Remembering Ted Hawkins; Born October 28, 1936; Died January 1, 1995: Passing Mention of Ted Hawkins at Christmas Eve Family Gathering Leads to Strange Conversation

New Years Day 2021 will mark the 26th anniversary since the passing of one of the most unforgettable and indominable spirits in American music, Ted Hawkins.  If you are not familiar with the name Ted Hawkins it is not surprising because his life and career was a study  in how immense talent is no match for powerful life adversities of which Ted had more than his fair share.  Born black and poor in Mitchell, Mississippi during the height of the Great Depression to an alcoholic mother and abandoned at an early age by his father, Ted's mother resorted to prostitution to survive.  

With no father and little supervision, Ted became increasingly difficult to control, so his mother sent him to the Oakley Training School run by the Mississippi Human Services Department for what Ted would later describe as "misbehaving".  Such facilitates are euphemistically referred to as reform schools or Boys Towns today, but this was  Mississippi in the Jim Crow1940's and Ted was a poor Black child. Yet, ironically, it was at this unlikely place that Ted would have a seemingly chance encounter that would cause him to change course.  A pattern that would follow him throughout his life.  

For it was here that Ted's singing caught the attention of one of the facility's counselors, Henry Byrd.  Mr. Byrd, more famously known as Professor Longhair,  arranged with the school for Ted to accompany him when he went on the road to play gigs.  It was not long before the Professor, (or"Fess") had him singing backup or as the warm up act.  Ted would never return to Oakley.  While some would point to this as some kind of divine intervention or anointment, it was Mr. Hawkins' strong sense of self-preservation, hard work and dogged perseverance that led to his glimpses of success.  But success came to Mr. Hawkins in spurts and stutters, mainly abroad (e.g. UK and Europe).  In his life's final irony, just as he was experiencing sustainable  success in his native land he was felled by a stroke on December 28, 1994 and taken from us four days later.

Since today is Christmas I thought I would share a Christmas Eve story from twenty years ago that still has me shaking my head and is a reminder to all to keep trying because sometimes, something that is extremely improbable, the proverbial one in a million longshot,  comes in.

I first encountered Ted Hawkins unknowingly and by sheer serendipity.  By unknowingly I mean I did not know the name of the man I was watching and listening to.  There was, however, one thing I did know about him, he made one hell of a first impression that was seared into your brain and once made you would never forget.   It was November of 1985 and my father mentioned in passing he had a frequent flier voucher that was about to expire and he was too busy to use it.  I was still in law school and though Fall semester exams were looming, I was not about to let the opportunity  for a free trip anywhere in the continental U.S.  pass me by.  As it was November in Minnesota with a long winter ahead, I pondered  warm destinations where friends lived.  

I immediately thought of my old  friend, Andy,  who I attended high school with outside of Washington, D.C. back in the late 1970's. After high school I had moved back to Minnesota to attend the U of M and Andy went to OU (The Ohio University) in Athens.   Following college graduation, Andy had made his way out to Los Angeles to successfully pursue a career in video editing and production.  I had been wanting to get back in touch with my old friend for years but one of us was always busy or I lacked the resources to make it happen.  Even though I would have less than three days to make the roundtrip from Minneapolis to L.A., a free trip is a free trip.  I gave my pal a call and he graciously consented to my inviting myself for a visit.

I know the exact date  I left on my trip to L.A. because my flight left Monday evening, November 17th.  I know this because Andy was bummed that my flight was scheduled to arrive during  the Monday Night Football game and his beloved 'Skins (Washington Football Club) were playing that night.  

