The "Rap" Back and In The Funk Zone

    There is a lot to like about Santa Barbara's funk zone, not the least of which is building art.

  A more extensive look follows, but first, the old goats respond. The Rap back--

**The Text below**

    Frequent readers may recall in the previous post I discussed how our old goats coffee dialectic/cafe debate, populated by a diverse group, was at least civil unlike the wide divergence almost every where else you look these days.

    None of the group seemed to take offense to my characterizations, however Ray, our resident historian responded with verse. BTW Ray has offered up other ditties showing that he could make a run at song writing as a twilight career. 

    I see the group would prefer to be known as the Illuminati instead of old goats. My only retort is a small edit. He noted that my court skills were unknown at Butler U (I was accepted there) but it should read Ball State U, from whence I graduated.  He's right though.  My hoops skills were left for Industrial, Church and Y leagues.

    Thanks Ray, and Illuminati pals. This is a keepsake the kids will find in my files.

the funk

    Santa Barbara's "Funk Zone," between the Pacific, the 101 and adjacent to the Amtrak station is a warren of cafes, wine rooms, galleries, restaurants, boutiques, bistros and plenty to look at. 

      An old warehouse and industrial district, enlivened.

     These 8 x 8 portraits are of Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Haring, Frida Kahlo, Yauyoi Kusama, Diego Rivera, Ai Wei Wei. They were done by students and guest muralist David Flores. 

   And then near the Santa Barbara farmers market is another eye appealing bit of public art, on a private home.

     After living in the mid-west my one regret about California is the brevity of the green season. So, enjoy a couple more scenes from nearby.

The Text

Tom came out of Indiana

a sharpened pencil in his hand

vowing to excoriate

every villain in the land

Calif. welcomed him

with widely opened arms

recognizing instantly

those sophisticated charms

He's a Hoosier and a Scot

a journalist most refined

but ignore required readings

and your faults could be defined

At Butler U his court skills

were remarkably unknown

those letters of recruitment

Vanished in the Twilight Zone

you know he's quite the wordsmith

dedicated to the truth

but exhibit mental weakness

and he'll shred you skin and tooth-

He is a well known resident

of many halls of fame

but are those hefty entry fees

just another elitist game?

Tom's an author and a blogger

of national reputation

But I suspect Ms. Lana

supervised his maturation

He's a critic of our president

our "national benefactor"

insisting that insanity

might be a slight distractor

No more distant projects

might an editor seek to send

For we could not tolerate

the loss of such a friend.

Ray Maijala

The Illuminati

 Janos

Dick

Dino

Julie

     See you down the trail.

CALIBRATING FREE SPEECH

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

First Amendment

Bill of Rights

    It is the "First Freedom" and on it I am an absolutist. It is as close to sacred as a secular statement or law can be.

     It means we must tolerate hearing even those things we find offensive. Reasonable people understand the implication of beginning to limit expression of a particular group or idea-where does it end?

    There is an however to this and the Charlottesville march and incident and its aftermath illuminates the however.

     The right to free speech does not extend to nazis or white supremacists. Here is how this free speech advocate gets to that point.

     I begin by quoting an unlikely source, Richard Spencer the American white supremacist. Spencer said "nazis are out of the bounds of humanity."  In this case, I agree with him.

     Like many of his generation, my father was a combat veteran of WWII where the issue of the legitimacy of the nazi idea was prosecuted. Later the Nuremberg trials further established the outlaw, vile and inhuman nature of that belief and the participation in it. 

      The nazi government of Germany undertook behavior that is the most evil in human history. I find succor then between the bounds of a white supremacist and the defining history of WWII to say clearly there is nothing legitimate or protected in a nazi belief, statement or attitude. The nazi history of barbarity disqualifies them from any human right or endeavor.

      White supremacy is a specious idea at best. More, it is fundamentally wrong and it is just stupid. With the exception of a isolated tribe or clan that has never had contact with others, there is no place on this planet where "blood lines are pure." Beyond that, the United States fought a brutal war fueled in great part by the foundational attitude and attendant arguments of white supremacy. 

     Those ideas allowed slavery to exist in our national experience and contributed to the inhuman and barbaric treatment of human beings. We didn't need a war to establish the foul nature of that belief, but the side that pressed racial supremacy was defeated none-the-less, ending any claim to it being a legitimate idea.

