Carl Giammarese and Jim Peterik Delight Audience at City Winery Chicago

The pairing of 60s pop stars Jim Peterik and Carl Giammarese always means a grand evening of entertainment. Audiences might first think it’s a booking of The Ides of March and The Buckinghams and tickets sell out immediately. Or, it could be part of an amazing “Cornerstones of Rock” show at a beloved venue, and again the tickets would sell out immediately.

However, there’s a brand new pairing in town—the “Evening of Stories and Songs” by Jimbo and Carl—singer/songwriters. It’s lesser realized until you have the chance to attend one of the intimate gathering performances, that Jim and Carl have spent all their lives as songwriters. For Jim’s contributions, many of his songs have been jingles for advertising agencies and while you can likely still sing along to “Look out for the bull, look out for the Schlitz Malt Liquor Bull,” on Antenna TV, you might not know Jim wrote that.

In the 1980s for many years, Carl Giammarese was the voice of many individual jingles as well as being part of some of Chicagoland’s most identifiable, favorites spots, including Lava Soap, banks, and many more. The group sessions include national commercials for United Airlines (“Fly the friendly skies of United), Pizza Hut, McDonald’s (“You Deserve a Break Today”). And so, the tickets started going fast until they reached capacity.

Whether they were in front of the microphone as lead singers, or leaders of their respective bands, Jim and Carl are fortunate enough to say that they have been able to make music their entire career lifetimes. That’s a rarity in today’s world, being able to pursue your heart’s dream as your day job without interruption.

Jim and his best friends from high school in Berwyn, Illinois, have performed as The Ides of March for over 50 years. Their first breakout hit was “Vehicle,” written by Jim Peterick, and it was a chart-topper in 1970.

Oppositely, The Buckinghams were essentially four guys from the north side of Chicago, and one from the south side. There was much that Carl and John Polous shared as music industry interests, so they might take forever to finish a copy each week. And yet, the two groups have stayed vital and active for the longest period of time in Chicago music history.

On an early 1970s interview show, Jim once joked, after “Vehicle” hit the Top 10 as a breakthrough hit that they’d worked 10 years to become an overnight sensation. But, that’s what it takes to succeed as a musician—perseverance, persistence, a lot of woodshedding, and a faith and belief in yourself that you were born to perform, write, create, and most of all—share your talents with others.

That really seems to be the excitement and motivation behind the success of the “Stories and Songs” series enjoyed by Peterik and Giammarese. In the past three months, both shows have maxxed out their socially safe and carefully staffed venues that serve food and drinks, most recently the City Winery in Chicago on August 16th.

Also making the evening extra special were the musical contributions of Singer/Songwriter Colin Peterik (backing Jim)

and Bruce Soboroff of The Buckinghams (backing Carl) as they did their individual performances.

Then all four of the guys jammed together for a few duo numbers that delighted the audience.

Keep your eyes open for more chances to hear the Dynamic Duo in person. You’ll be able to relax and travel back in time and by the end of the evening, you’ll all have made two really good friends that you will want to continue to keep up with. Enjoy. Follow Carl at facebook.com/CarlGiammarese and follow Jim at facebook.com/officialjimpeterik

Special thanks to Philamonjaro Photography for capturing the spirit of the fun evening in all the photos of that night, except where noted.

When Life Gives You a Second Family of “Cousins,” It’s a Gift

When I saw her picture posted on Facebook early this morning, I smiled, because her birthday is today, and I recalled great memories of fun times together. But as I read the caption her brother posted my mood changed instantly. It was remembering Nita Sue as today “would be” her birthday. Turns out she had passed away eight weeks ago, and I was just learning of it.

As a young girl, Nita Sue was a popular, fun, darling, and outgoing high school student, as her family and friends had described to me long ago when I first met her. She loved music and she loved dancing, and she was good at it! One of the most popular dancers in her class, in fact. Life was too serious to be taken seriously.

She always had a job and worked hard at whatever she was doing, typically clerical and bookkeeping positions, as she was good with numbers. A natural people person, she was great at customer service. By the time I’d met her, she had been married and divorced and her three children were grown and had family of their own.

And she was free to travel often when one of her cousins had a girls’ trip in mind, which was usually several times a year. Most frequently it was to be with another favorite cousin and friends of hers, of which I was fortunate to be included at the time. Trips might be to hang out at a second home down south or a vacation home up north, or to get in the car to run over and see more family in Arkansas or Louisiana.

Burning up the roads and whiling away the hours, I think I earned a PhD in “how to relax” being together with many women, slightly senior to me, who had had their jobs or careers, raised their families, and had time to just enjoy a bit of life. There was always music on the car trips and most of the time I was driving because I loved it.

Singing old songs from the hits of the ‘50s–‘70s, up and down the highways was filled with laughter and “remember when’s” time and time again. Just hearing the girls reminiscing was a joy for me. Their stories were so vivid that I felt like I’d been there myself. And then I got to meet some of their childhood friends and eventually the entire family, so the stories really came to life.

Occasionally, another cousin and his wife joined in the fun to visit more family in the “party wagon,” if you can call infinite stops for Dr. Pepper and convenience store snacks a party. We certainly did.

There may have been some happy times spent in a “few” casinos during those days. Well, to be fair, when we went to casinos, it was typically to see the musical acts performing there, because these days that is where all our classic rock faves would be in concert. And if you happened to have to stop at the slot machines along the way, well so be it! That’s our story and we’re sticking to it!

Occasionally, she’d join me for concerts at The Woodlands. I’ll never forget when we heard Il Divo, together with another friend, from the third row of the front section, and she and her cousin were with me for my concert of a lifetime in the late 1990s, with Christopher Cross and Dan Fogelberg sharing the bill at The Woodlands. Seats in the seventh row provided perfect purview for this iconic show.

She was a good friend to me and treated me like family all the time I knew her. When she came to town for a routine health procedure, she stayed with me, and the next day, she made sure she stopped by to see my Mom, who was in a senior skilled nursing section briefly for three months prior to her passing. She brought a thoughtful gift to Mom, who so enjoyed the visit.

During my first trip to Chicago, I stayed overnight at the airport to be able to catch a 6am flight in, and she told me to be sure and eat at the particular restaurant where her son, Darron, was working, and though he had not met me yet, when he did, he made me feel as welcome as the day is long, southern gentleman, and just seeing a familiar face, one you’d even not met, smiling at you and wishing you a great time on my business venture, I fumble as I try to explain how comforting it was…like I wasn’t alone in a vast sea of travelers while I was on my way to establish new venture.

The “you’re not alone” part is the key. When Mom died Nita Sue, many of her cousins, several of aunts and uncles burned up the highway to all be here with me in my most important time of need. I never felt alone. Surrounded by love, whether their names were on my family tree, I was able to go through those days with confidence, faith, strength, and more, because of their love. It’s just how this unique family (on both sides) that began in Arkansas and relocated mostly to Texas is about.