Being a native Minnesotan and life-long Vikings fan, missing some or all of a 'Skins' game was not a big deal for me.  I suffered through 10 football seasons in the 1970s, arguably the most successful in the Vikings' franchise history, unable to watch my favorite team's games on Sundays.  Instead,  at that time, your only choice to watch a NFL football game on Sunday was to watch the local team's game and if it was a home game it was only televised if it was sold out.  As I lived in Northern Virginia, my only choice on Sundays was to watch the Foreskins game.  Naturally, this lack of choice meant I despised the Washington Football Club and especially disliked their cocky quarterback Joey Theismann.  My problem with Theismann was two-fold:  First, he played his college ball at Norte Dame and second, was the manner in which he left his wife and kids for tv celebrity Cathy Lee Crosby.  Public opinion around D.C. felt sorry for the discarded wife and kids and to many it appeared that his football success had inflated his already hefty ego to the point where he felt he deserved a trophy girlfriend on his arm as he navigated higher social circles.

When Andy met me at LAX he looked agitated and anxious, I could immediately sense that there was something wrong, really wrong.  So wrong I instinctively knew this was not about me interrupting his game by having to pick me up at the airport, rather, he tells me that Theismann had suffered a broken leg.  Not only did he break his leg the injury was caught on live t.v. and was incredibly gruesome and horrific.

My old friend and die-hard Redskin fan was not expecting what next came out of my mouth:  "YAHOO!" I screamed.  Followed by "Ain't Karma a bitch!" and  "I gotta see this for myself!" Bewildered by my reaction and in utter pain and dismay over the prospects of his favorite team snapping like a dried twig and blowing away in an instance,  Andy gave me the thousand mile stare of a shell shocked soldier.  

 As we were closer to his work than his residence in West Hollywood, Andy drove directly to the video production company where he was employed.  He assured me it was no problem as nobody would be there this time of night and besides he was recording the game there so as not to miss any of it while picking me up at the Airport.  It also gave him the opportunity to show me the state of the art, professional audio visual equipment he used at work. 

Due to the time of night, we had no problem finding a parking space right in front.  Andy narrated a quick tour of the premises as he led me to what I would call a control or editing room.

We must have watched the play where Theismann's leg was broken a dozen times from multiple angles, focusing in and enlarging  his ankle and watching the compound fracture at different speeds:  normal, speeded-up but the best was definitely the super slow motion. The first couple times Andy replayed it were met with uproarious laughter punctuated by cruel comments and cat calls, but the more times we watched the quieter we got until even I was no longer getting off on it.  "Seen enough?" Andy asks me.  "Yeah, I can't watch anymore" I respond.  What I was thinking, but kept to myself at the time, was that I was almost beginning to feel sorry for Theismann and that was a feeling I absolutely did not want so off we went to his house  in West Hollywood.

The next day being a Tuesday my friend had to work.  Before he left he asked if there was anything I wanted to do in the short time I had before my return flight on Wednesday.  "Nah, I've been to L.A. as a kid and have done the tourist thing, I think I would like to see the beach and just kick back".  Besides, it was mid November which is well into winter weather back in Minnesota and Minnesotans will always try to get a little tan if they are lucky to get a chance to escape the frozen tundra.  "Okay", Andy said, "take the Santa Monica Bus Line all the way, past UCLA until you get to the end of the line and you will be at Venice Beach.  Here is my work number call me this afternoon with where you are at and I will meet you there after I get off work ".  "Cool" I called out as Andy headed out the door.

I hang out around my friends pool in the morning before heading out on my bus trip to Venice Beach.  I kill time people watching, drinking fresh squeezed orange juice sold by the vendors that dot the landscape and scouting for a good bar to meet my friend when he gets off work.  I eventually find what looks like the perfect place, so much so it could have been the proverbial beach bar out of a Keith Sykes song.  Funny thing is I now cannot remember its name, but maybe there is an explanation for that, besides early onset Alzheimer's.

Around 4 PM I call Andy with my location and tell him I have a front row table overlooking the boardwalk (sidewalk?) so he can't miss me.  I catch the waitress's eye and order a Tequila Sunrise and kick back to watch a glorious sunset slowly get consumed into the Pacific Ocean.  I am in heaven and I can see why people flock to California to live.  