      The sheer lunacy of white supremacy, combined with the  tragic and bloody U.S. history of that issue places that view outside the bounds of protected speech.

      We would not permit those who believe in child sacrifice, cannibalism, public beheading, public rape, or the likes of ISIS, Taliban, Boko Haram,etc., to march or express their views. White supremacists and nazis are no better and no different. In fact as a civil society we are better off when those attitudes and behavior are criminalized.

      I think I'm safe in saying we have history on our side, to say nothing of the greater moral arguments. There is nothing good or right about white supremacy or nazim. They have no legitimacy or credibility. They are more than offensive, they are off the human scale. Humanity would be better if we never again had to cross them.

      Waring elephant seals just up the coast from here have more right to free speech than nazis or white supremacists.

         It is my assumption they also have more intellectual

power than the human slugs who are so out of touch with humanity.

the night i saw the nigger

    First, my apology to anyone who might be offended, but that is exactly how Dick Gregory identified himself the first time I saw him.

     It was at Ball State University in the mid 60's. Gregory performed his social comedy and was pushing his 1964 book Nigger. Throughout the concert he kept urging us to buy his book and send a copy to the President because he said he "wanted to see a Nigger in the White House!"

     Over the ensuing years I would cover or interview Gregory as he advanced his social activism. On one occasion when I was scheduled to interview him I had a sore throat and a cough. Before the interview began Gregory asked the hotel staff to bring him hot water, tea, lemon and honey to make me an elixir.

     Gregory was a ground breaker. He found a way to combat racism and segregation with a great and skilled sense of humor. He was also was a sincere and dedicated advocate of human dignity and liberty. 

     See you down the trail.

OFF THE ROAD

NO MORE A ROAD WARRIOR

Between Indianapolis and Phoenix

    7:40 AM and I'm sitting at the bar, the only seat available in  the crowded airport restaurant. My wake up call had come at Midnight on my body clock, 3:00 AM in Indianapolis.

     "What'll you have to drink?" the bartender asks after putting out another gin to the guy sitting at my left and another beer to the guy two spaces down on the right.

      "Coffee" I say watching the constant milling of people in and out of the tight space between tables and the shifting of spots at the bar.

       The guy to my immediate right asks to be topped off on coffee as he holds a paperback in his left hand, his right hand working on an omelet.

      I'm looking around and amazed at how young these travelers are, most of them are on business. After the years I've logged you can spot the road warriors from the tourists. 

      In that moment a switch that had begun to turn a few nights ago, completed its click.

      The flight got in at 1:15 AM. For years I've used a particular car rental agency that offers something called a rapid rez so you bypass lines, go immediately to the garage get your car and on your way. A breakfast meeting awaited after what would be the usual first night of battle with hotel pillows and bed, heating system and the likely impossibility of opening a window for real air. Sleep would be a challenge, but the rapid rez would get me moving that way. Wrong! There was not a waiting car. A lot attendant broke the news the computers crashed and I'd have to go back to the terminal and wait in line. Guess she see could the color drain. 

      She said "I'll be over in a couple of minutes to help you."

      No one is happy at the counter, especially the folks waiting in line. The clerks are doing the best they can, filling forms by long hand and swiping credit cards, but as the clock ticks and sleep disappears, the best laid plans are washing away as though being soaked by the cold rain outside.

     The young lady arrives, takes my credit card and disappears to the office behind the counter. Several minutes later she reappears with temporary paperwork explaining the form that would need to be explained in turn to the gate keeper.

     Loaded, seats adjusted, trying to figure out the heating and defrost controls, I roll up on the gate man who seems more perplexed than anything, but lifts the bar and I'm out into a driving rain at a temperature hovering above freezing.

     It's funny but after you've been away from a place for a while you begin to doubt your directions. I thread the on and off ramps and follow the signs to the downtown trying to remember my old short cuts, but loosing confidence as I drive. That and the place continues to be built and changed for SuperBowls, and NCAA Final Fours and myriad conventions.  My destination is a grand hotel I've been in more times than I could recall, but I couldn't recall where in the hell the entrance was. 

     The clock is running on me and chance of sleep is flying away as I circumnavigate the block a couple of times, cursing about what have they done with the entrance. Then I remember, though new buildings conspired against a clear vista.