As a grandmother, Nita Sue loved her grandchildren and they loved her. One of her granddaughters loved reading and so every night before she went to sleep, she would call “Nana” and read to her for 30-45 minutes. What that simple act says is that a grandparent is the one person who delights in the time the child has to give and the child appreciates that gift. She always had the latest news of the grandchildren. Her son Darron brought her special love and care all of her life, and he was both best friend in addition to her son.

Her brother Troy and his sister were virtually best friends all of their lives. For me, it was so special to see a brother and sister so respectful and caring of one another, not pushing each other to words, ever, but so often coming together to care for their parents, which was a full-time project for both siblings for the majority of the past two decades actually.

Their parents’ final wish was to live in their home until they died—no matter what—and few people realize what a burden that can be to the children to have to maintain and finance and facilitate. Given their father’s unwilling adamant nature to yield to reason or logic, there was no Plan B available to either of them.

Dear old dad lived to be 100, and their parents’ marriage lasted 75 years; their Mom and Dad’s passing happened within four short months of each other. It was more than a labor of love that she and her brother honored their parents throughout their lifetimes. It was superhuman, as they battled their own losses in life, and it surely cost them falling a few steps behind in their own health doing so. Nita battled COPD for over a decade, but still she made them her priority, spelled by her brother’s stepping in for the other shift, all of which lasted until just recently (2019).

Other adult children would have just given up and said, “I can’t do this anymore. It’s costing me my health.” And no one would have blamed them. Sometimes you don’t just get what you want. Sometimes you get a gift you don’t deserve, because someone has strength of character that others can’t even hold a candle to. Sometimes, love supersedes personal needs each and every time.

During COVID we exchanged a few text messages and Facebook messages, but we all know that it was a time for friendships to be put to the test. Her big brother and her son were taking good care of her, she said. I knew she’d be all right and it was her birthday that brought me back to Earth. When I realized that her lovely photo on Facebook was “in memoriam,” my first thought was, “At last she can take a deep breath again.” She can dance, unencumbered, as long as she wants. As she is reunited with her family in Heaven, including her youngest brother who died 15 years ago, she is made whole, because family meant the world to her.

Time has flown so quickly since her passing that word had not reached me from any of the cousins. I see this all the time in my profession; someone thinks someone else has already told someone and yada yada. My feelings are not relevant or important here. The last thing I noticed brought another smile…the day of her passing? It was the exact same day that my mother passed away 16 years ago. Another cardinal flying across the sky to watch for…I’m grateful for her friendship and caring, and most of all for the gift of her time.

Magic Every Moment by Dan Fogelberg

"...On a high and windy island, I was gazing out to sea,

When a long-forgotten feeling came and took control of me.p> It was then the clouds burst open, and the sun came pouring through.

When it hit those dancing waters, in an instant all eternity I knew.

There's so much we take for granted, there's so much we never say.

We get caught up in the motiosn of just living day to day.

We are fettered to the future, we are prisoners of the past

...And we never seem to notice

'till our lives have finally slipped right through our grasp.

There's magic every moment.

There's miracles each day.

There's magic every moment.

Oh, won't you let the music play?

Won't you let the music play?

You can see forever in a single drop of dew.

You can see that same forever if you look down deep inside of you.

There's a spark of the Creator in every living thing.

He respects me when I work, but He so loves me when I sing."

The Rise and Fall of Bill Cosby, Once America’s Most Trusted Spokesperson and Dad

Shame on you, Bill Cosby, for destroying the memories of any good thing you ever once did in the name of entertaining your audiences over the years. Just when we’d all been able to put you in our virtual rearview mirrors, here you come again, this time yapping about how you were a victim. Oh, give us all a break.

Out of the blue on June 30th, American television audiences were shocked to see the actor back on their TV screens, getting out of a car and portraying a victim no less. Wasn’t he the same fellow who fell from pillars in extreme disgrace after being proved in a court of law that he was guilty of (at least) three counts of aggravated indecent assault in 2018?

Same fella whose more than 50 female accusers have stated he did the same thing to them? And you’re a victim now? When exactly did you lose your mind, Bill? Drugging women, then raping them, one by one by one by one. That’s what a jury of your peers convicted you of doing.

And yet, on June 30, 2021, “the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania overturned Cosby’s conviction, finding that the comedian should not have been charged or sentenced due to his agreement with a prosecutor. He was released from jail yesterday afternoon. And he jumped right back into character, portraying the victim.

The predicate for the case before the state Supreme Court is, at best, convoluted, and the reporting all combines to try and understand how Cosby theoretically didn’t have a fair trial. That would be where there were not even the full number of victims testifying against him.

Legal strategy is best left to lawyers, but the bottom line is that after almost three years of incarceration, Cosby is a free man, and his PR flacks are busy showing how he was rushing home to see his loving wife, Camille. If he had just kept his mouth shut and thanked everyone for seeing to his release, offered an apology to all victims, promised restitution to them one by one out of his major assets, and then gone quietly into oblivion, perhaps I might have been persuaded to look the other way and just ignore him permanently.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to do the right thing. Here’s your tweet yesterday;

I have never changed my stance nor my story. I have always maintained my innocence. Thank you to all my fans, supporters and friends who stood by me through this ordeal. Special thanks to the Pennsylvania Supreme Court for upholding the rule of law. #BillCosby

Cosby’s Twitter profile cleverly notes he’s “Far From Finished”: My first TV concert special in 30 years, Far From Finished debuted on @ComedyCentral on Nov. 23rd. Buy the DVD today:”(and then he gives the link).

Hallmark Channel: Are you paying attention?

By the way, one of his Twitter followers is the Hallmark Channel. Hopefully someone will nudge Wonya Lucas, named last year as the President and CEO of Crown Media Family Networks to pull the corporation’s following from this freed convict.

After all, they were quick as a flash to jettison their former movie staple Lori Laughlin over the college admissions scandal, and not one person in the media group noticed you were following Cosby on Twitter? Then again, maybe they sympathize with Coz, same as Phylicia Rashad, who is now scrambling and running like thunder to apologize for praising his release yesterday. I hope not.

Backlash was so quick against Rashad, the “newly minted” Dean of Fine Arts at Howard University (without a full semester under her belt) that she spent most of the day trying to apologize to victims of sexual abuse and it would have been just disgusting.

Except it’s about as much as you can expect from someone who can parlay a BFA degree into a career position as a Dean of Fine Arts, without as much as a real master’s or doctoral degree. She does have a bunch of honorary degrees though.

Howard U officials today, though, noted that her statement: “lacked sensitivity towards survivors of sexual assault.” A credentialed, experienced member academia would have known that.

