Circumstance and Opportunity

By Ronald McKinley

There is a bike parked just left of the multi-use utility pole on the corner of cold and homeless. We mill about; I mean “we”, not French for more sex. It’s cold, my hands barely work. I am writing with a pen. I prefer a lead pen. I make mistakes.

Just right of me is a man pacing. He is wrapped in a red and blue plaid blanket, the red like a freeway system intersecting at four points on a two dimensional surface. His hair is very curly framing his bearded face in a halo of thick curls. He, we are both homeless.

I will call him Laughter, that’s what he’s like.  Laughter only sleeps in the daytime, he feels safe. Sometimes I don’t see him for days. I asked him once where he went, he said he just walked. He was afraid of the police; he would leave if we just talked about the police.

The police cruise looking for drinking. Most people I see drink. I get offered beer a lot. I am not much of a drinker. Most homeless can’t afford to buy drugs most the time. The housed come to the beach looking to cop, this is how the drug trade is kept alive.

There is another man looking for snipes, cigarette butts, he opens them and puts them in a large plastic bag. Snipes walks back and forth across the street of Cold and Homeless.

He talks to himself: a full conversation. If you engage him, he will stop and talk to you, then he will return to his other conversation.

There are very few women out now it is 6:20 am. I have been here in this line since 4:52 am. This morning it is a brisk 37 degrees Fahrenheit.

A man, very slight, just walked up looking for services. He is wearing a white dress shirt and a black t-shirt under it. He was shaking and trembling from the cold. I offered him another t-shirt. He was about to leave. We, some people in the line for services, talked him out of leavening. I looked for something for him to wear. Laughter offered me the plaid blanket for him to wear. I told him to warm it with his breath. The cold and shaking man balled himself into the fetal S and I covered him with blanket. Being human means being humane.  My own little time-space entangled moment defines me and keeps me sane.

I do if only for this fragmented moment, there I am. Whoa! What a concept, each moment planned or unplanned should be lived. Don’t live for the moment, but live the moment.

We are separated by circumstance and a little wealth. Why does kindness require a permit and a surcharge?

If this is reality, make mine virtual. I could pause it, reformat it, get an update.

The man I gave the t-shirt to left, maybe he needed a new operating system. Maybe we all need a new operating system. Mine keeps restarting every time it seems I am getting somewhere.

I am houseless so I am suspect. I am lazy, dirty, drug user. The worst thing that can be done to a human being is to create situations where they have nothing to lose. No vested interest in country, community, humanity, self. The police heap their frustrations and the waste of their warped perceptions on people who want to just exist. “If you cut me, do I not bleed.” I need a transfusion. I need some respect. Everything on the planet belongs on the planet. Man-made things are an exception. No matter what the ad says, your car does not have more right to exist than me.

On a daily basis I dodge cars and SUV’s of distracted, bored people. People who seem to think, to me, that I should be here, there, anywhere. They look at but don’t see me. Some pretend I am not there, shifting their gaze to avert taking in my image. Some skid to stop at corners while texting, talking on their various devices. Engaging in the vice of the moment.

Not all my bad experiences are from the housed. There is a lot of violence in the streets. Some of the people need help. Some of these people should not be sleeping outside, left to fend for themselves. The war on the homeless makes everything worst. Yes, we are under siege. The constant pressure to find food and shelter while looking out for the haters and the police takes its toll. Fear of lower property values is enough to suspend civil rights. It seems to be a crime to be homeless. We are always judged by the most vocal and fanatical.

The middle class is all but gone. The wealth has been redistributed upward. The most valued service of the Government School, Postal, Prison, and Armed Forces is being privatized. Are you so far from homelessness? I thought I was.

Written winter 2009, when I was house-less

 

The Venice Drum Circle (Free Expression)

By Ronald McKinley

The police routinely stop the Venice Drum Circle. The time is never the same, sometimes sunset, sometimes not. Sunday, November 25, at 5:10 P.M. the circle was stopped. The sunset was beautiful.

