From Long Island to DC to witness President Obama's Second Inauguration

1/22/13 18:26 on the train Northport

How was the inauguration?  There were some who saw my pictures on Face Book.  I should sign in today and check what was written.   The comments, the likes... There are those who check on FB as if it is a lifeline to the world.  I’m not there and don’t want to be.  You can say this is a contradiction since I linked the blog to FB.  There are some stories I will post and others that will remain in the hidden chambers of these files.  So how was it?  Four years ago there was a different excitement in the air.  Those of us in the crowd of almost two million would say it was a festive occasion.  I didn’t feel the same.  Maybe since we had tickets?  Maybe since we expected Joe and Diana to join us as well as my son?  Amanda was in Boston?  Sunday night; I was stressed out.  I was even thinking maybe we can skip this thing and watch it on TV.  Who needs the stress?  Four years before, we dealt with long lines from the Metro station, long lines getting into the station, long lines onto the platform, onto the packed train and shuffling for blocks like zombies on packed city streets in DC. That was then.  I had everything planned, we leave by 7 - the latest.  Park the car and get into the station.  We bought our Metro tickets already - to save time.  If I can’t park the car in the lot, I will bring it back to the hotel and jog the two miles to the station.  Okay, I was a little obsessive about this thing.  I would do it if necessary.  It was not necessary.  I parked the car and we walked right up to the platform and felt like this was going to be easy.  It was not as easy as I thought.  Humanity swelled in the streets.  The crowds for these events are compacted and squeezed like herds of animals down into the narrow industrial strength steel fences, kept off the grasses and kept contained. Not to say we were going to get in trouble.  We were hoarded through metal detector devices. I was waved with a wand held by a lesbian who asked me if I had a belt on.  Yes.  Her mechanical voice sounded as if she was spat out from boot camp a few days before.  Yes, it’s a belt.  That’s my zipper.  The alarm went off.  It’s closed.   No bump.  It’s cold.  To feel any peace of mind, the ongoing concept of threat was subdued.  Silhouettes of sharp shooters, peered down from the peaks of roofs.  It was a warmer day than fours ago.  The sky was grey for the most part.  But this is one event in history - where humanity intermingles within inches, there is no such thing as personal space.  No need to freshen one’s breath as I encountered numerous wafts of digested meals on warm breaths.  We were told to go from one entrance to another and from there I was mixed with a group of young men who cussed on about how they were attending Yale - obviously trying to impress some younger women around them.  Bella was shocked with the language they were using.  What can I say my love? She is ten and the term asshole, makes a real impression on a ten-year old's imagination.  This is the same place where we were mixed with the exclusive company of mink coats, private designed wardrobes, hair styles that were expensive and molded for hours, and when set among the anonymous souls -  looked downright - outright ridiculous.  Did you pay a lot for that contraption? Why bother?  Did you tell your girlfriends you were going to see the President?  Why?  There was one point when we waited to cross the street, waited for a good twenty minutes till my eye balls rolled in urine, I was crying holding the pee and when we crossed we ran like the fools.  Well I couldn’t run.  A woman fell in front of me and when I went to help her up a guy shoved me off her, not too rough of a shove ‘cause I would have swatted him.  Let’s be civil here.  I made it to the barren Porto-Potty and released the steamy stream into the weird blue color abyss and felt a relief like no other.  When I came out to find my patient family waiting they were not there.  Instead I was staring at the blank faces of strangers, their eyes rolling in urine, waiting for their turn of glory.  Ali and Emma and Bella were gone.  Seized up by the tide and washed into the ocean of heads and coats and oblivion.  I went back and found a spot near one of the statues, with a view of where the speech would be given. I calmed myself since my calls were not going through - nor the texts.  I imagined getting back to the car and waiting in the cold parking lot since I could not reach Ali.  Till one message came in and we were only twenty yards away from one another.  I didn’t see them till the President was speaking.  Not that they could see what I saw, but I regret they were not with me.  Emma would have had some excellent shots since she brought her camera.  While the speech was going on, I became friends with those around me.  There was a young black boy who I helped to sit on the railing and an older black man who needed to rest against the railing since he had an ailing back.  For some reason he reminded me of my Father-In-Law.  We were all strangers and yet one unified family as we listened to history project over the loud speakers and into our hearts.