Back to Bill, the incorrigible. You were once a “clean comedian” when you first appeared on my TV screen, a welcome figure as some at the time weren’t more child friendly. You were hysterical as you did routines about how you feared the wrath of your father (“I brought you into this world and I can take you out!”) and just growing up.

People bought tickets to see you and they bought your comedy albums to memorize all the lines that were part of the hysterical aspects of car repairs (mechanic named Bob) on the album “200 MPH.” I look at that album today and want to smash and stomp on it.

I was very young, but still a fan, when I watched him with Robert Culp on “I Spy” in 1965, as he portrayed an undercover intelligence agent for our government on that show. That was an important teaching lesson for children, too, to show friendship, regard, and respect to those who worked for our government and to respect persons of color.

That same year, you’d find Ivan Dixon on “Hogan’s Heroes,” and in 1966, Greg Morris was a secret agent on “Mission Impossible,” so strong roles for intelligent Black men were emerging. It was starting to become a good time in our country at last. You, Cosby, were one of three in the 60s who had a weekly permanently continuing presence on our TV screens. Dixon and Morris continued in the business, even beyond acting, into directing before passing away far too young.

Then, you started selling Jell-O in the 1960s. Not only were you the individual who had the distinction of being “longest-serving celebrity spokesperson for a product” for Jell-O, but you did commercial endorsements for 40 years, amassing a fortune independent from your other income streams. You made more money selling products on your name and reputation than all of your acting endeavors combined, your comedy tours, your radio program, your record albums. America trusted you. I trusted you.

Your reputation was so sterling that accolades flowed your way just because of how your word was received across this country. Specifically, of you, Texas Instruments said you came “across as a father figure, a teacher, and a friend” in your ads. You even propelled around the country, playing college campuses wearing the sweatshirt emblazoned with “Hello Friend” on it. America’s friend.

You were considered “America’s Dad” as you portrayed Dr. Cliff Huxtable on your “Cosby” show. You were a pediatrician and your wife’s character was an attorney. Both of you were successful role models for all to see. When Rudy’s (your youngest daughter’s character) fish, Lamont, died, you gave an unforgettable funeral for the fish. That one episode has stayed with me for years as one of the things a head of household does when there is faith and a teaching opportunity for children.

You even were seen as a familial figure to Oprah Winfrey, advising her on one of the best assets to place her money—in art. She told people frequently that you called her up out of the blue one day and told her she should be investing her major wealth in assets that only grew in value. She told “The Grio” that your call was a career-defining moment for her.

“Bill Cosby called me up one day, actually he sent me, two pieces of sculpture by Elizabeth Catlett, and he said, ‘Sis’ this is where you should be putting some of your money because you’re going to grow tired of buying shoes, and that is the truth. After a while you get tired of buying shoes.”

He called her “Sis”—how sweet, caring, kind, and thoughtful. Aww.

And yet, Bill Cosby, you were far from any of those things, weren’t you? Your long-suffering wife of over 50 years has stood by you despite your multiple episodes of cheating on her. She almost divorced you, but she didn’t. For the most part she has remained silent. Who knows what she thinks of you? You do.

Do you think your children might not be aware of the double standard you were setting outside your home? You have four daughters and you had one son. How did you justify to them how America’s dad and trusted advertising pitchman just had to humiliate their mom every now and then because you are…well…you?

As you created and worked the “Fat Albert” character cartoon series, you took a detour to spend some time “around” education. Your mileage may vary, but you never finished your undergraduate degree at Temple. Yet, you were “gifted” with a final degree with consideration assigned you for “life experience.”

And, if you read between the lines, you got an M.A. and Ed.D. degree for “life experience” and a dissertation at the benevolence of a dean at UMass Amherst who generously granted you much leeway for “attending” classes. And you were fast to apply your newly minted Ed.D. title to your TV show as “The Cosby Show” was beginning to take off. Each and every week, we saw your Ed.D. title and you just loved being called “Dr. Cosby,” didn’t you? Never mind one of your doctoral committee members spilled the beans:

“A professor who served on Cosby’s dissertation committee, Reginald Damerell, said that Cosby hardly took a class — and that he got course credit for appearing on Sesame Street and The Electric Company, “and wrote a dissertation that analyzed the impact of his show.”

As an individual who had to work hard for my M.S. in Educational Administration and as someone who was in classes with those who did “real” work to earn their Ed.D. degrees, I must say that I didn’t shed a tear when you lost many of your honorary degrees from over 20 universities. And oh, that school you gave $20,000,000? Spelman College? The historically Black women’s college? They had a named professorship for you and Camille, until 2015 when Spelman undid the professorship and gave the money back to a foundation that your wife established. Yet, two of your daughters graduated from there. Weren’t thinking, were you? One of America’s most trusted spokesmen anywhere. All about you, wasn’t it?

And then your final legal waterloo. It was a retrial that you’d successfully dragged out since you were arrested and charged in 2004. All that takes is some money and using it to file so many appeals that you wear out the people following the charges. Oh, we saw the pictures of the reportedly almost blind actor on crutches and sad looking after the conviction and sentencing.

Fifty+ women can’t be wrong, Cos.

Ironically, what do such heinous acts of cruelty say about the cowardice of the man? If a guy is, say, a serial cheater, he just dates around on his spouse; same can be said of women who would theoretically behave similarly, to be fair. And yet, in this case, he has to purchase and obtain drugs in advance, the kind you can’t find over the counter, quaaludes, it was stated in some cases.

Then there’s the pattern of making the drink for his victims. This is serial drugging of women and making them his victims. Intent.

One is given to understand that there are enough women who are so caught up in the celebrity of bright lights and Hollywood that all you’d have to say is “How you doin’?” and they’re all yours, ala Warren Beatty. Further, if one isn’t a dreamboat, to use an old word from the 1960s, you could simply contract out the plan for company with 1-800-I’mFamousSoComeOverandParty.

None of those things did Cosby choose. He didn’t seem to have a wingman to party with either. That way he didn’t appear footloose and fancy free and no one else to talk of his deeds.

No, he took the coward’s way out, the guy who couldn’t get a girl unless he drugged them and the didn’t know what was happening to them until their memories returned to them, they were traumatized, horrified, left with a permanent sense of violation, and then at the end of all that, they were called liars and lumped into a cast-out group of women who might dare even speak ill of “America’s Dad.”

Even the least bright of the women (what did you think was going up there to talk and have coffee with the big star in his hotel room would actually lead to)—pity to them, too. No one deserves to be cruelly and unconscionably a victim of another person.

And now, he’s out walking free and you have women around the country, including the victims, horrified to see how frankly easy it was for him to weasel his way out of jail. Those in charge of those decisions will have to answer to another judge one day.

Even though we know that the karma bus can pull up when you least expect it, there’s no joy in any of this, only disgust. The most finishing punishment of all is that the world very quickly forget this man exists. No press time, photo time, reporting time, or any other coverage of the man without a conscience.

