August 1, 2009

It started last night, really yesterday afternoon at my friend Arthur Monroe's retirement party. The former City of Oakland employee--acquisitions at the Oakland Museum of California, will now have an opportunity to paint more, exhibit more, and travel more. I flew into the cafe late...and there was Arthur with his big sombrero--Mexico a place he calls home...an exhibit of his work slated to open there this year. Seated around the table, most of the beer gone, bottles empty were Jim Dennis, Carol Marie, who'd told me about the party, Mildred Howard who was on her way to Moscow and Dennis' friend whom I met that afternoon. I didn't feel bad arriving two hours after the party started when Marcel and two other men came in after me and then two other couples followed them. It was really cool talking to Arthur, listening to his plans, catching up on the ways of the world and how and why artists are what make it go round and round.

Duane had been through earlier and shared a brochure he'd gotten at the Louis Armstrong Museum in New York. I hadn't known Armstrong was a visual artist as well as one of the fathers of this music folks call jazz. He hated New Orleans and made his home in New York--that I could believe. The citizens of my home town have a way of running away the good citizens of "darker hue" then and now--if Katrina is any indication. We laughed over the unusual way white volunteers went to New Orleans, realized the real estate boon and stayed...furthering the gentrification strategy.

"They can't help themselves," one person observed. I left after about an hour, not before hearing Marcel share that he was going to be on CNN this afternoon. The interview was with Soledad O'Brien. They were going to be speaking about the farm he started in the Lower Bottoms. I am going to have to get by and see the old newspapers with advertisements selling black people. These are original newspapers--Times Picayune and other southern rags.

When I got back to my car I had a parking ticket. I'd stayed in my car until the clock struck 6:00 p.m., because when I arrived a car was getting ticketed. My ticket was given out at 6:29 p.m. and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what the deal was...there were no signs stating the metering time was 8 p.m. which I learned was the new time. I am contesting this ticket.

The city then has the nerve to tack on a surtax...CRAZY! I am paying taxes for water and garbage and sewage for non property owners and then I get injured because no money is going into keeping the streets paved and clean.

So anyway, I head for the bridge because I think I am late for the Fred Hampton event and I'm not, but the traffic is horrific and I sit in it for an hour, get to San Francisco, see everyone else pulling into parking spots with my name on them, until I find one.

The program is really great. I introduce the film: The Murder of Fred Hampton and then between fundraising requests...we discuss the film. We raised $50 for the SF Bay View, not bad for the size of the audience. Someone got a donation of peaches and a guest brought pretzels. Chairman of the POCC, Fred Hampton Jr. spoke and answered questions. This is a year long tour ending Dec.4, the 40th anniversary of his father's murder at ground zero in Chicago. The investigation continues and there is no statute of limitation for murder.

There will be a birthday celebration for his dad, August 30. It's amazing. Fred Hampton was killed when he was 21.

I was so happy to meet the sister activist from Haiti, Rea Dol, founder and director of SOPUDEP, a school in Petion-ville, Haiti, along with Pierre LaBossiere, Haiti Action Committee. Ida McCray, Families with a Future, was also there.

All of this took place July 31--I guess I should call this segment of the tale...Black August Prelude.