We need to broadcast our successes all over the world! I am concerned that Black Panther might become the template, and excuse, for other races to be exclusive. I know mixed-race couples – with children. Below is my daughter’s half-brother with his son by a white woman, who heard stories about Angela Davis from David’s aunts. She is Irish.
I am leery of this idea that there exist a hidden country that is the most technologically advanced on earth. I do not like the show Ancient Aliens, because it claims non-earthlings created most of our art. Scientific advancement is the result of shared ideas amongst all the peoples and races. Germany had all the brains in the world, then, they came up with the worst idea possible…….The Supreme Race of White Supermen and Super Women.
Note the Aryan Man carrying a spear – too! This denotes going back to ones roots.
Black Panther” is set in the mythical kingdom of Wakanda, which is rich with the miracle metal vibranium and is the most technologically advanced nation on the planet. The Afrocentric movie touches on ideas of colonialism and the reverberations of slavery.
I posted this at 12:40 P.M. Two hours later Mohammad Ali died.
The term acceptance is a noun with three different meanings.
The first is the act of taking or receiving something offered. For example, if someone is giving you a gift and you receive it, then you have accepted the gift; therefore, having acceptance.
Another definition of acceptance has to do with positive welcome and belonging; favor and endorsement. For instance, a person could like someone and have acceptance for them due to their approval of that person.
The third description of acceptance is that it can be an act of believing or assenting.
Acceptance – “An express act or implication by conduct that manifests assent to the terms of an offer in a manner invited or required by the offer so that a bindingcontract is formed. The exercise of power conferred by an offer by performance of some act. The act of a person to whom something is offered of tendered by another, whereby the offered demonstrates through an act invited by the offer an intention of retaining the subject of the offer.” (Chirelstein, 2001)
This definition overlaps with the definition of the quality known as toleration. Acceptance and tolerance are not synonyms.
Eckhart Tolle (The Power of Now, etc.) defines acceptance as a “this is it” response to anything occurring in any moment of life. There, strength, peace and serenity are available when one stops struggling to resist, or hang on tightly to what is so in any given moment. What do I have right now? Now what am I experiencing? The point is, can one be sad when one is sad, afraid when afraid, silly when silly, happy when happy, judgmental when judgmental, overthinking when overthinking, serene when serene, etc
There were, and are Pioneers of Acceptance.
The son of a Black Panther lived with me for two months in Oakland. David Hanson is the half-brother of my daughter, Heather Hanson. When my daughter and grandson, Tyler Hunt, went to the Portland Zoo, David’s wife told me it was quite an experience to talk to David’s two sisters who were close with Angela Davis. David’s father died in a fire in Chicago. Patrice did not give any details. The little boy is Malcolm. He was named after Malcolm X. These people are in my family tree.
Last night I watched an anti-Trump crowd go after his followers. They were ganged up on. This will not do. I have been involved with radical groups. In Boston I talked my black brothers out of arming themselves and fighting for a building on Beacon Hill. Because I was white, I was chosen to take our landlord to court which I did for six months. This building was just purchased by the brother-in-law of a Mafia boss, and they wanted everyone out. They turned the heat off in the middle of winter. I received death threats.
They sent two guys after me. They kicked a door down and butchered a black Labrador puppy, and smeared her blood all over the walls. I heard her cries as they called to me to come in the room to get what was coming to me. I suffer from PTSD because of this incident. The loss of a completely innocent animal due to The Evil of Men, changed me forever. I felt my responsibility for her death.
I feel responsible for the death of Harambe, the rare silver-back gorilla who came face to face with a little black boy, and did not know what to do. He was trying to do the right thing, own acceptance of the situation, when they shot him dead.
David was eight, and Matt, five, when they came to live with me. There mother told me her fatherless husband was yanking these children around, and bullying them on a daily basis. There were no other children around. They lived in the reddish building you see below, on the third floor, fifty yards from my abode.
I was keenly anti-violent. I believed the answer to ending all war, lie within. We should not be polarized in our democratic voting process. We must act as individuals, and demand our candidates honor our individuality, for this is our most prized procession. David and Matt were not old enough to vote. I was, but stop believing in the system after Robert Kennedy got shot. A week earlier I saw him speaking in a park in an all black neighborhood in Oakland – while twenty Black Panthers shook their fist at him and chanted slogans. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What guts! Why did he come down here? I was living on my boat on the estuary and was driving home. I had to stop and look.
It is alleged the little boy, said he wanted to “swim with the gorillas” and off he went crashing through a barrier the world is now seeing in a new light. Did Isaiah just see the movie ‘The Jungle Book’ ? He did not ask others to join him on his Vision Quest. He seized the day. When Jesus turned thirteen, there were no Christians in the world.
Isiah took one small step for all of us primates, and came face to face with the head honcho, the top guy, the big cheese – who had immediate ACCEPTANCE for the newcomer. He fell under his protection!