The Unique Life and Times of Craig Davis —Old-School Rocker and Southern Gentleman (1950-2021)

To look at a recent photograph, Craig Davis might seem to be a traditional rocker, complete with tattoos, angst, and a dream to finally be appreciated in his own time. Nothing could be further from the truth. Fact is, the real Craig Davis might be slightly camouflaged beneath the ink of his choice covering up his skin, but inside was the beating heart of an old soul, a true Southern Gentleman in the grandest sense of the word. He followed his own path to provide maximum soothing of his soul that could only heal when writing and playing his music.

I’ve had the privilege of knowing many musicians away from their usual home base onstage. I was happily into my new career as a writer and editor when I first met Craig’s Mom, Mary Louise Davis, through dear friends. She was a brilliant senior, fun, witty, and she knew everything about old Bryan and Texas politics. Her stories were fascinating, and I loved each visit.

One day she treated me to lunch at the Headliners Club in Austin, founded by the former Executive Editor of the Austin American-Statesman “for those who make the Headlines and those who write the Headlines.” She wanted to inspire me to keep writing and asking questions about Texas politics. It worked.

A month or so later, she told me her son was a musician, and she spoke of his work as “tremendous” and “amazing,” even if she didn’t quite understand the relevance of his original compositions. She felt the groove and lauded it proudly as something truly grand he had achieved. God bless mothers, who believe in us even when we might falter a bit along the way. Typically, fathers are more about “Get a job, pay the bills, support yourself, and then play when there’s time left over.”

Craig (third from the left, front row above) was a few years older than I, she said, but instantly I could name eight local musicians, each of whom are legends, whom I was certain he had played with in garage bands growing up. She knew everyone I named. I always said Bryan, Texas was the start of music careers for so many professionals whose first stages were here. It would be a year or more before I met Craig, in 2002. He had just released a new CD called “Revolution Road.”

The 6’2” lanky man who came by his Mom’s home seemed a little shy and yet, with his mere appearance, her eyes lit up to see him, renewed by his presence. He’d finished up at the gym, his daily routine for about a year at that point. Mary Louise also frequented the gym. Often, she was on the golf course, beating anyone younger than her by a clear margin.

She kept her mind sharp by continuing to teach a weekly Bible study at Lakeway Church in Austin, and she was one of three women who I consider true Bible scholars that were easier for me to ask for a verse than Google.

Craig handed me a copy of “Revolution Road” his 2002 release and said, “Just got these back; I signed and numbered them all and then had them sealed. Hope you like it.” I promised to give it a listen. Mine was number 631 of 1000 and the cover featured him with trademark sunglasses on, hiding his blue eyes that were as piercing as his mother’s.

When I stood up to exit the room for a moment, he stood as well; there are some hallmarks of being brought up properly to know to stand when a woman stands…it’s old-school cool and I appreciated it.

“Revolution Road” featured 17 of Craig’s originals and Austin’s Spencer Starnes coproduced the disc with him. It was the first album I’d enjoy of his; when Christmas came around, I got his holiday single, “Christmas Time is Here Again; What Was Santa Thinkin’?"

It was clever and recorded in Austin in Spencer Starnes’ studio, with Spencer on bass and Dexter Walker on drums. The collective opinion was that his lyrics were brilliant, and he was a superb guitarist, and with all his songs, it seemed to me that he was holding back slightly his larger-than-life creativity that propelled him to want to make music.

Craig was, to me, a latter-day Michael Des Barres, if you will, with music on his own terms and his life lived loud in Panavision. I wasn’t too far off. In recent years, they have both followed each other on Instagram and complimented various songs being performed. He also greatly respected the music of Van Wilks.

In 2003, Mary Louise and I dropped by his house so I could get my copy of his newest release, “Amplifier.” As expected of a multimedia artist, the walls facing his second-floor stairway were covered with thousands of images, lacquered on.

I was dumbfounded with the litany of decoupaged photographs of musicians of so many great generations. Hundreds of vinyl 45s were thumbtacked to a corkboard surface for display and easy removal to play on a whim. His majestic collection wasn’t hermetically sealed somewhere in a safe vault. No sir, not Craig. It was just a fingertip away and in pristine, if not unconventional, condition. Not long after listening to “Amplifier,” having been impressed with “Bungalow 9,” “…and a little dog shall lead us…” and “Her Universe,” I e-mailed Craig and suggested that Kay Conlee and Old Bryan Marketplace had funded, at my request, funds sufficient for four shows for the Palace Theatre in Downtown Bryan. My goal was to draw crowds there for free, fun live music. I asked whether he’d consider playing music from his new albums in one of those slots.

This new hat I was wearing—do-good music booker—I was doing for free because I wanted to share the fun of live music and showcase our local powerhouses simply for the joy of music. He called me and we debated for 10 minutes how important it was to get his music out there, and how cool it would be to bring him back home. “He didn’t have a band,” he said. Undaunted, I said, “I know just the guys” and a quick call to The Rockafellas turned a “maybe” into a “yes.” Objections overcome, he agreed.

The night came and Craig was a bit shy as it had been at least 20 years, he said, since he was on stage. The number could have been 10 or 20 years, but still I was surprised to hear his shyness about the excitement coming his way. He'd entered some of his songs in songwriter competitions before and seemed truly shocked when they won acclaim there. Didn't phase him.

That night Craig experienced a level of happiness that alternate substances could never match—coming home one last time and showing your latest in art to the people who knew you when, many of whom were many cousins he had in his family tree who’d made Bryan their homes.

In terms of art, not only was Craig’s home wall a “work of art,” but he was a prolific artist with oils on canvas. Mostly abstract work occupied the majority of his interests, but he seemed to have at least two or three focal points per painting. You could study them for hours and see something unique in each one.

Naturally, he designed his own album covers for his CD releases, and he numbered each of the pressings along with his autographs. I cherish those albums today, even more with the knowledge of his passing.

Craig’s life as a kid growing up in Bryan was like any other whose father was a local legend and his mother a revered civic leader. You can either follow in their footsteps or take a new path of your own. Most of my musician friends among his contemporaries, I’d met as the sons of my professors in science and engineering. Equations and slide rules were not for them. Music theory and music facts were their PhDs and they were good at them.

The Guiding Spirits, 1960s.

The Beatles invaded the U.S. when Craig was 14, so his early local bands would find him playing the same high school sock hops, Battle of the Band contests and other competitions with the privilege of “ruling the town” until the next competition. He eventually kept choosing music over adulthood as time went by. Ultimately, he had tried marriage a couple of times and had two beautiful sons and a daughter as three of the best decisions he’d ever made. They are all brilliant and beautiful people of whom he can be most proud.