The First Amendment to the American Constitution, part of the Bill of Rights, gives us the Freedoms. The freedom to worship in your own church if you so choose, not one created by government. The freedoms of speech, press, assembly and the right to petition the Government for a redress of grievances, is what makes the First Amendment the most important.

The First Amendment protects the people’s freedom to associate with others in groups that express messages of love, peace, brotherhood and sisterhood. The traditional public forums are hard to find, regulated to death.

The VDC is not a Rave, it is not a party. It is about an alternative way of expression. It is not about getting drunk or high. That is not why I go. I go to bond with my fellow earthlings.

I go despite the fact that some are altered. When I play, I transcend. Time and space are no more. The very molecules around me are energized.

At a meeting I went to recently, a man remarked that the police don’t protect and serve us, but protect and serve the law. All laws flow from the Constitution. When the police are sworn in, they take an oath to uphold the Constitution.

One police officer said, “My sergeant will be upset if he sees you on the sand.” My First Amendment rights denied because some sergeant would be upset. I just want to play my drum. I am not asking for special treatment, just my rights as an American. “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

If you do not exercise your rights, you lose them. I am amazed that people don’t know their rights. I am amazed how people don’t question what the police tell them. Don’t take what the police say as gospel; they are just humans with guns.

This has been a long time coming, shutting down the VDC incrementally. First the VDC is criminalized, then it can be stopped.

The VDC is free, it don’t cost a cent. There are not many things you can do that don’t require money. Free Expression means free. You don’t have to have a pedigree to join in. Love of music is all you need.  Enjoy it while you can. Some person with a lot of money and the ear of some government official will be its death.

A man visiting from Germany asked me why the police stopped the Drum Circle. I told him, “Because they have guns.” Welcome to America.

Roseanne Barr, None Other

By Ronald K. Mc Kinley

Roseanne Barr, Presidential candidate for the Peace and Freedom party,  spoke on September 22 at the Church in Ocean Park. Sponsored by the Venice chapter of the Peace and Freedom Party, the event drew a full hose of about 400 attendees.

Born Roseanne Cherrie Barr on November 3, 1952 to Jewish parents in Salt Lake City, Utah, she could only have been a comedienne. Barr’s parents kept their Jewish heritage a secret from their neighbors. Barr’s paternal grandfather changed his surname from Borisofsky to Barr upon entering the U.S. from Russia.

In 1970, when Barr was 18, she moved out by telling her parents she was going to visit a friend in Colorado for two weeks; she never returned. She did stand-up while in Colorado, doing gigs in Denver and other Colorado clubs.

She appeared on The Tonight Show in 1985. In 1987 her HBO special, The Roseanne Barr Show, earned her an American Comedy Award. She was offered the role of Peggy Bundy in Married with Children, but she turned it down.

The Cosby Show executive producers Marcy Carsey and Tom Werner hired Cosby writer Matt Williams to write a script about factory workers, and Roseanne Carter was born. The show premiered October 18, 1988. Barr won an Emmy, a Golden Globe, a Kids Choice Award, and three American Comedy Awards.

During the final two seasons in ’96 and ’97, Barr earned $40 million; the only woman in show business earning more money was Oprah Winfrey.

Barr is the 2012 presidential nominee for the California-based Peace and Freedom Party.

She won the nomination the same day she was roasted by Comedy Central August 4. Her running mate is Cindy Lee Miller Sheehan, born July 10, 1957 in Inglewood, CA.

Barr announced her candidacy for presidential nomination of the Green Party earlier this year, but she lost to Jill Stein, a physician. Stein was a candidate for Governor of Massachusetts in 2002 and 2010 gubernatorial elections. Mitt Romney was elected Governor in 2002.

When I walked up the carpeted stairs to enter the church proper, a black woman greeted me. She was the only woman of color there. She placed a Barr for President sticker on my chest. She wore corn rolls and one afro puff, centered on the back of her head, and a tie-dyed caftan. I found out later that this was Cynthia Mc Kinney, former Georgia Congresswoman and first African-American woman to represent Georgia in the House, former Green Party presidential candidate.