Thank you for reading this

Rise Above to save Coltrane's house

http://thecoltranehome.org/letters/national-trust-for-historic-preservation

Monday 3 21 11
The John Coltrane house is in bad shape. The chimney and cap are in disrepair and the roof shingles in the back are bucking, which I’m sure has led to some leaks in the house. The back brick wall is cracked and the rear needs major renovation. As I stood outside the house this past Saturday I felt ashamed that the house was in such poor shape.
This was his last home and a landmark for the place where he composed A Love Supreme, one of the masterpieces in jazz. Research states Mr. Coltrane composed it upstairs in his study for days and only interrupted for meals. When it was finished he came downstairs and told his wife, Alice, “It is done.”
While writing a paper on Coltrane for college, I learned he lived in Dix Hills and is buried in Pine lawn cemetery. He passed at Huntington Hospital, the same hospital where his sons were born. Searching the internet there were a few articles I came across, and eventually came in contact with Steve Fulgoni who led a campaign to save the house from demolition. I had the pleasure to meet Steve at the Coltrane house and was given a tour inside. At the time, there were new doors installed and an alarm system, windows were fixed, and inside the living room pictures of how the house appeared when Alice and her children lived there in the early seventies.
The house was purchased by the town back in 2004. This is where my piece ends, since I have little details about the not-for-profit which raised funds to rebuild the house. I sent a letter asking Steve what progress has been made. Since Saturday there has been no response. At one time, there was a web site which depicted the work to save the house, articles in Newsday, News12, and letters from jazz musicians. Today, there is a blog, but little details since 2008.
Through meeting Steve, I was invited to attend the Alice Coltrane memorial at St. John Divine cathedral in New York. I’ll never forget seeing Ravi Coltrane, John’s second oldest son and an incredible saxophone player, sitting at the end of our aisle and crying when a short documentary was played of his mother. And at the end of the memorial standing near the alter and hugging or shaking hands to everyone who passed their condolences. I spoke to Michelle Coltrane, who was the oldest and remembered her step father smoking a pipe and playing with the kids. She had fond memories of the house. I also had the chance to meet and interview Rachied Ali, one of John’s drummers who passed last year.
So join me as I investigate what happened to saving the Coltrane house. Today, my goal is calling the town to learn who is in charge of the repairs. Maybe I’ll shoot off an email to Ravi, since I recall he was on the board of the non-for-profit.
Later I called Steve who received my email, money is the issue. The big investors need to see a professional restoration plan, which costs money to generate. We discussed the proposed plans, like concerts, but they cost money to generate. Have they reached out to Bill Cosby? No.
So I’d take up the challenge and push it to fruition. There are many good angels that Coltrane continues to bless.

What Gives? The Clinton Tapes

Hey what gives? There were no entries in November? It’s Friday and I’m on the train about to pull out of Huntington. I’ve been reading The Clinton Tapes, but overall it’s too compact for the historical events, it almost seems as if each paragraph touches on something of importance. What’s disturbing is Clinton’s rationale for asking Taylor Branch for his opinions, Haiti for example, becoming almost a mediator between Clinton and Aristide? From the sound of it, Branch had the idea for Hillary’s first book? The overall access Taylor Branch and his family had to the President is surprising. Let me clarify his meetings were planned in advance for when Clinton had an opportunity to discuss recent events. But I’m left with the feeling President Clinton had time on his hands. Not only to conduct the “secret” interviews and playing cards and reading, watching movies, Clinton did not care for Pulp Fiction. We’re given an insider’s perspective of the lives of the first family. From eating breakfast in their robes, to doing homework with Chelsea, life continues as it normally would. And in contrast we have history, the relations with Russia, Bosnia, England, but I’m just skimming the service. As I’m writing this, I realize, I’m enjoying this book…

Re Elect Tim Bishop for congress 1st District New York

This year’s election the whole family has been supporting our congressman, Tim Bishop for re-election. The polls indicate it’s a tight race, but for my youngest daughter’s sake, I hope Tim wins. She will be very disappointed and I’m not sure how she’s going to take it. The whole family will be depressed, but we know the reality of politics. In our case, we’ve seen Gore win and lose. The other night Bella was watching TV, when a commercial for the opponent came on. “Lies! They’re all lies,” she said when the commercial mentioned Tim was for raising taxes, had bad hair and smelled horrible. Bella is seven. I think we’re raising a political monster. There is only black and white in her mind, either you’re with us or against us. Our oldest daughter Amanda has been diligently working on the campaign, and let me add here, all of us have put in some time – and for our hard work we had the opportunity to meet Bill Clinton before Wednesday’s rally at Stony Brook University. We were invited as part of a VIP group to have our picture taken with the president and Tim. The VIP group included state senator Brian Foley, the Brookhaven Dems director Jon Schneider and Suffolk Dems Rich and Mr. Jacobs, the State Dem chairman and others, but there was only about 20 in the lobby. In fact, we were the only family. In the Stony Brook gym, more than 2,000 flowed in to see the president and congressman Bishop and it was a great rally, a get out the vote to the students who are vital in this year’s election. I’m writing this on the train, since this morning I handed our literature to hundreds of fellow commuters before they boarded the train. Got out of bed around 4:30 and went for a run and heard a call at 5:30…and another at 5:45! 8 cops from the Suffolk PBA were waiting for me to hand our literature! And we did it together. It may be a tight race, but as Bella’s homemade sign states on the headquarters door, Tim Bishop will win!