It was at that moment of utter bliss that I see coming my direction, like an apparition, a large guy carrying a guitar case and a box of some kind.  The closer he gets, little details start to emerge like, that is not a box, but a milk crate and I also notice he is wearing a glove with no fingers, something you would never wear in Minnesota for fear of frostbite.   This is going to sound terrible, especially in hindsight, but I start praying to myself:  "Please God, please God let the man pass by without stopping...Oh Please God!"  You guessed it.  Almost as if God heard my pathetic plea and decided to teach me a lesson, the guy sets up directly across from me in front of my view of the sunset.  

"Just great!" I think to myself.  Although I am a huge music lover and idolize my favorite musicians like some of my friends worship sports heroes, I do not suffer fools.  Besides I was looking forward to catching up with a good friend who I had not seen in years and last thing I needed was a bad mariachi band extorting me for tips, not to play, but to silence them.

As the man was setting up I could feel my whole body begin to constrict and wince for what surely was to come would be terrible.  Then to my utter disbelief and astonishment what came out was good and the more he played the more you appreciated the man's talent.  Unique arrangements of classic soul and r n b that balanced the original material, some of which although dark, were delivered with such earnestness and conviction that they became almost joyful.  My friend arrived and he immediately asked, somewhat skeptically, if the guy was any good.  By the end of the song he walked in on had finished the first words out of Andy's mouth were "Hey, this guy is pretty good!"  It was not long before my friend and I became lost reminiscing and then we were off to the Apple Pan for burgers.  My biggest regret to this day is not going over to the musician to thank him and slip him a tip.

Fast forward to some time after returning from my trip, my older brother walks into my room raving about this album he just bought and shows me the cover.

I couldn't speak for several moments, frantically pointing as my mind tried to process the disconnect.  "I - I - I saw that guy on the Venice Beach boardwalk when I was out in California visiting Andy!"  I stammered.  "That makes sense..." my brother says, adding "...apparently he moved to England and is big in the UK and Europe these days".

I could finally put a name to the mysterious busker who so impressed me and armed with that knowledge I sought out everything I could on Ted Hawkins but there wasn't a lot out there.  As time passed, "Watch Your Step" became one of the most cherished albums I owned and I never tired telling about my chance encounter with this enigmatic character.  But what I really wanted was to see him live again.  It was quite a wait.  Then one day out of the blue, that same brother who turned me on to "Watch Your Step" and later "Happy Hour" walked in to my house clutching concert tickets and announced "I got us one of the front tables at the Fine Line for Ted Hawkins!  Happy Birthday and Deja Vu!

So on October 7, 1994, my brother Pete and  I are sitting at one of the front tables at one of the nicest music cafes in Minneapolis waiting for a street busker I had seen nine years earlier by accident while on a trip to California.  Since that time this unknown street busker has gone over to and conquered the UK and Europe  and had become one of my favorite singer songwriters.  More importantly for the artist himself, this underdog of all underdogs was beginning to get the recognition he so richly deserved here, at home, in his own country.  Surely, life can't get any better, sadder or stranger than this!  Or Can it?

The Fine Line Show was a smash success and Ted had created quite a stir in the Minneapolis Music scene.  The buzz on Ted had grown so loud, so fast, that they quickly booked Ted for another show in a larger venue, the Guthrie Theater in January 1995.  My brother again rushed out to get tickets.  Then, like a punch to the solar plexus, we get the tragic news of Ted's death on January 1, 1995 following a stroke he suffered on December 28, 1994.  It is still so painful I had to stop as I type this and it took many years before I could listen to his music.  

Life moves on and years pass and I can again listen to his music and again take great pleasure in introducing the uninitiated to the great Ted Hawkins.  Then in 1999 my father passes away and the year before that my Uncle Harry passed away.  The deaths in our fathers' generation got my cousins and our families nostalgic for the family Christmas gatherings we attended as kids.  So in the early 2000s my cousin Hal graciously volunteered to host a Christmas Eve gathering at his home in suburban Minneapolis.  Hal had gone on to become an executive for a nationwide video rental chain headquartered in the same suburb of Minneapolis where Prince built his studio.