The event began with the Venice songbird Suzy Williams. What a way to begin!

Williams wowed the audience. The third song she sang, Roseanne Barr None, was             written by Williams, Brian Woodbury, and Brad Kay and is Barr’s official 2012 campaign song.

The lyrics were printed and passed out to the audience before-hand for a sing-a-long. Williams’s performance drew praise from Barr herself. Too bad if you missed this one. She is our treasure. She rocked.

Barr spoke about the need to remove the clowns from politics; she said she was the only true comedienne. She voiced what the people wanted to hear, but with humor.

Barr spoke of the fixed vote, the pentagon, and health care vs. health insurance, prison, and media military industrial complex. She spoke of how socialism is a bad word except when it’s for Wall Street.

She rallied against war, saying how the less privileged have to choose between war and prison. She also said that politics is the entertainment arm of the pentagon. She vowed to end the war on drugs, citing prohibition, the Volstead Act, and the lives and money wasted on enforcement.

She wants a vote not owned by the bankers, but change from the bottom up.

Barr sounds a lot like most third party candidates, and that is what America really needs.  That is why she will not win. America badly needs a woman’s touch and a Ms. President. And I don’t mean for housework, unless you mean the House of Representatives.

It was a fun evening thanks to Barr and Williams. But the joke is on us. The state America is in, is not funny. November will tell if we are still the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Skateboarding While Black

By Ronald McKinley

While skateboarding home on a nice, warm summer afternoon, Ronald Weekley, Jr. was beaten and then arrested by LAPD. Not beaten and arrested; there is a difference. The charge was for skateboarding on the wrong side of the street, and resisting arrest. Weekley has a broken nose, fractured cheek, and a concussion.

Several cell phone cameras captured the incident on Saturday, August 18. All the videos were by women who lived in the area. They can be heard speaking to the police.

One woman can be heard saying, “hit him again for the camera” in an effort to stop the police from doing just that. Weekley was prone face down and handcuffed on the lawn in front of his home, with four well-fed cops on his back. One of the officers grabbed Weekley’s hair with his left hand and punched him in the face with his right. One woman said, “That was a bitch-ass move.” Meanwhile other officers, not involved in the beat-down, tried to stop the videoing. Later she said: “ I know this isn’t Orange County, we just want to make sure you don’t kill him.”

The call for documentation could be heard: “video, video, video, video.” There were several cell phones recording. The women were brave, they kept a dialogue going with the police the entire time Weekley was prone on the ground. They were not kind to the police. I would have not been so inclined myself.

The Violent Crime Task Force is whom we have to thank for this mess. I thought they were supposed to stop violent crime. So skateboarding on the wrong side of the street is a violent crime? I guess if you knock over someone’s latte…

At the Venice Neighborhood Council’s August 21 meeting, held at the Westminster Elementary School auditorium, Capt. Brian Johnson, the commander of the pacific division, and Alex Bustamante, the inspector general of the police commission, held a question and answer session in the public safety-LAPD report portion of the meeting. This report includes a monthly Venice crime report and updates on law enforcement issues in Venice.

Johnson spoke on policing constitutionally, a favorite theme of his. He did not know the status of the officers involved in the incident, they could still be on the street. Bustamante spoke about the job of the office of the inspector general, the Professional Standards Bureau quality control for the police department. He also answered questions.

A number of people at this meeting spoke on being humiliated by the LAPD. One woman spoke about five officers stopping her from returning to her home after shopping. One man spoke about his 4^th of July celebration stopped by the police; he said they set up a command post in front of his house. This happened to me some years ago, after the police formed a skirmish line and cleared the whole beach, after a confrontation in the pavilion between the police and graffiti artists.

The August 28 community meeting concerning Weekley, who called himself “present-day Rodney King,” was an intense gathering attended by Johnson, Bustamante, and Mike Bonin from Rosendahl’s office. The policemen who were involved in Weekley’s arrest did not attend any of the meetings or rallies that took place.

