on the night before the company was officially sold to GE Capital. All of this merger and acquisition activity has a large emotional component, and the emotions live on for quite a while - they were on display at the Heller reunion last Thursday.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Junior Parker, SBII and Big Walter
Junior Parker has slipped into blues obscurity, dead now for 34 years. He came from Clarksdale, Mississippi - like so many other giants of the blues - and eventually died in Chicago of a brain tumor - he didn't live to see his 40th birthday.
JP was a singer and harmonica player. His motto was "I sing stories sad and true. I sing the blues and play harmonica. too. It is very funky." He had his first hits in the 50's, and was a bigger act than Bobby "Blue" Bland, for a while.
My friend and harmonica guru, Joe Filisko, burned a CD for me of some out-of-print Junior Parker tunes. Junior cut some great tracks during his heyday - "Funny How Time Slips Away" (I love his long conversation with his dog, Sam, between the verses); "I'd Rather Drink Muddy Water;" "I Done Got Over It." He was a calm, soulful, understated musician - a major contrast to other cats who were big blues men - Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, et al.
Junior Parker's harmonica playing came from exposure to and lessons from Sonny Boy Williamson II (aka Rice Miller), an edgy dude who inspired legions of blues harp players, wannabees and posers. Sonny Boy II was out there - he stole another harmonica player's name, his vocals had a wierd, gargling thing going on during sustained notes; his harmonica snarled and spit at you. Late in his life, he toured England, where he was loved by British Blues crowd. This experience influenced him - he took to wearing a bowler hat and even effected an English accent at times.
I spent the early hours this Sunday morning on my back porch with my battered "A" Special 20 harmonica. (This is the harp that I sat on, which severely bent the cover plates. I pounded out the covers with a small ball peen hammer; I kind of like the way it looks now. It isn't very airtight, though). So I sat in the rocker on the porch and toiled away trying to perfect "Big Walter's Boogie," an intrumental tune that is a rite of passage for all blues harp players. Big Walter Horton was overshadowed by other blues musicians - he was even overshadowed by other harp players. This is ironic, since he was an amazing player - very innovative, and the tone he pulled from the little old harmonica was huge. "Big Walter Tone" is one of the many quests we blues harp players pursue. Big Walter gave tips to Little Walter Jacob and Sonny Boy Williamson II. He started recording before he was 10 years old. He had quirky musical tastes, often tossing in a cheerful version of "La Cucaracha" during his shows. He was a serious drinker. Bluesman to the core.
So I will keep plugging away at Big Walter's Boogie. I may never get it right, but it feels right to work it.
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