When the two Human Demons came at me with bloody knives, I stood my ground. They had grins on their faces. This was going to be another easy kill. Suddenly my black neighbors were on the stairs. Shaheb used to play Jazz in New Orleans and left go a very loud and long blast on his trumpet. They bolted for the front door.
When the Boston cops showed up, I had a a drawing I did of the ugliest devil. They recognized him, and were out the door.
“We know this guy! Let’s get him!”
A week later, I won my case. No one likes a PUPPY KILLER. The judge put me and my attorney in a room with Mafia sharks. I swam with the sharks – and lived to tell about it. At a City of Boston Celebration I ran into our attorney, and he took me over to meet Mayor White, who shook my hand – with acceptance!
“It took a lot of guts to stand up to those guys!”
Two weeks ago, my black neighbor approached me with a very serious look on his face. He got close, within the three-foot common barrier most humans enforce – in their own way! He told me there is going to be another Civil War, this time between whites and blacks. I was appalled, and disgusted that his shared this with me in our common area. We live in a large apartment complex. He reached out to touch me, and I told him to keep his hands off me. He followed me. He wanted to come upstairs and look at my art.
“You are not welcome in my apartment! You are not coming upstairs. Leave me alone!”
I had found photograph of this man on the internet. He was dressed in a white uniform. The words “God Squad” was next to him. Months ago, he formed a Christian-like group for the kids. I saw them emerge from the first meeting, and were let in a shout of unity;
He has been trying to get me to submit, accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, because died on a cross for my sins. I told him last year I do not follow the teaching of Satan-Paul and his exclusive anti-Semitic Guilt-trip!
In 1975, I met Michael Harvey at the Upstairs Art Association. He was one of the most animated, creative, and vocal black man I ever met. Above all, he was an Artist. Everything he said was prefaced and framed by his love of art. He was giving Rosalie Ritz a hard time. She was the director and founder of the Upstairs Art association. She was at her easel.
“What are you doing here, Rosalie? You know deep in your heart you are a cracker – a Ritz cracker!”
Like with my friend Bill, it was love at first sight. Rosalie loved Michael. He had nothing to hide. We became fast friends and played tennis almost every day that summer. We also drank a lot of beer, and talked a whole lot of Art Talk. Tennis and Art. We were ignoring our girlfriends. I was living with Gloria Elhers on Yosemite. Her best friends were a bother and sister who were members of the White Panthers. They did a lot of legal work for the most radical black group – in the world! Michael knew most of them.
Rosalie anointed me assistant director after learning my mother worked in the same office with the head of the National Endowment of the Arts. Rosemary was the manager of the Valley Youth Orchestra. One day Walter Dallas approached me and asked my help in getting members of his acting guild out of the flower stand Rosalie had made, and put on the corner of 14th. and Broadway in the heart of downtown Oakland. They were being mocked. Tough blacks were saying they were monkeys in a cage working for whitey. Violence looked eminent. This corner belonged to drug pushers. Rosalie is telling Walter this flower stand is all about Artists taking back the Hood. These were thespians, not gorilla fighters.
Meanwhile, Rosalie has surrounded herself with white office workers, who might have been the Lesbian Art Brigade. Sometime they met behind locked doors. This did not go unnoticed by the fifteen black members who were helping me restored the beautiful Victorian offices. I approached Michael. We got on it. There was a revolt.
Michel and I were roommates in Alameda, and on Octavia Street where I lived with Warren. His friends came over to play pool on the table we purchased. One of them was Cal Iwamoto. We became good friends, and roommates. We lived next door to Mama’s Royal Cafe on Broadway. Cal’s father was Japanese, and his mother, Filipino. He grew up in Hawaii and belonged to a gang that fought the Haole. He knew Kung Fu, and according to Warren, the Oakland Cops stopped him from kicking the ass of two white dudes outside the Hut. They were giving a woman a hard time.
Cal was a marijuana dealer, and packed a piece. We went fishing , a lot, and bet on horses at Golden Gate Fields. Cal was a Hippie. We did mushrooms and cocaine. We played alt pool at the bars our group of friends took over. The Canteen became famous, and popular. They shut it down when motorcycle gangs began to patronize it. We took over Piedmont Avenue.
I met Patrice at the Kerry House. I had drank till dawn in this establishment with my father. There were two Presco’s and the bartender. Vic was good friends with Jake who owned ‘Jake’s Blue Book’ the Mafia bar, and another bar on Piedmont. Patrice had taken off her wedding ring. She spent the night. In the morning she asked me to rescue her two young sons from her abusive husband, which I did.