Johnson pretended not to know there was racial profiling taking place under his watch. He spoke of Oakwood and was corrected by a woman in attendance, according to whom, “Oakwood is a park, but all of it is Venice. Separating Oakwood from Venice is a ploy to separate blacks from Venice.”

Venice is changing, and not for the better. Money has found Venice. The police answer to the moneyed. Walk down Rose Av. from the boardwalk to Lincoln Blvd. Slowly the people who make Venice, Venice are beaten down.

The place that perfected skateboarding is now making it a crime. I don’t skateboard. I did when I was a teenager; that is when we nailed skates to a board. This is what happens when you don’t vote. Someone who doesn’t know you decides your fate.

Weekley, Jr. was held for six hours before being treated for his injuries. He was told he had to sign a certain document before treatment. I could not find out what this document was.

Weekley, Sr. spoke of a legacy, where young people of all colors could enjoy Venice; where kids could walk, skate and play in their own community without fear.

Now we wait to see if the charges against Weekley, Jr. are dropped. We wait on the use of force report. This investigation could and probably will continue until sometime next year. Peace from the police and enough is enough.

Not Born on the 4th of July

By Ronald McKinley

When I was younger, I celebrated the 4 of July as all good Americans did. I lit strings of firecrackers. I burned sparklers. I ate hot dogs, corn on the cob. In New Orleans, where I was born I would go to the French Market and buy a large watermelon. One hundred years before my birth the same market sold slaves.

I was born eighty-five years after slavery was abolished. Slavery was abolished eighty-nine years after America got its independence. As an African-American, it took me long a time to understand the implications. My ancestors were not freed when America was freed.

In Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Maryland the fear of slaves on one hand, and the military potential of mobilizing slaves on the other, gave a peculiar twist to the logic of war. Virginia’s royal governor John Murry, the Earl of Dunmore, offered freedom to slaves.

“And I do here by further declare all indented servants, negroes, or others, appertaining to rebels, free that are able and willing to bear arms, they joining His Majesty’s troops as soon as maybe, for the most speedily reducing this colony to a proper sense of their duty to His Majesty’s Crown and Dignity.”

Dunmore’s proclamation triggered a mass escape. Lord Dunmore’s “Ethiopian Regiment” went to work pillaging patriot plantations, along the shores of the Chesapeake, to supply British ships with food. Some of the captured were put to death, some were sold up the river to slavers in the West Indies. Some were, at public expense, sent to work in western Virginia’s lead mines.

In Connecticut, the state with the largest slave population in New England, the legislature passed two important acts which paved the way for the recruitment of black soldiers: any men who procured a substitute would be exempt from the draft, and former masters who freed their slaves to serve in the Continental Army would be relieved of any future obligation for support. Any slave who agreed to serve would exempt both a master and his son. Whites who were drafted who did not own slaves often bought one. Some slaves were able to negotiate freedom as the price for their service. Some did not get this promise; however, others failed to get it in writing, and were pressed back into slavery.

The 4th of July is more than barbecue, hot dogs, and fireworks. “The Star Spangled Banner” should mean more than the opening of ball games. I want to be proud to be an American, even eighty-nine years after the fact. I have a higher standard for America. I live here. I give America my best, and want no less in return. Make America the true home of freedom, not more choices at the market, and two on the ballot. Put people before things. Make no man or woman a prisoner for thinking differently than you. Whole sections of America think we should imprison people for doing drugs. Deny adults who are not related the right to marry. Criminalize people without housing. Make corporations citizens. Bomb countries into the stone age. I try to be the America I want.

Make America the true home of freedom. Do no harm in speech or action to any living thing. Celebrate freedom from fear.

I have seen the auction block. I have been in the slave quarters. Do you feel free? Does Congress make you feel free? Does the Supreme Court make you feel free? Yes, we have a black president. Does he make you feel free?  b

To feed or not to feed, that is the question?