At a career crossroads and a new father, during mid-adulthood, he of the free will his parents had afforded him decided to join in on those being looked after by Mary Louise and Bill, for as long as he lived. Their home was home base for Craig, Jeff, and Amanda, after he divorced his first wife, Jennifer. His second wife, Pam, raised his youngest son, Dean.

Craig painted, pursued music, and worked on his art, and was in his children’s lives, more like a big brother but he was there. He didn’t have a Peter Pan complex. Far from it, Craig had a need to stay focused and true to his artistic muse, just as a sports athlete spends 24/7 focused on their careers. No one pointed fingers or grumbled. Mary Louise facilitated family with love. Craig’s children understood and loved him unconditionally.

When the final few years of Mary Louise’s life were underway, it was harder on Craig than usual. He basically gave up, midway in, knowing her life would soon end. Amanda and Jeff were her rocks of support. Craig stopped really taking good care of himself and a few old ways seemed easier to adapt than the alternative.

When his cancer was discovered in the last 10 days, his girlfriend found a comforting Hospice site for him, and he was surrounded by beautiful gardens, peaceful Austin breezes, and family who loved him. It wasn’t as long as he’d liked to have been here, but he would have pronounced his 70 years, “A good ride, all things considered.”

Epilogue…5 years ago…David Ernstmeyer, one of Craig’s friends posed a question on his Facebook page: “How did the best generation get old? I thought we were going to live forever." Craig’s poignant response: “it ain’t over til it’s over, lad.”

Well, Craig, life as it once was, is now over. Where you are now, the air is clear, as are your lungs, and beauty surrounds you wherever you go. You left us with a grand compendium of your music. You left your children with many memories of times growing up together. Wherever you were, love surrounded you. You did things on your own terms to be sure, but you remain forever an eternal creative, skilled in sharing messages nested in other messages. To discover them, one must go far beneath the surface to see the gifts and talents you freely shared. They’re there for those who seek them. And the band played on…

RIP William Craig Davis, 9/4/50–6/1/21

Cher at 75 — When You Only Need One Name

In the past 75 years, Cherilyn Sarkisian LaPiere Bono Allman has had a longer-lasting career than most of her contemporaries. One would have to go back as far as Buddy Ebsen to find a versatile entertainer of the same longevity and versatility across TV, film, stage, and music. Then, there’s Dolly Parton, whose endless talent makes for an enduring career in music and film, not to mention substantial philanthropy in her hometown.

Anyone born in the 1950s has likely heard of Cher, the singer/actress/entertainer whose impact on the music, stage, and movie worlds spans at least one major radio hit for every decade in which she was been a working entertainer.

There are just a handful of performers who are identifiable by just their first name alone—Cher, Dolly, and Oprah to name a few.

Cher is in an illustrious group of performers who have won all but one of the EGOT quadfecta (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony). All she needs is the Tony to join the 16 people who have won all four awards. This group includes: Julie Andrews, Mel Brooks, Common, Viola Davis, Dick Van Dyke, Audrey Hepburn, Helen Mirren, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Rita Moreno, Lily Tomlin, and Kate Winslet.

The singer whom people have enjoyed mocking at times yet whose fan base carries greater longevity than some of those mockers have been alive has been nominated for seven Grammys and the winner of one. Who’s laughing now?

Her first Grammy nomination was in 1965 for best new artist. Six years later, she was nominated for Female Pop Vocal Performance for “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves” and best Pop Vocal Performance by a duo, group, or chorus for the single, “All I Ever Need is You” in 1971, and the Record “Believe” was nominated for Record of the Year, Pop Vocal Album of the Year, and Dance Recording of the Year in 1999, winning for Dance Recording. In 2003 she was nominated again for Best Dance Recording for “Love One Another.”

With just the single “Believe,” Cher set records that were listed compiled in a 2020 article by Rhino Records:

“Oldest Female Artist to Achieve #1 hit on Billboard Hot 100

Solo Artist with longest time span between #1 hits (1974’s “Dark Lady”)

Longest gap between first #1 song (“I Got You Babe”) and 1999’s “Believe”

#1 on both 1999 Billboard Hot 100 and Hot Dance Club Play charts

#1 for seven weeks in the UK (won three Ivor Novello Awards—Best Selling UK Single, Best Song Musically and Lyrically, and International Hit of the Year)

First female solo single to be certified Triple Platinum in the UK (2014).

Now we’re in the new 2020 decade, surely Cher has one more Billboard charting hit awaiting her. No matter, Happy 75th birthday, Cher! You continue to set the bar higher for those who are on their journey now. Keep rocking, girl!

Then there is the entirely noncompetitive yet valid competition she won hands down every time—most unique style in the room, any room. Over the years she was on television and at awards shows, it was designed brilliantly by Bob Mackie.

Every key photographer in the country, Richard Avedon, Annie Liebowitz, Helmut Newton, Peter Lindbergh, and so many others captured her essence for just a moment through their lenses to last through seven decades of people discovering her talent.

For a young girl who grew up disconnected from others thanks to dyslexia, she managed to complete tenth grade before busting out of the doors. She found herself dealing with the fears and pleadings of her somewhat jealous mother, whose ego and beauty once reigned prominently under the same cameras her daughter would be destined for. Cher loved her through it all–eventually as she understood what it was like for women to prevail in a field that finds few friends when you look left and right.

At the end of the day, on this 75th anniversary of her birth, Cher still doesn’t take herself too seriously. The forthright, blunt, surprising, creative, stubborn, kind performer has left at least one legacy as a given long before she is past her age of entertaining audiences.

Personally, I’ll just wait for the next Farewell Concert Tour— I always love attending those. You can’t keep a good girl down. Happy Birthday, Cher, and thank you for all the entertainment that made life just a bit better for your gifts and talents.

A favorite painting of Cher: (Artist M. Fitzgerald)

Jerry Elarde — Chicago Musician Releases New Music 55 Years After Last Release

L to R: Carl Giammarese, Jerry Elarde, Nick Fortuna, and Curtis Bachman.

In 1963 in Chicago, a band was formed. Yes, yet another group of teenage boys assembled in hopes of creating a sound that would remind teenage girls of the hits of the day across Chicago radio. They'd recognize and appreciate those songs these bands recreated when performed at weekend sock hops and teen dances held at some of the busiest venues in town, such as Dan Belloc's Holiday Ballroom, the Aragon Ballroom, the Embassy Ballroom, or Dex Card's Wild Goose to name a few. At the time virtually every teenage guy who’d heard The Beatles on the radio had joined or formed a band. Most of the bands were headquartered in someone’s garage, or more likely their basements, safely nestled away in their obscurity. Others, but only a select few, made it out of the basement and into paying gigs where they began to draw a reputation and a following.

This time in Morton Grove, one group that was founded named themselves "The Kingsmen." This band was the inspiration of Gerald (Jerry) Elarde, drummer and a vocalist who was a student at Niles West High School. Jerry invited his cousin, Carl Giammarese, to join a band he was putting together.