Randolph Delpiano had spent a couple of years in San Quinton for impersonating Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead, and ripping people off after they dined and bedded him. When he appeared on the red steps of our building seen below, with a baseball bat, two of my friends offered to get rid of him. They were serious. Randy’s family were Sicilian. Patrice told me they were Costra Nosta, and, they might hurt me. My bad-ass friends did not want me, or the children, hurt. They were our Boys in the Hood. I was a stand-up guy. They knew I was willing to be their father.
I was the honorary White Guy, who was cool enough to hang with them. After meeting my black roommate, I was accepted in a multiracial group of friends that were very tight. We played pool, went bowling, played on a softball team, and partied together, sometimee with members of the Oakland Police Department. To rap with a cop who is high on pot, was a trip.
Steve and his brother had got their family out of El Salvador – in a gun battle! These brothers came to America, got jobs, saved their money, and one weekend they went south and rescued their parents and sisters – with guns!
Steve became a cop for the Peralta School District, and trained with future OPD. One day a crazed gunman parked his car on Telegraph Avenue, and started shooting with a high-powered rifle. He had fifty cops pinned down behind their cars. Steve showed up, and did a flanking move. He parked his car about fifty yards in back of this guy, walked up, and put a shotgun in his face. Steve was a hero. When he had his annual Bar-B-Que, Oakland’s finest got stoned with The Crew, who felt very protective of David. They knew his father was a Black Panther.
Here is a photograph my friends Tony, George, and Joe. Tony grew up in Harlem and is from a very radical Puerto Riccan family that shot at Harry Truman. Tony did very radical things in an effort to stop the war in Vietnam. Joe is Filipino and Mexican, and a radical. George was a very nice guy. He would come over just to fall asleep in one of my easy chairs, watching television. Then, I had kids on the floor and a hamster.
Geroge’s family loved me, and invited me to their parties because not only could this white dude do ‘The Bump’, he could do it real well. What our group practiced, was ACCEPTANCE. We were on the cultural front line. Every day was an adventure. Though we were agnostics, we understood we were having a spiritual Awakening. We knew were The Hope of the World. We got along, and we loved each other. We did not see ourselves as a family, a church, a club, but a collective of individuals who agreed to open up and share our dreams and aspirations with one another. We had children. Some of these children were of mixed races.
One member of our group who had no acceptance for me was Tony Martinez. He was of a famous California-Mexican family who had their land stolen by gringos. But, when he saw this Party Animal was going to give up my lifestyle to protect children – one of a mixed race – I got Tony’s acceptance. I was no longer a White Taker.
Tony was in Vietnam. He too did not like Randy hanging around with his baseball bat. Randy was in peril, and didn’t know it. I went outside and talked to him. We sat on a wall, and he put the bat aside when I asked him to. I thought we ad made peace, but, he is back for the final inning. This time Patrice talked to him. She was gone for two hours. When she told me she thinking of going back with her violent husband, I asked her to leave. She was putting our lives at risk. When she gave birth to my daughter, she did not inform me. Randy new it was my child. This baby girl was a Peace Child who made Randy’s family happy because he had failed to get Patrice pregnant. They concluded it was because of a curse put on the Hanson family – that had now been lifted!
“Than you Mary Mother of God!”
Randy died childless. I am certain my child was conceived on Christmas Eve. I have a grandson, Tyler Hunt. “Blessed are the peace-makers.”
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 9Blessed are the peacemakers, forthey will be called sons of God. 10Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.…
I am telling my friend Marilyn Reed how much I miss Oakland. Let me say this to this younger generation, practicing acceptance and peace, was the greatest adventure of my lifetime. Embrace Trump backers. Put flowers in their primate hands. Take the stones out of your hands. Be part of the Great Pertainence. Do the Bump with all fellow voters! You share one great thing in common.
Above is a photo of Marilyn Reed with her half-sister, Shauna, who gave Marilyn the black doll she is holding. Shana would live with Carlos Moore and help him write ‘Fela – The Bitch of a Life’. Fela was a charismatic African performer who was befriended by the Black Panthers. My favorite family photo is of my nephew who is about to get married. Here is Marilyn’s husband, Jazz Drummer, Kenny Reed, with a poster of his friend, Jazz great Les McCann, who also married a white woman. Marilyn took French lessons from Charlotte McCann when she fourteen. Shana married Les’ drummer.
On our third date, Marilyn took me to see the movie ‘Black Orpheus’. My first girlfriend was introducing to me the black culture she was exposed to. This culture would change music in America, forever! The first album I ever bought was a Bo Diddly album. I danced before I went to school, and when I came home. I shop-lifted an album called ‘African Drums’. I choreographed my own moves. I watched the black dancers in High School. I invented dancing without a partner. When I did the Pony, my peers formed a circle around me to watch. One day I put on Balero and danced for Marilyn.