As I am the youngest of my parents five children and both my parents were the youngest child in their respective families, for years I was always the youngest at family gatherings and all my cousins were considerably older and socialized with my older siblings.  The point I am trying to make is I did not talk alot about things like music with my cousins except the older I got the more I got to know and respect the musical opinions of Hal's  eclectic brother Tommy who was 10 years ahead of everyone and into bands like Television and the Ramones when they first came out.  I laugh now looking back on our conversations where I would say "I can't understand how anyone can like that crap!  They can't even play their instruments!" as he would patiently try and explain what the punk scene was all about with a bemused look on his face, that in retrospect, I now realize meant "I wish I could be there when this dumb kid has his epiphany".  Hal's music tastes on the other hand went to the other extreme such as the Lettermen and his favorite the Four Freshmen.

So in this setting and with this background I give you the denouement to my Ted Hawkins story.  I must have been off in a corner talking music with my brother and cousin Tommy trying to top each other with our vast music knowledge and who had the superior music taste, when I mention Ted Hawkins and how serendipity played such a big role  not only in how I learned of him but in Ted's career as well.  

It was at this point that my cousin Hal, the Four Freshmen fan,  hearing the name Ted Hawkins from across the room, walks over and says to his hipster brother and 2 cousins: "Did you say Ted Hawkins?"  and we all just kind of nod at him waiting impatiently for his pointless interruption of mistaken identity to be over.  "Was he a black guy in his late 50's?" Now he has our attention and we all say "yes".  "He wouldn't be a musician of some kind?" "Yeah" we respond wondering where in the Hell he is going with this.  "Well...", says Hal, "... if we are talking about the same guy, I meet him once."  Adding, "As a matter of fact, he performed a private concert for us in our conference room back in 1994 just before Christmas."

After the three of us pick our jaws up off the ground and I am able to get the wind back in my lungs, I startled everyone in the room.  "What?" I shriek in disbelief.  "There is No way!", I say.  Hal explains very matter of factually, It was getting late in the afternoon the day before we close the office for Christmas vacation when the receptionist buzzes me and says there is a man here who would like to speak with whoever is in charge of selecting inventory for video tape rentals.  "Does he have an appointment?"  Hal asks.  "No" comes the reply.  "What's his name?" Hal asks.

"Ted Hawkins", comes the reply.  "Never heard of him, but send him in anyway".

Ted explained how he was a musician and has a video he is promoting that he  would like their stores to carry.  "I know you might have never heard of me and that is why I would like to play something for you and your workers."  Although no one have ever heard of him and despite everyone being in a hurry to start their Christmas vacation and attend to last minute errands, they agree and the remaining staff of less than 10 people gathered in a conference room for what may well have been Ted Hawkins last performance.  

What I would have given to be in attendance!  After Ted would finish a song there would be an awkward silence and one or more of the staffers would quietly sneak out of the room until it was down to just Hal who thanked him for his audition and they would keep him in consideration  adding when you are done could you please close the door behind you when you leave.

Shortly before his passing Ted recorded the following acapella version of a self-penned number, "Great New Year".

Sugar Ray and the Bluetones Collaboration with Little Charlie Baty, "Too Far From the Bar", Is this Year's Winning Ticket!

 If you live in a battleground state, like I do, you are probably fed up with the political ads running ad nauseum on every device you own.  The fact that it is still only September has most people wanting to head to their favorite bar hoping to take refuge in a stiff drink and, if your lucky, some live music.  Anything for a distraction.  

Unfortunately, that is not an option thanks to the pandemic.  But there is an alternative for those who find themselves "Too Far From the Bar" with the election year blues and it comes courtesy of Sugar Ray Norcia and his Bluetones, featuring the late Little Charlie Baty.

On paper this project looks like a no brainer.  Take one of the best blues vocalist and  harp players and his group of stalwart musicians and combine them with a legendary blues guitarist. As an added bonus, bring in an equally legendary and talented blues guitarist/producer as your ringleader and you should have, in theory, a good result.  But expectations can be misleading and some of the best laid plans often go awry.  Thankfully that is not the case in this instance.  Messrs Norcia and Baty along with the immensely talented Bluetones, pianist Anthony Geraci, bassist Mudcat Ward and drummer Neil Gouvin, all contribute on what in my mind is the best blues release so far this year.