Jerry Elarde, back row, 4th from left.

Carl readily accepted, as he'd been playing guitar since age 15. Elarde invited two of his Niles West schoolmates to join in: Nick Fortuna and Curtis Bachman, both of whom lived in Morton Grove. Carl, Nick and Curtis were (wait for it) guitarists, and Curtis was willing to play the bass. These personnel would come into and out of each other's lives several times in the ensuing decade; this was just the first of many musical groupings.

Curtis was fascinated by multiple instruments, including the drums. As a younger musician he recalled going over to Morton Grove neighbor Tom Radtke's house and watching him practice on his drum kit, since Curtis didn't own drums. Eventually Radtke (who grew up to be a first-call drummer in Chicago as an older teen and adult) needed a new kit for a new gig he'd signed up for, so Curtis bought Radtke's old Pearl white finish kit for $100 and then refinished them to a sky blue. Before Jerry had his first set of drums, he would then go over and play on Curtis's drum kit. Eventually, Jerry got his own drum kit. Interestingly, all three drummers would become music professionals for their primary careers.

Elarde’s home was one of the early rehearsal sites, but they also shared rehearsal time at Bachman's home, as their parents could only handle “practice” for just so long before the cover songs of early British invasion music and numerous other song styles made their way upstairs into the family home. Giammarese said, "In our earliest days, we had Jerry playing the drums and singing and then Nick, Curtis and I were all on guitars, our little Silvertone models, and we played through one amplifier! It sounded awful!" But such are the commonalities of the early beginnings of bands. From awful to well-known to beloved to superstars--there are many levels you can achieve, with practice.

The Centuries (as the quickly renamed band became better known to the public) got fairly well known in neighborhoods, especially in Morton Grove, where just Jerry's relatives alone in attendance could create the perfect large crowd! They got better and their band came to the attention of longtime icon of Chicago’s radio stations, pitchman Carl Bonafede. Also known as the Screamin’ Wildman, Bonafede had name recognition across 50,000 Watts of wherever radio stations broadcast. He worked every weekend record hop at Dan Belloc’s Holiday Ballroom and was constantly listening to every group in town in search of new talent to record and bands to book. Stars were waiting to be born!

Bonafede was also notorious for his rapid-fire speech pattern that allowed him to cram three minutes’ of information into 60 seconds of radio advertising. Bonafede had business cards printed up noting he was the band’s manager, with his phone number for booking and the promise they were up and coming stars of rock and roll.

It's all about the promotion. See what Bonafede brought to promoting his groups?

They did a little traveling outside the neighborhoods, but realistically they were just another teenage band in Chicago. One day in 1964, Bonafede was in his station wagon, his band in tow, and they were speeding to a gig, with still a long way to go. A policeman spotted the “speedwagon” and pulled them over. The usual questions ensued.

“Officer, you’ve got to let us go. We’re late for a concert and my boys here have to get there in time. Teenagers are piled up over there waiting to hear them play,” said Bonafeded. The officer replied warily, “Who are they?” Bonafede said, “They’re the Kingsmen!” and the officer brightened up a bit and said, “The Kingsmen? “Louie Louis? That Kingsmen?”

Bonafede, ever one to take a mile if you give him an inch, said, “Absolutely! Yeah, these are’The Kingsmen’! Boys, sing him a little of your hit song!” To which, the “other” Kingsmen started singing “Louie, Louie, whoa whoa, we gotta go now, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!” The officer let Bonafede go without a ticket, and off they went, laughing and singing “Louie, Louie” the rest of the way to the gig.

Not long after that, Bonafede realized that he was lucky that the policeman didn’t know the real Kingsmen were from Portland, Oregon, and was grateful his group had changed their name to “The Centuries.” But when Carl Bonafede has his promo mind in full gear, you have to have a demand-driven adjective describing your band. He billed them, in all his advertising glory, as “The Fabulous Centuries!”

Bonafede got the guys into the Spectra Sound recording studio owned by Dan Belloc, to record two songs, both of which were written by Geoff (Jeff) Boyan. At the time Boyan was a popular songwriter who performed as part of the duo, Ron and Geoff as well as in other groups in Chicago. Boyan had a good handle on songs the crowds like to dance to at the ballrooms.

Years ago, Carl Giammarese told “Forgotten Hits” that the two songs “Yeh; It’s Alright” and “I Love You No More” were recorded in late 1964 at Lawrence and Western…I think it was the old St. Louis Insurance Building.”

Chicago music researcher Joseph Pytel, who maintains Carl Bonafede’s archives online, posted both songs on YouTube. Curtis Bachman has the lead on “I Love You No More”:

Hear Jerry Elarde sing lead on “Yeh; It’s Alright”, and to hear a young Carl Giammarese play a fiery guitar solo or two, check out these “Spectra-Sound Recording Stars”:

Because Carl Giammarese has been a lead vocalist since 1982, it’s easy to forget what an amazing guitarist he was at age 17. Fortunately, in this video you get to see some rare footage of the teenagers, including Jerry Elarde, the drumming vocalist, Carl, Nick, and Curt. Giammarese said, “I’ve always admired Jerry’s great singing voice, but it blows me away he could sing and never miss a beat on the drums at the same time.”

Life can change in the blink of an eye. Eventually Curt Bachman left The Centuries to join Jean Terry and the Tri-Dells for a few months. It was not at all uncommon for band members to come and go in various bands while people searched for sympatico sounds and personalities and found their groove together. But Curt was the only one playing the bass at the time, and it left the band without a key element.

At this point, Jon-Jon Poulos and Dennis Tufano would try to convince Carl to join the group then called The Pulsations, and that was one of the toughest choice Carl would ever have to make. It was anything but easy for him, but Jerry was gracious and understood and put love of family over personal feelings.

Later, The Pulsations needed a bass player so Carl, with the approval of Jon-Jon and Dennis Tufano, invited Curtis to join them, and he accepted. The new configuration sounded great and George LeGros sang primary lead vocals with Dennis Tufano on harmony. Curtis played with them for a while, especially through the first 3 weeks of their 13 weeks on the "All Time Hits" TV show.

Two more personnel changes would happen before the end of their TV residency: Curtis had a real affinity for a heavier sound and ultimately left them, and the continued TV audience recognition, to join another band, Truth, which had a slightly harder sound. So, with that vacancy at bass, ultimately, at Carl’s suggestion, The Pulsations invited Nick Fortuna to play bass (which Nick learned fast as he’d been playing rhythm guitar far longer) for the newly rechristened Buckinghams as they were now known. Nick had his first experience with the bass as he auditioned for and got the gig working for Chicago's well known act, Baby Huey (and the Babysitters). John Poulos was already the drummer and primary founder of The Pulsations.