I found Rosalie Ritz before her huge easel in and old Victorian office building on Broadway in downtown Oakland. I had come to get some more brass fittings from the old bait and tackle shop, but, they had moved. I was the only model boat sailor in the East Bay. I had rigged a automatic tacking device on my catamaran that would eventually bring it to the edge of the unused model boat lagoon that was built by the WPA located in Berkley’s Aquatic Park. It was all mine, now. The WPA had built Jaunita Miller’s Woodminster Theater and Water Wonder. I made my model at the time Altamont was being lauded as the West Coast Woodstock. My friend Peter Shapiro asked me if I was going and I told him it is going to be a disaster. I am a prophet.
I was moving away from the hippie scene, and was finding unique things to do, by myself. Exploring Old Oakland was now my cup of tea. Who was this ‘Mad Woman’? Why is she here? Obviously she is crazy, and thus I liked her instantly. In fifteen minutes, Rosalie has set the hook, and I am being reeled in to the most mad cap Alice in Wonderland scene I have ever been a part of. It would end with Ms. Ritz locking the board of directors of the Upstairs Art Association in a antique room, pulling the fire alarm, and calling the police.
Rosy was a one woman riot who could not understand why these crazy-ass black artists she surrounded herself with, were not on the front page at least once a week. Rosalie had become famous for her courtroom sketches of extremely radical people, and things began to go wrong when we disappointed her, let her down, exhibited over and over again we did not have the right stuff. This woman was a Publicity Stunt. On Halloween Eve, she convinced the television stations to cover an ancient couple from outer space who were going to take thirty UAA artists home to their planet.
After I told Ritz who my sister was, and my mother worked with the woman that headed California’s National Endowment for the Arts, I was made General Manager and put in charge of a painting crew whose job was to restore these vintage offices with an ornate fireplaces in each one. When we put paint stripper on them, we exposed hand-painted tiles from Europe.
One day I walk in wearing an old surplus Norwegian army cap that I found in the greatest surplus store in the world once found on Market Street in San Francisco. It looked a barrette. It had some letters on it. I think they were RNA. One look at it, and Ritz goes nuts.
“Where did you get that hat!” Rosalie asks as she yanks it off my head.
“In a surplus store in San Francis…..”
“How much did it cost?” she shouts, as she puts it on.
“Are there more!”
“There’s a whole big box…..”
Rosalie runs for her purse and hands me a twenty dollar bill and some money for BART. In two hours we are going to have a big social event at the old train station. Walter Dallas and his troupe of actors is going to put on a skit. No sooner do I walk in the door, then Ms. Ritz has grabbed a handful of these foreign army hats, and I insisting these black actors wear them.
Rosalie did the courtroom sketches for Pattie Hurst’s trial, Angela Davis of the Black Panthers. Just then, the crème de la crème of Oakland Society start coming through the door in their tuxedos. I took at the startled look on their faces. Uh-oh! I could see where this was going. Two of my friends who belonged to the Symbionese Liberation Army had been questioned by the FBI. Then, there is a loud “BANG!” as the balloon this beautiful black thespian was blowing up, got lose, hit the ceiling, and exploded! Let the DISASTER MOVIE….begin!
Here are some images Rosalie rendered of the Upstairs Art Association.
The headquarters of the White Panthers in Portland, Oregon were raided by the FBI on December 5, 1970. Two members of the group were arrested and accused of throwing a molotov cocktail through the window of a local Selective Service office.
White Panther Party chapters in San Francisco and Berkeley remained active into the 1980s. The WPP ran a successful ‘Food Conspiracy’ that provided groceries to about 5,000 Bay Area residents at low cost, due to bulk buying and minimum markup. In 1984, angry because then-Mayor of San Francisco Dianne Feinstein proposed to ban handguns in the city, the San Francisco White Panthers mounted a successful petition drive that forced Feinstein into a recall election, which she won. Within the next year, a WPP house in the Haight Ashbury district was burned down by the San Francisco Police, and the leaders of the local chapter (Tom Stevens and Terry Phillips) had been jailed after their commune was raided without a warrant, effectively destroying the chapter.
Plamondon was indicted with John Sinclair in connection to the bombing of a Central Intelligence Agency office in Ann Arbor on September 29, 1968, a year after the founding of the group. Upon hearing on the left-wing alternative radio station WABX that he had been indicted, he fled the U.S. for Europe and Africa, spending time in Algeria with exiled Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver.
On January 20, 2009, to mark Barack Obama‘s inauguration as the 44th President of the United States, Sinclair performed a series of his poems accompanied by a live band, featuring Elliott Levin, Tony Bianco and Jair-Rohm Parker Wells at Cafe OTO in Dalston, East London.
My life started when I read On the Road by Jack Kerouac. It came out in September 1957. I was a junior in high school. It set me on the correct path of life. I’ve followed that path ever since. Recently I’ve been reading all the early Kerouac novels. I thought that after fifty years I should read these again.