      The car has been sent to the valet garage and I've been given keys that must be swiped before the elevator will assign my floor. This is new and requires a juggling act of shoulder bag, plastic bag with water, suitcase and keys.

      Ah, into the room, suits and shirts hung up, dob kit out and it looks like there may be a decent pillow on the bed. Still sleep time is being chewed up and that breakfast meeting is getting closer. Teeth are brushed and I reach for my mouth wash wondering the moment it hits my tongue why it had become like a gel.  I didn't have time to riddle that before the taste slammed me in the head with a realization-I had just taken a big swig of shampoo. Have you tried to rinse out a mouthful of shampoo?  I hope you never must.  That is when the switch began to click down.

     Now sitting here marveling at the youth of the road warriors, my nostrils assaulted by a few nights of dry hotel air, and damp chill of Indianapolis winter, my throat equally scratchy I knew definitively the road has passed me by. Even for vacation travel, I get a big sense of dread whenever I think about the packing, airports, the transfers, the hotels and what have you. I love to jump into the car and go explore, but it is the airports and the planes and not being in control that is the problem. 

    On this morning I'm listening to several weaves of conversation-missed connections, mechanical delays, scrambling to reschedule meetings, security clearance nightmares and etc. Been there and done that. I logged many thousands of miles at 36 thousand feet, all around this blue marble. There was a time I thought I could do it forever. On this morning, that seemed like a lifetime ago.  

      All I wanted now was to hug Lana, pet the cats, see the big Pacific and rolling Santa Lucia Mountains, smell fresh air, real air and be with others who also appreciate an eclectic little village, miles from roaring semis, hotel air and shampoo for mouth wash. Guess I should surrender my road warrior credentials.  

      There's a post script though, since life is not a fairy tale.

The light rain falling as we deplaned down the steps and walked across the runway felt good in this drought inflicted state. The snafu in this land of contentment was a baggage conveyor that broke down as several of us seemed eager to end our individual odysseys. Oh well, the video loop that kept playing over the bag less conveyor featured the scenic best of the coast, vineyards, hiking trails and at least, we were home.

      And the soaking my bag got, waiting to take its turn in the tunnel seemed to have dissolved those road warrior credentials. Amen!

     SOMETHING GOOD

    For many of us who were Ball State University students, the above was probably a staple of our diet.  Pizza King was a local enterprise that etched itself into our history. This particular 8 inch personal creation is one of our favorites, eccentric though it may be. Hamburger with barbecue sauce.

It must be tasted to be appreciated.

   Anyone who has visited Indianapolis will recognize this as the century old and venerable Shapiro's Deli. The number of lunches I enjoyed here, and even a few dinner breaks with my Mom is incalculable. After spending a day shooting video on this last trip, being outside in a chill, though locals said it was a "nice" day, I stopped in for a bowl of their warming Matza Ball soup.

    There were a couple of other memory moments-below a plaque at the Indiana State Museum.

MOM'S MOMENT

   We would never visit the cemetery that mom did not want to pause at this sculpture. It was one of her favorite places.  The title is Innocence. Over the years it has become one of those special places for me.

    Now it is a place where I remember and in a very real

way, feel my mother's presence. Moment's like this can make the travel worthwhile.

    See you down the trail.

THE DAY LIGHTS

PASSING DAY LIGHT

Cambria April on Windsor

KNOCKOUT

     The Boys Club boxing space enveloped a smell of canvas, leather and balm while the accoutrement's and apparatus triggered an urge.

      You could hit the big bag with all you had, repeatedly until the bag won. The speed bag could be danced by skilled hands in a rhythm that was poetic. I could bang short bursts, but never got so talented as to pound out a dance beat. I liked the footwork and was able spring around the ring quickly. The rapid air punching rotations and jabs were great arm and shoulder work. But before I could box competitively my dad knocked me out of the game.

      "No son of mine is going to get his brain rattled like that." He knew boxers who he said were "punch drunk", their speech or thinking were victims of the fight game. I was not fond of the idea of "cauliflower ears." I watched a Friday night boxing match as Dad and a couple of neighbors pointed out the work being done by the "cut man," on a boxer's eyebrow. As much as I fancied myself a winner, he did me a big favor. And he told me I could take the pugnacious urge and turn it into defensive basketball. He was right.

walk by solar

SORRY 

     Manny Pacquiao is the better man but Floyd Mayweather Jr.is a stronger and better fighter. An almost $200 Million payout is staggering. Big money sports is another fight, though. 