Their manager was (wait for it) Carl Bonafede. And of course Bonafede billed them in promo pictures and posters as "The Fabulous Buckinghams -- Royalty in Rock and Roll."

Undaunted, Jerry formed several of his own combos and became a very well-known musician in upscale Chicago restaurants and venues. Everyone in Chicago enjoyed his music throughout his career. Coincidently, many years later, Jerry and Curtis would play together again at one of the lovely restaurants in Miami (FL)'s famed hotel, The Fontainebleau. Some things just come full circle.

Flash forward to many decades later. Recently, Carl invited Jerry over to his Twenty-four Seven recording studio and suggested they record some songs again, since Jerry still had such a great voice and Carl was experimenting with his new recording setup. Turns out that was a great idea. Carl really enjoyed producing the tracks and even sang harmony in sections.

Because Carl's fans have been enjoying new music that he's been writing and releasing throughout the COVID-19 quarantine at home, he decided longtime fans from back in the days of The Centuries forward would enjoy hearing these songs featuring Jerry. Naturally, these days the easiest delivery system is digital streaming.

L to R: Two cousins--Jerry Elarde, Carl Giammarese, and Curtis Bachman ca. 2019.

Carl said, "It's my pleasure to share two songs featuring Jerry Elarde, and they’re live across all streaming media now." Timing on this is fortunate, as Jerry is now making great progress from a recent slight health challenge. Both guys have discussed the possibility of recording more songs together later this year.

Check out Jerry's tunes on Spotify: “I’ll Still Be Loving You” here and “Unchained Melody” here. If you enjoy the songs, give them a “heart” and “Follow” Gerald Elarde as an artist to get notified when new songs are uploaded.

Women Living and Working in Fear — What’s It Going to Take to Fix This?

Tonight I saw two scary-clear examples of women whose worlds were turned entirely upside down to the point of fear, in despair, shaking the very foundations their lives had been on, moments before. My reactions surprised me and it's taken three hours to process before sitting down to write.

It was a little after 8:15 pm. On my way home from dinner, I'm driving my usual route, slowly, because animals dart out. Coming down Copperfield Drive from University, on the left-hand sidewalk, an outlined shape appeared, either a light-colored dog bent over where arms met the ground with legs, but crouched, or it was a person bent over almost hugging the ground.

That sidewalk is often traversed by walkers in pairs for exercise, even after dark, and it will be until Daylight Savings returns. It’s never a good idea for a woman to be alone on any neighborhood blocks; none of them is safe in the dark. Was it a person or a dog? If it was a person, had they tripped and were they trying to get up?

I slowed to 20 mph and still I couldn’t discern clearly. I proceeded east about 0.25 miles, made a gentle U-turn and was shocked to see a woman bent over. As my lights approached her, she staggered to get up slowly. I cautiously pulled closer to the curb and asked, “Are you alright?” She looked into my eyes to see I was not a threat and shook her head gently ‘no’ while saying, “I was thrown out of my house and I’ve got to ….” And her voiced trailed off.

She wore a thick grey sweater, a handbag over her arm, just like any suburban wife or mom would have if you were heading to Target or someplace for a quick errand. Her steps were uncertain but nothing was broken. Unsure whether or not she had tripped or just bent over in tears, I saw no bruises or blood. “Can I call someone for you?” She shook her head ‘no.’ “What happened?” I asked. She was not intelligible, yet she showed no signs of disorientation or drunkenness. Something had happened, but what?

In the old days, I would have invited her into my car and offered to drive her someplace, but these are no longer those days. Seeing no mask, I could not in poor judgment or good choices invite her to ride with me. We’re all extra cautious right now; the last thing I can afford is to go down with COVID-19.

I asked, “Can I call Bryan Police nonemergency on my phone and have them come give you a ride somewhere?” She immediately shook her head ‘no’ and said, “I have a home. I just can’t get there. My husband threw me out.” I was devastated to hear that. I’m not here to cast judgment and I only know what she told me. “I’m okay.” She half-smiled and started making further progress walking on her journey, to where I wasn’t sure. So I did another gentle U-turn and no traffic was anywhere around. Where was everyone tonight? I had Bryan PD’s nonemergency number in my phone contacts and dialed to explain the situation to the Dispatch officer and he was great, as they always are.

It was not even 60°F and the wind wasn’t chilling, but her warm sweater was not going to help her with no head covering or scarf if she were going very far. He assured me he’d reach out to a nearby officer to have him or her check on her. He patiently waited with me on the phone as I stayed parked to see her cross the street headed towards Stripes because it might be three or four minutes before a patrol car could reach her. Wanted to make sure she didn't duck down a side street.

Thanking the officer, I threw up a quick prayer and asked the Lord and his angels to watch over her. As I drove to the safety of my home, I realized that every day around us are examples of women in fear. I don’t know a thing about this woman, her life, or her history. I only know I saw the look on her face and there was true pain, mental pain, emotional pain, and the words “verbal abuse” came into my mind…she was a woman, maybe she was a victim, but she was scared and I was helpless to help her. Damn.

I also knew my own protective instincts were taking care of me while the voices of my own guardian angels assured me that I could not bring her into my car. What if she had COVID? What if she had a gun? What if this was a time-tested ruse to get people to stop and help?

These days, my friends, we don’t have the luxury of picking up a stranger on the side of the road, lest we face injury, robbery, or fear ourselves. What a state of play our lives are in. Luxury everywhere around us, working electricity, running water, indoor plumbing that even our grandparents didn’t have, and we’re poor in spirit when it comes to trust. We’ve all got to work on that.

Then, I arrived home, made a cup of coffee, and turned on the news.

There was a United States Congresswoman being interviewed on TV, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY), or AOC, as the kids call her. Now instantly some of you have formed an opinion of her based on prior media reports. That’s your choice. But, for a moment, I ask that you forget her "politics" and just think of her as a woman who was duly elected as a representative from the Bronx in New York. The interviewer had Rep. Ocasio-Cortez on together with fellow “freshman,” U.S. Congresswoman Katie Porter (D-CA).

The question to both representatives: During the January 6th attack on the U.S. Capitol, where did Rep. Ocasio-Cortez go as the mob approached and what did she hear and what was she feeling? The discomfort and verge of tears that Rep. Ocasio-Cortez was showing was painful to watch as she explained that she had knocked on Rep. Porter’s office asking if she could come in, along with an aide from another representative’s office.

“Of course,” Rep. Porter replied, and without saying a word, Rep. Ocasio-Cortez started opening cabinets, closet doors, anything with a crawl space, until Rep. Porter said, “What can I help you find?” AOC said, “I’m looking for where I can hide.” AOC had been in the Cannon House Office Building. She had made her way over to the Longworth House Office Building because when she had been evacuated, no one told her where would be a safe place to go and find safety. Seriously?!