 The festivities kick off with an irresistible cover of an old 5 Royales single on the King label entitled "Don't Give No More than You Can Take".  A cautionary tale with its Golden Rule message, it could have been ripped right out of today's political headlines but actually dates back to 1960.  From the opening notes of Little Charlie's period guitar to Ray's throaty vocal, what immediately comes to mind is tone.  Like an early T-birds record, Little Charlie and Sugar Ray have perfectly captured the feel and tone of the great 1950s R n B labels like Chess, Cobra, Duke, Excello and King without losing the freshness that made the originals sound so exciting.  It takes an artist like Norcia, who is a master at phrasing,  two of the best guitarists in the business and an all pro rhythm section like the Bluetones to convincingly pull off such a feat.  

It would have been fun to be a fly on the wall when Norcia, Baty and Robillard sat down to select what material they wanted to record for this project. Like all of Norcia's work, the album benefits from well chosen material be they covers, like Little Walter's "Can't Hold Out Much Longer" or an original, like the album's rollicking title track, the Norcia penned original, "Too Far From the Bar", the result is the same.  "It all good!" It wouldn't be a Sugar Ray record without a little sweetness and Ray delivers with another original "Too Little Too Late".  For the harp aficionados out there is the original instrumental Reel Burner that lives up to its name with Ray's scorching harp playing which is reprised to close out this delightful set.  I would be remiss if I did not mention Ray's jaw dropping, neck-breaking fast rendition of the old Jerry McClain classic "My Next Door Neighbor" featuring Little Charlie's exquisite guitar solo.  The track order and pacing  is well thought out as the action is slowed considerably with the next two tracks featuring beautiful piano work by Anthony Geraci and Rays legendary phrasing.  This is by no means an exhaustive recounting of the music on this disc and I leave it for the listener to discover in its entirety.  It can be purchased in CD or MP3 form at

https://orcd.co/toofarfromthebar

Produced by and playing guitar on four tracks is Roomful of Blues founder and original guitarist, Duke Robillard.  After leaving Roomful in the mid 1970s Robillard has compiled a resume that is the envy of most musicians.  Whether it was as a member of the Fabulous Thunderbirds or the  honor of touring with Bob Dylan, Robillard's guitar playing has always been in demand.  In addition Robillard has maintained his prolific solo discography and somehow found the time to launch a side project reuniting many of the originals members of Roomful of Blues called the Founders.  As if all that were not enough,  lately Duke has developed quite a reputation as a producer of other artists.  Most notably, the Robillard produced This Time for Real by Billy Price and Otis Clay earned the Blues Music Award for Soul/Blues album of the year in 2016.

In a tragic coincidence, like Otis Clay who  passed  away suddenly in 2016, Little Charlie Baty died unexpectedly from a heart attack this past March.  While 66 years is way too young to shuffle off this mortal coil, Little Charlie can be proud of the fact that he went out at the top of his game as evidenced by this fine work.

Hubert Humphrey on Speed? What Would Hunter S. Thompson Think About This Revelation Concerning One of his Most Loathed Politicians?

Just read Hannah Jones' revelatory article in this week's edition of City pages entitled "So, Tommy James slipped Hubert Humphrey some speed this one night..."  

That's right, you heard me correctly, Tommy James the musician and leader of the Shondells once gave the then Vice President and 1968 Presidential candidate a "black beauty" (i.e. amphetamine pill) to help the drowsy Humphrey stay up after a long day on the campaign trail. 

This immediately set my mind to wondering on a multitude of questions, like "how in the hell did Mr. 'Crimson and Clover' get to know HHH ?" and "was it really a good idea to give someone with the exuberance of Mr. 'Pleased as Punch' an upper?".

Too bad Mr. James did not come forward with his "giving speed to Humphrey" story earlier, it might have softened Hunter S. Thompson's harsh view of Humphrey, a politician whom Hunter loathed even more than Nixon, and that is saying a lot.  