       I befriended a foreign student at while Ball State. He struggled with his early attempts at reading and speaking English. He was a graduate student, had been a young employee in a government agency and was in the US to get a PhD. His English rapidly excelled and over a couple of years we'd chat and shared classes. I lost contact with him many years ago but learned he had returned to Nepal and worked in education. I've thought of him these past days and the suffering of his nation.

      I've also thought of how desperate are the lives of refugees and victims of disaster and war. Hundreds of millions of dollars spent on sports entertainment seems embarrassing in the same paragraph and on the same planet.

      See you down the trail.

COAST IS CLEAR - MESSAGES CONFUSED - TBT PAUL NEWMAN "EXCLUSIVE"

THE COAST IS CLEAR

POLITICAL ROUGH STUFF

     The primary motive of the flap over Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's e-mails is to create more flack to shadow a presidential campaign. But the spat raises critical issues, for all of us.

      How private should or can our communications be, whether we are a public official or a corporate employee? I wrestled with the latter issue as the senior news executive in a large and publicly traded broadcast company. In this age it is difficult to separate personal and professional communications, via phone or Internet. 

      Clinton had to live through the fall out of Julian Assange's Wikileaks revelation of thousands of supposedly private State Department cables and communications. They were the notes, observations and working messages of diplomatic personnel, were often sensitive and were never intended for public dissemination. Their release outraged foreign leaders, damaged relationships and put American assets and other intelligence officers at risk. So in that environment one understands a desire to have some protective wall.

      And aren't we all entitled to privacy of thought and deliberation? Our attitudes and positions can and do change on people and politics, but in the interim we should be free to say and think "aloud" or in emails, what we wish, understanding that a particular communication is not meant to be definitive.  But when something is brought up and focused on, with no context, it is unfair and misleading.  All the more reason to know what are the ground rules and boundaries.

     I won't predict the Clinton E-mail fight will achieve clarity on this issue, but it's something that faces all of us.

TBT 1968 PAUL NEWMAN & BROTHER JOHN

    Paul Newman campaigned for Eugene McCarthy at Ball State University in the spring of 1968.  His primary body guard was my younger brother John, the bearded lad to whom Newman is speaking.  

    I was a reporter, covering the critical Indiana primary and the coming and going of the politicians, but John had the best access to Newman.

   Newman flew in where John picked him up, along with a couple of others. Newman's first request was to stop at a liquor store where he purchased a six pack of beer.

   John, now deceased, was bit of a brawler and before he was injured was a tough football player. He went on to be a charismatic therapist and counselor and directed the public hospital's crisis intervention unit. In this picture he was evidence of the "Get Clean with Gene" movement. Before his Newman assignment, his hair and beard were much longer. John rarely wore a tie. 

   There were no problems for Newman during his Indiana sojourn. John could be a formidable force.

   See you down the trail

LIMITED BLESSING-A POLITICAL THROWBACK

LIMITED MERCY

    A blessing of this area is the coastal fog, especially so in this third year of California drought .

     The marine bank begins to thicken and roll when temperatures rise on the eastern side of the Santa Lucia range.  

   Here on the western slopes, fog trickles around sunset and begins to billow into valleys.

   During the night it may remain in the valleys and cling to the slopes,

 or fill the sky and obscure the pristine star field over the mountains and pacific. Some nights it hovers thickly as though written into the moors by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle but  will quickly wisp away revealing an ocean of galaxies. Coastal dreams are woven beneath this dance of misty gossamer.

  Morning will dawn under a damp blanket of moist relief and cool.

   It is a dose of mercy.

    By late morning sun angles on the grazing slopes, orchards and vineyards.

     The great golden light and saturated color returns.

     Tender shoots nurtured by the fog and the cool are quickly gone. A dry land and its inhabitants await the start of a rainy season.

     And we hope.

THROWBACK CLASS OFFICERS

    Ball State University Sophomore Class Officers 1966. John Yount, Joe Peach, Joy Novak, Sally Staley, Tom Cochrun.

     See you down the trail.