By Ronald K. Mc Kinley

In most major cities there are ordinances stopping or restricting the feeding of the homeless. Las Vegas, “home of Lost Wages,” was one of the first. A federal judge has blocked that law.

New York’s mayor Bloomberg blocked food donations to all government-run homeless shelters, concerned that the donated food would not be nutritious enough. We all know that no food is better than food of low nutritional value. Stop me if you’ve heard this joke before.

Philadelphia, the “City of Brotherly Love,” had its mayor Nutter saying that feeding them lacked sanitary conditions, a common excuse, and took away the dignity of the homeless. Their dignity was more important than eating. He loses his dignity several times a day.

Houston’s christian organization “Feed a Friend” was banned and told they would not be granted a permit in the future. Christian rapper Tre9, Bobby Herring, appeared before the City Council and won some wiggle room.

Dallas area pastor Dan Hart is suing over food ordinance. Suing for free exercise of religion protected by the Texas Religious Freedom Restoration Act. “It is what Jesus did,” he said.

In Orlando, 12 “Food not Bombs” activists were arrested. The activists needed a permit if large groups of people are within 2 miles of city hall. Sounds like they don’t want to be occupied. Each group is allowed two permits per park per year. Food not Bombs exceeded their limit. They knew they would be arrested.

In Venice, an anonymous donor gave money to Whole Foods to feed the homeless once a month on Sundays. Whole Foods, heartened, decided to feed every Sunday. The “housed” went ballistic. Kelly Layne, marketing supervisor for Whole Foods, first approached by the donor, connected with Steve Clare of Venice Community Housing Corporation (VCHC). He offered his facility across the street from Whole Foods, on Rose, for feeding. The homeless haters were still not appeased. The feeding was moved to the boardwalk, in front of the Adda & Paul Safran Senior Housing Presbyterian Home, 151 Ocean Front Walk. There are two spaces designated as feeding places on OFW, 69 and 205, the last space on OFW.

I got up at 7 in the morning, no small feat, to see the feeding. I got to 151 OFW at 8:00, there was a short line. That grew fast. I asked people in line about the food, as I knew some of them. The responses were all positive. People talked and caught up on boardwalk gossip. It was a warm somewhat humid day.

Only one man did not seem to be happy. He bellowed of someone who was after him over some transgression. He was ignored as he sought out an audience. Someone said, “ we don’t want to hear that shit.” At a lost to a come back, he stopped his rant.

At 8:30 Whole Foods showed up and started to setup. The line now held about 90 people. They where instructed by a volunteer about trash, and not to sit on the steps of 151 OFW. A patrol car pulled up about ten minutes later. A portly officer extracted himself, with effort, from the black & white. He lectured the volunteers and then squeezed back into black & white and left.

The food consisted of a breakfast burrito, scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, juice, coffee, pastry. The best of Whole Foods breakfast menu. About 250 people were fed that day. It was a beautiful thing to watch.

The homeless are a quantum of humanity, a section of America. The haters would have you believe that all homeless are drug users, lazy, criminals, with no social grace, waiting for the next hand out.

This sounds like some of our elected officials. The economic collapse was not caused by poor people, but by greed. The homeless population will continue to grow.

A year ago I would have been standing in this line. Thanks to St. Joseph Center and VCHC I am no longer homeless. Albert Einstein said, “Problems can not be solved with the same level of awareness that created them.”

Wild and Peaceful – The Ivory Queen of Soul

By Ronald K. Mc Kinley

Mary Christine Brockert, known as Teena Marie, was born in Santa Monica and spent her early childhood in Mission Hills. Later she moved with her family to Venice to live in a large house on Nowita Court.

Born on March 5, 1956 she was raised in Qakwood, nick-named “ghost town” because you go in alive, you come out a ghost. Brockert attended Venice High School where she joined the Summer Dance Production, and appeared in the musical “The Music Man.” She graduated in 1974.

Her distinctive soulful vocals caused listeners to believe she was African-American. Success in R&B and Soul earned her the title Ivory Queen of Soul.