Outside the office, the quickly approaching crowd was banging on walls, yelling, “Where is she? Where is AOC? Where is she?” and by that time, Rep. Porter had turned out all the lights in the office. Rep. Ocasio-Cortez had found a space behind the bathroom door in Rep. Porter’s office, and the other aide was also hiding. The three women had to stay in an office, with drapes drawn and lights out, in fear for six hours. Unfathomable. No one was communicating with our elected officials as to where they could find safety. No one reached out to them to check and see if they were “okay.”

Rep. Porter noted that AOC had said, “Of all days to wear heels,” and Rep. Porter had found a spare pair of her own aide’s tennis shoes to fit Rep. Ocasio-Cortez and she wore them, “in case she had to make a quick run for it.” Our elected officials. Duly elected, officially sworn in. WOMEN. Fearing for their safety while they are in our buildings as public servants trying to do their best for this country.

So, too, are female Republican Senators and Congresswomen, being intimidated by fear of not having supporters, of “being primaried,” or of other loss if they stand up and speak up in behalf of their fellow women in public service, being threatened with punitive action should they speak out loud rather than taking orders to remain silent. It’s not about a political party that women are working and living in fear. There are bullies across the aisle and it doesn’t take long to learn all their names.

Women walking alone the streets of Bryan, fearful for the next hour, the next day, the next night. Nightmares and trauma are realities of present-day life that are exacerbated when people act rashly, motives designed to provoke fear, to intimidate, to strip away the power of decision to act of one’s own accord.

I don’t have any answers. There are so many good people in this world, so many great people around us here in town. No person is any different in the basic needs we all have: shelter, food, clothing, safety. Yet, it seems that women are becoming prey…some are victims of fear, having been pushed, shoved, and panicked into a heightened state of physical and emotional paralysis, where they can’t get out of a bad situation.

Locked into a bad place, they often despair alone, no one to turn to, to confide in, or to ask for help. Help is not necessarily the federal government. Here at home it’s more likely that our local municipal government has programs and resources and nonprofit agencies to help people through those times of fear. I’m familiar with some, but not all of them.

I’m angry that we live in a day and time where violence is often the answer, no matter the question. It’s beyond insane to work in a state of fear at home or traumatized in our own Capitol. But we do. Unless and until people in power deal with the fringe-of-sanity cultists, expect more of the same.

Never did I expect such a broad swath of people who accept as truth things that are not true. Science and mathematics do not accept things that are not proven. Some things we take on faith like what’s beyond this planet, this universe. Too far away, numbers fail, statistics are useless, and only time will tell.

Yet, I saw no difference in the fear that was in the eyes of tonight’s sidewalk stranger and Rep. Ocasio-Cortez as she described how she feared for her safety, and her life. Her one thought was how Rep. Porter said, “I’m a Mom. I’ve got this, I’ll help you. We can stay here for six weeks if we have to, I have enough supplies” to calm her. Rep. Ocasio-Cortez, replied, “I may never get the chance to be a Mom.” She truly expected to die. She'd been traumatized before in her lifetime; this just reignited every PTSD trigger the first time she suffered.

In retrospect of 2021, in the past six decades, my lifetime so far, I’ve seen Texas as a state that was one of only five states left in the U.S. that had a poll tax until 1964, when the 24th amendment to the Constitution prohibited poll taxes for federal elections. All but Alabama, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Virginia, and of course Texas, had abolished poll taxes. We were one of five states that didn’t voluntarily get rid of them. No pride there.

The Dallas Morning News reported, “The Texas Senate attempted to repeal the poll tax in 1949 and 1963 but failed both times. The state ended poll taxes for local and state elections with a 1966 resolution, but it didn’t formally approve the amendment until 2009, when Rep. Alma Allen, a Black Democrat from Houston, sponsored a resolution to ratify it.” In 2009; again, not proud.

It’s time things started changing for the better here in Texas, and in the United States. We deserve better, but we have to vote to get it.

Is it coincidental or on target that a recent rating of the least educated states in the United States include #1 Mississippi, #2 West Virginia, #3 Louisiana, #4 Arkansas, and #5 Alabama. Meanwhile people walk the streets here in town without a mask, still…really?

The more you read, the smarter you get, and the more you are aware of education, learning, and the power that comes from being informed, no matter how far you go in school. High school graduates I know are brilliant students of international politics because they read and stay informed of the facts.

Suddenly, an inspiration at 3 am…I cannot remove the fear or fix the world of that woman I saw tonight, but God can. I prayed for the Sidewalk Stranger. I cannot fix (alone), by anything other than my single vote, the atrocities that face our elected leadership as they try to put the pieces of our lives back together, for us, as they decide whether a Democratic $1400 check or a Republican $600 check or a compromise $1000 check “might” work to “solve” our problems caused by the virus that would get to “maybe 15 cases and then ‘by magic’ it would suddenly all go away.” I have disgust at those who stood by in silence, or helped perpetuate the lies, doing nothing while people died needlessly. It was a life-and-death matter, for hundreds of thousands, not 15.

Decision: I’m about to take part of whatever check they decide to mail all of us proudly working for a living, if anything, and buy a bunch of books to encourage reading for young children. I’ll be doing my small part of helping to train children to read, to learn, and to make the rules, not to be trapped by or victims of them. Mostly, I hope to be giving to them to help. If I had a foundation and could do what I wanted with it, anonymously, I’d make sure that every child in Texas could read beyond grade level and had the resources to do so. From there, they grow up with a rich love of learning that never ends.

Soltuions, in my personal experience: phonics will help a child dive into the world of reading and to express creatively in writing and art, eventually in music. Once we are equals in reading, and in mathematics, we can be equals at the decision table as we run the country one day with a better educated group of people who learned that most of all--truth matters, courage matters, and as Col. Alexander Vindman said, “Here (in the USA), Right Matters.”

May God bless the courage of Rep. Porter, Rep. Ocasio-Cortez, Speaker Pelosi, and the woman on the sidewalks of Bryan tonight for having the courage to walk where she did not know, where she could not see well, for the promise of “something better” in her life. Please Lord, deliver it now. Amen.

[Note: Those unfamiliar with Rep. Katie Porter (D-CA)—she was the one who questioned Jamie Dimon, the CEO of Chase Bank who didn’t know how much his tellers made every month, why he didn’t pay his tellers a living wage while taking a personal salary of $31,500,000/yr and getting federal funds for bailouts. She also stumped Louis DeJoy, the U.S. Postmaster General, about how much it cost to mail a postcard. He makes $303,460/yr but didn’t know how much it cost to mail a postcard. Congresswoman Porter informed him; it’s $.35. He should have known. She questioned Steven Mnuchin and he condescendingly snapped back at her, "Are you a lawyer?" as though she could not possibly be. She replied (paraphrasing), "As a matter of fact I am, now answer my question."]