Category: Life Events

In 1985, John Thompson was convicted of murder in Louisiana. Having already been convicted in a separate armed robbery case, he opted not to testify on his own behalf in his murder trial. He was sentenced to death and spent 18 years in prison—14 of them isolated on death row—and watched as seven executions were planned for him. Several weeks before an execution scheduled for May 1999, Thompson’s private investigators learned that prosecutors had failed to turn over evidence that would have cleared him at his robbery trial.

A skateboarder who held on to a speeding car in Ocean Beach early today was critically injured when he let go and rode into the path of an oncoming pickup, police said.

Two men in their late 20s were hot boarding” in the 4900 block of West Point Loma Boulevard about 2:30 a.m. when the accident happened, according to San Diego police Officer David Stafford.

Monday, March 28th, is the 40th anniversary of the Collier Park Riot. On Sunday, March 27th, the OB Rag is having a commemorative picnic at the park, located in northeast Ocean Beach at the intersection of Greene Street and Soto Street, a block north of Voltaire. It will begin at noon – and weather permitting – and will be a celebration of OB, its history, Collier Park itself, and anything else that seems appropriate.

The vibrations of peace, calm, and freedom that dwell in Ocean Beach drew me here time and time again. Each time I visited this small little beach community the desires of my heart were loud and clear. Each visit more pleasant than the previous. Over the course of eight years I was drawn to the shoreline of Ocean Beach for healing, rest, reflection, and renewal. No other town I’ve been to in this country welcomed me unconditionally the way Ocean Beach has.

Deciding to sell my home in the desert to rent here for double what my mortgage payment was may have sounded unwise to some. Yet I was drawn here by powers beyond my human understanding.

Try though I may, there are times when I can’t stop complaining:

“Gas is too high.”
“Food prices have gone up.”
“Why is this phone bill so high?”
“It’s too hot to go walking.”
“It’s too cold to go walking.”
“There’s nothing good to watch on T.V. anymore.”
“The service is awful in this restaurant.”
“My feet, head or back hurt.”

Oh, there is so much to complain about­­– some days more than others. There are lots of people like me; you probably know a few, or you may be one yourself.

Hey, Jihmye, I send these words directly to you because I know based on your Baha’i faith that although you’re no longer here carrying on with us physically your journey has not come to an end.

But, oh, what an existence your earth bound life has been, my friend. From the beginning to the end. Dropping out of school early, fleeing Dixie in Uncle Sam’s army, blessing all within your reach with your art and your poetry and your very presence. To me you were like a breath of fresh air in a world that can, without reason or rhyme, be so suffocating and crushing at times.

We do not have all the details yet, but yesterday, March 15th, the City Council of San Diego approved funding for the Small Dog Park at Dusty Rhodes. It includes money for a fence to separate the Small Dog section from the larger area where big dogs roam. Now it just needs to be installed.

Like much of San Diego’s media, we joined the “Tsunami watch” down at the shore of Ocean Beach this morning. The horrible tragedy in Japan had generated enough energy under the Pacific Ocean that it was supposed to travel to the West Coast moving at the rate of 500 miles an hour, and hit San Diego’s coast around 8:40 a.m.

I pause with a picture to just look at my face, the wrinkles, the gray in my beard, the few…

Editor: This post has received a lot of attention recently, so we decided to bring it back up.

By Shirley Sprinkles, Ph.D

She handed me a five dollar bill through the car window, then turned and walked away. I don’t know her name, nor where she was going—the encounter was so brief—but I know I will never forget that lady stranger who generously saved me from a lot of frustration and prevented me from walking a mile or more to my destination. The scene was a downtown public parking lot. My husband, Leo, and I were already a half hour late for a statewide conference on the status of African American families and children. (CSAAFC). We had taken the wrong fork in the expressway, and found ourselves deadlocked in traffic that was backed up for four miles due to a serious accident. I told Leo to go the other way, but he didn’t. .

February 21st – a day of joy; a day of sorrow. Today is my birthday; Today also marks the 17 month anniversary of my husband’s death. Right next to my birthday candles will be a memorial candle to Bob. This article is not so much about my birthday as it is about Bob’s death. You see, he died of LUNG CANCER 18 months after it was diagnosed.

Bob was a smoker for 30 years. He admitted to smoking 3 packs a day before he quit 34 years ago. If he “admitted” to 3 packs a day, one can’t help but wonder just how many packs he really smoked daily. It doesn’t matter, because he ranked giving up smoking as his #1 accomplishment in life. His Ph.D was secondary to giving up smoking.

I see before me photographs of a sprinkling of my wife’s ashes soaking in the sand along the shore in…