She was the fourth of five children born to a construction worker, Thomas Leslie Brockert, and a homemaker Mary Anne. She was Portuguese, Italian, Irish and Native American.

Brockert took to singing naturally, developing a fondness for singing the songs of Motown.

Her parents listened to jazz and popular music, and her parents began sending her out on auditions when she was eight years old. She got her first acting role on “ The Beverly Hillbillies,” that aired October 21, 1964. She sang at the wedding of Jerry Lewis’s son when she was ten years old.

She learned to play piano under the tutelage of two nuns, as she was raised in a Roman Catholic household. She also played rhythm guitar, keyboards and congas. Her first band was formed with her younger brother Anthony, and a cousin.

In 1976 she was introduced to Motown staff producer of the Jackson 5, Hal Davis. This lead to an audition for a film about orphans being developed by Motown. The film failed, but Berry Gordy decided to sign her as a solo act.

Rick James, also on the label, turned down producing Diana Ross to work with Brockert. Her debut album “Wild and Peaceful” scored Brockert her first R&B hit “I’m a Sucker for Your Love” (#8 on the Black Singles Chart). Lady T was the name coined by Rick James.

There was no picture of her on the album. Many radio programmers assumed she was Black.

This changed when she performed her debut hit with James on Soul Train in 1979; she was the show’s first white female guest. She appeared eight more times, more than any other white act.

In 1980, on her second album, “Lady T,” her portrait appears on the cover. Also in 1980, she released her third LP “Irons in the Fire,” dedicated to her father. She handled all the writing and production, including horn arrangements and backing vocals, something rare at the time for female artists.

She had her first top 40 hit with the single “I Need Your Loving” (#37, #9 Black Singles Chart).

In 1981 she released “It Must be Magic” (#2 Black Albums Chart) her first gold record, which included her biggest R&B hit “Square Biz” (#3 Black Singles Chart).

In 1982 Brockert got into a battle with Berry Gordy over her contract. A lawsuit resulted in the “The Brockert Initiative,” which made it illegal for a record company to keep an artist under contract without releasing new material for that artist.

She left Motown as the label’s most successful white solo act. Because of her, artists are able to move to another label and not be held back by an nonsupporting one.

In 1984 she released her biggest-selling album “Starchild.” It contained her biggest hit “Lovergirl,” released by Epic Records. It rose to #4 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 Chart.

She never married, but gave birth to daughter Alia Rose in 1991, they can be seen on YouTube singing together.

She was Godmother to Marvin Gaye’s daughter Nona Gaye, and she also cared for Rick James’ son Rick Jr.

Lenny Kravitz posted a video in which he said Brockert had taken him into her home when he was struggling early in his career.

She suffered a Grand mal seizure a month before her death. Close friends said she suffered other seizures. She broke two ribs with the grand mal. She stopped taking Diazepam, for the seizures, because of the side affects, and took herbal medicines instead. She was so frightened of having another seizure when she was alone that she would have someone sleep with her at night.

The Saturday night of the day before her death nothing seemed unusual. Someone slept next to her.

Her daughter checked in with her around 1 PM Sunday afternoon. At 3 PM her daughter checked in again but could not wake her. She died in her sleep of natural causes according to the coroner.

She died the day after Christmas 2010. She was 54 years old.

Fear of Drumming

Ronald K. Mc Kinley

The current Venice Drum Circle is about twenty-two years old. I say current because the VDC has origins before I came to Venice. When I came to Venice there was no circle. The VDC of the 60s and the 70s was finally beat down. I talked with players of the old VDC, seen the Beachhead of the 70s about the assault on the old VDC. This new VDC is under assault.

Twenty-two years ago Randy Banks, Rasta Randy, fathered this new VDC into being. Randy and I and Deon, I can’t remember his last name, played on the boardwalk for money, that was the idea.

Randy would do capoeira, the Brazilian dance of African origin that incorporates martial arts, Deon would play drums, I would play the agogo, a double-coned bell joined at the tip of the cones, played with a small metal rod.

