Category: From the Soul

The 99% and all that stuff
is a movement that’s all about US
and with that in mind
one might opine
that many of US
can remember times
when we could barely
pay the rent
and when the rent
was made good with all good intent
the food money
was gone…spent.

Sometimes when I’m feeling mellow I can’t help but reflect on the good moments in my life, on the things that make my heart sing. Being an actor, and a patron of the arts, theater is high among the list of things that energize my existence.

And there is a performing arts company in town called Mo’olelo (story in Hawaiian) that is dedicated to staging dramas that inspire us, no matter our ethnicity or creed or what we believe, to seek and embrace ways to respect each other for who we all are: human beings.

They are dedicated to such ideals in every play, going about it in a community-focused, socially-conscious way, seeking always to provide significant roles for actors of color and to allow the company to serve communities that are traditionally under-served in American theater. I especially appreciate that they visit classrooms to ignite students’ imaginations and prepare them for theater-going experiences before they see the plays. That’s walking the talk to me.

It was so nice seeing my old friend, Whoopi, the other night. It had been a while. The last time I saw her was a few years ago when my wife, Nancy, and I, found ourselves standing in a line that can only be described as very long at a book store in La Jolla.

When we finally crossed the threshold of the building and got a glimpse of Whoopi, her head was bowed as she was intently writing her name with swift sweeps of her wrist. We just looked at her with deep admiration as she made so many people’s day, smiling at them as she scribbled.

In a moment she happened to look up and spot us, opening her eyes ala Mr. Magoo and she dropped her pen and came towards us like a Drum Major in a Black College Marching Band, calling out to us, “Ernie! Nancy!” and then she wrapped us in a hug that must have warmed the room.

These words are in memory
of a dear friend whom I met in 1975
through my soul mate Nancy
who also is no longer alive
although they both will
exist forever, in my inner being, spirit wise.
And as it is with life,
I could have never known
back then
that this new friend,
Charlie McKain, Lucky,
would represent the kind of
human progress
in which he has been
involved in
(my mother, by the way,
is turning in her grave
with that ordering of words
as she was the queen of the preposition) –

I jump at every chance available to me to soften the racist and xenophobic noise that emanates from Arizona incessantly.

Why? Because when you’re subjected to second class citizenship as I was as a child in the Grand Canyon State your life’s dreams are filled with images of a better world, a world where all people are treated with dignity as human beings who are deserving of love.

So, along these lines, two dear friends of mine, Marjorie Cohn, attorney, professor of Thomas Jefferson Law school, author of several books (her latest, “The United States and Torture: Interrogation, incarceration and Abuse”), Angela Garcia-Sims, retired educator and educational consultant extraordinaire, and I have put together a panel to discuss the implications of SB1070, Arizona’s racial profiling law. The United States Supreme Court will hear arguments regarding this sad piece of legislation on Wednesday, April 25.

Our panel on the matter will take place

Monday, April 23, at 7:15 pm to 8:45 pm in Room 323 at

Thomas Jefferson School of Law,

1155 Island Avenue, San Diego.

Oh, did the words, “We’re charging George Zimmerman with Second-Degree murder” ever put my mind and soul at ease.

His walking free said to me that Emmitt Till, a 14 year old black boy who suffered a cruel death when I was 17 – for basically saying “Hello” to a white woman – had died in vain. This tragedy, for a while, practically crippled me with intense emotional pain as a result of my thinking that what had happened to him could happen to me – as my mother and I travelled down south rather frequently. Mississippi, specifically.

I carry within me images of both Emmitt’s battered body looking out at me from a page in Jet Magazine and a sickening scene featuring the men who killed him. A jury of their “peers” found them not guilty in a horribly absurd trial and they mugged in front of a camera smoking cigars and kissing their wives, looking as though they were ready to go out on the town and do-si-do. I imagine it was one big party behind bars also but they did spend time in jail. They sat in the hoosegow. They had some slammer time.

Sometimes I get dancing feet.
I’ll hear a song
and can’t help but want to move
to its rhythm,
to its beat.

When my hand wasn’t being shook or my body hugged by old friends I stood with my mind tripping as I looked down at the multitude of people who had gathered to march in the name of Trayvon Martin who had been slain by George Zimmerman, a man who remains free from imprisonment under Florida’s “Standing Your Ground” law, aka the right to kill.

In between speakers, and as we walked, my mind kept on tripping and I let my imagination flow and from that there rose a scenario featuring a powerfully built African American man named Cleavon Manson and a six foot plus skinny white teenage boy who responds to Gabe. Last name, Zabielski.

I was sitting at a table at the Barrio Station, in San Diego’s Barrio Logan, next to a Chicana friend of mine, having a good time sipping the tastiest of whiskey sours while she nursed a smooth white wine.

In the background the music that was being sung and played was sounding ever so sublime. Among the selection was De Colores, a song of exquisitely mellow rhythm and rhyme, a song of love and that suited everybody just fine as we represented all the colors of the rainbow and had shown up in a spirit of love for a beautiful and worthy cause – to celebrate an organization that has served the needs of the children in this Barrio with an abundance of love for over 40 years without pause.

In such a festive atmosphere with delightful uplifting corridas filling the air I couldn’t help but drift into a Barrio State of Mind.

Lately, it seems, when I get news from my beloved Sonoran Desert it’s filled with vibrations that chill my soul, tales of senate and assembly bills that threaten the well being of some of its citizens, tales of students being denied studies that motivate them to reach for great things in their lives, tales of books being banned that inspire critical thinking.

But the other day I received a bit of refreshing E-News from the College of Education at my alma mater, the University of Arizona, that made me feel vibes that made me want to sing “U of A! U of A!”

It was about UA athletes sharing fun and exercise with “little wildcats” during the university’s second annual Track and Field Day, teaching them how to become and stay healthy.

These first through fourth graders got to play outdoors in fresh air on a wonderful day, running and jumping in individual events and in relays, under the mentoring of superbly fit and well trained college athletes like some of them might become some day. My kind of story. A story of love and giving. I applaud the track team for gifting these kids with such a wonderful life experience.

I wrote in the guest book of her obituary:

Pearlie Mae. What can I say.
On my family tree.
A cousin but like a big sister to me.
Part of my history.
Here when I arrived.
Could always count on her love.
In my heart she will always reside.

She was a prominent member on our branch of the Windham/Windom family tree. Our grandmother’s Lillie (hers) and Alma (mine) were sisters. It’s hard believing that she’s now resting in peace with those two extraordinary women.

Her obituary states how selfless and loyal she was to family and friends and confidantes and I sure got a sense of that early on in life.

There’s a character
from old Minstrel Shows
who went by the name of Jim Crow,
white man in
black face
depicting what he considered to be,
a Negro,
all singy and dancey and grinny,
don’t you know,
but over time
in my mind
I configured the soul
of the rogue playing Jim Crow
as the mastermind
of all the crimes
against my gentes
I’ve seen in a lifetime,
a symbol of all our woes,
morphing into
“The Man”
I’ve come to know:
….