The police had other ideas. We were always stopped. We played from Rose to Windward. We were very good. We loved what we were doing. The complaint was of noise, most times we could not be heard above the din of recorded Muzak on the boardwalk. Randy took us to the hill just we three.

The hill at Breeze became our church. Randy would preach, I just wanted to play. We three would meet every Sunday Randy would start the circle with a prayer. It started with two drums, and a bell, and three black men from different parts of the country. We would form a circle join hands and pray. Alcohol was not permitted We would stop playing until the person left or stopped drinking.

This lasted for years. We asked people not to smoke in the circle. We didn’t stop playing for that.
No stick drumming was allowed. What a difference twenty-two years make. Skin on skin the real drumming. The drumming of birth, death, harvest, marriage, war. The stick drummers just play loud not better.

A friend of mine died while I was playing, 15 years ago, bled to death. I was in the zone playing on the hill. There was a big crowd that day. His throat was cut by a jealous boyfriend. I saw the paramedics when they arrived. I found out the next day.

There are new residents in Venice who move here for peace and quiet. The quirky and colorful that make Venice, Venice, are a problem to them. We can’t be turned off like an iPod or mp3 player. “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

There are fissures and factions inside the VDC. Players with very little talent or schooling and loud stick driven drums give the Sunday VDC a rave-like quality. Circle within circles, within circles make the drumming a wall of noise. Egos bumping egos don’t make good drumming.

The police come at sunset and stop us from playing. The drumming on the original spot is stopped at two or three pm. We are told that there are complaints of noise. The music from the businesses overpowers us.

I have in my twenty-two years drumming in VDC met and played, with drummers and dancers from all places on earth that have drummers and dancers. Music brings people together. Dance frees all who dance. Children are the best indicator of the effect of drumming. They sway, hop, jump and whirl about.

In New Orleans, my place of birth, drummers got together in Congo Square, the only place in America that displaced Africans could play drums. On weekends the slaves where allowed to dance, sing, speak their mother tongue. Several different languages were spoken music united them all. Music from the west coast of Africa. Jazz was born from the mixture. Mainland America still thinks the slaves are going to revolt it’s the drums, alas this is not true.

Rasta Randy moved to Hawaii. He bought some land. He finally got his money from the VA and may still be living in a tree house. Deon moved back home I don’t remember where. Yours truly still goes to the VDC. A friend of mine loaned me a drum. The police impounded my car with my drums inside.
I could not get them back. I was house-less and penniless at the time.

I see different factions trying to gain control of the VDC, some want to make it commercial. Some have darker reasons. Most of them can’t play. I go to commune with nature. I don’t go to get laid. If you play well this is a given.

I am so present in my drumming, so in the moment I miss most women. I don’t go to get wasted. No drug can replace playing. I am back in Africa.

Little by little the police are stopping, cutting our actual playing time. The first amendment to the constitution gives us freedom of speech and the right of assembly. The police come blast their sirens. Sometimes the police helicopter flys overhead, met with hundreds of middle fingers raised to the sky. The sand patrol stays until there is no more drumming. A friend of mine once kept playing and was cited. They did not take his drum. They use this as a threat. I always say to the crowd “welcome to America” as we walk through the sand, back to the boardwalk. Is this America?

A couple of years ago they rushed the VDC and ran over a young man. They chased everyone away before most people knew what was happening. The ambulance was parked at Rose. I saw them load the injured man on a board. I still to this day don’t know if he lived. They would not talk to me or to the man’s cousin, whom I talked to. There were 15 police lined up ready for our reaction.

People with money have moved into the red brick building at Breeze and the Boardwalk. They don’t like the drumming. The Highway Patrol once came and stopped us from playing. The police where busy with real crime. The patrol car parked on Breeze. A very large, black patrolman walk over to me and told me that the people in that building pay three thousand dollars a month to stay there. Money trumps rights. It is time for the slaves to revolt.