Hunter famously called Humphrey "...a treacherous, gutless old ward-heeler” and wrote had Humphrey won in 1968, (a Humphrey Administration) "... would have been equally corrupt and wrongheaded as Richard Nixon's, (but) far more devious...".  

Despite his eccentricities and excesses, Thompson  was, if anything, an immensely talented writer for sure, but equally as shrewd a political commentator.  

In an article he did for the New York Times on New Year's Day in 1974 entitled "Fear and Loathing in the Bunker", Thompson wrote prophetically: "This is the horror of American politics today—not that Richard Nixon and his fixers have been crippled, convicted, indicted, disgraced and even jailed — but that the only alternatives are not much better; the same dim collection of burned‐out hacks who have been fouling our air with their gibberish for the last twenty years. How long, oh Lord, how long? And how much longer will we have to wait before some high‐powered shark with a fistful of answers will finally bring us face‐to‐face with the ugly question that is already so close to the surface in this country, that sooner or later even politicians will have to cope with it?" Reading HST's old NYT article really makes you yearn for fearless political commentary and emphasizes what a profound loss it was to our democracy when Hunter lost his battle with his demons.

  IN MEMORY OF JUSTIN TOWNES EARLE     

Born: January 4, 1982, Died: August 20, 2020

The Nighthawks On the Blue Highway: On the Road with B Town Slim and the Bad Boys from Bethesda

Note:  This article was written back in 2017 and never posted.




I finally got to see Michael Streissguth's excellent documentary on a subject near and dear to my heart:  "Nighthawks on the Blue Highway:  A Film About the Hardest Working Band in America".  Watching the DVD at my good friend Ralph's house last Saturday the memories came rushing back so rather than ruin another screening of this gem of a music documentary I thought I would put my remembrances down for posterity.  This film is also timely as my first viewing coincided with the passing of Gregg Allman whose collaboration with the Hawks is covered in the film.

As background, I first saw the band warm up for Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes with special guest Ronnie Spector at the Warner Theater in about 1977 and was blown away.  Since that show I have seen them dozens and dozens of times. When I moved away from D.C. (No. Va) and back to my

hometown of Minneapolis in 1979 I introduced myself to the guys when they came to town and would follow them around the upper midwest whenever they came within driving distance.



When I graduated law school in the Spring of 1986 I bought a new motorcycle for the express purpose of living my dream and following the Hawks on an extended tour of the Mid and South West.  While my classmates studied for the bar exam I was riding from town to town on a schedule that could only be described as brutal.  Any notion that the life style of professional musicians was that of the "Rich and Famous" was quickly dispelled.  But no matter how long the ride or how bad the weather, or running out of money at the end of my trip, it was all worth it because each night I was rewarded with the best in live music by one of America's greatest bands at the height of its powers.








It was humbling to see the respect they garnered around the country.  The after bar (VZD's) party I went to with Jimmy at a local musicians' home in Oklahoma City talking music and listening to Jimmy on acoustic guitar until dawn, staying at the Rodeway Inn in Austin, TX (a dump, the band stayed elsewhere) where CB Stubbs had his restaurant and where I had dinner (great juke box) and then seeing a blasted CB show up at Antones (a former Country Kitchen or Pizza Hut!) where he walked out on stage and attempted to sing (Mojo Working) but only looked foolish (you would never laugh at him as he was such a large man).  I will never forget attempting to order breakfast at his restaurant the next morning:  One of his daughters was the waitress and in response to my request for eggs and bacon she said "You can have cold beans and rice cause Daddy says we can't make any noise with the pots and pans" and then whenever someone entered or exited the kitchen there was that mountain of a man with an ice pack on his head moaning sitting at a table in the kitchen.


There was the show at Joseph's Foodliner down in San Antonio after which Thackery grabbed a case of some "exotic" beer called Corona and joined a friend and I back at our motel room drinking and listening to the greatest stories like the riot at Jimmy's 21st birthday party in Bethesda and his meeting Root Boy Slim for the first time...at one point Jimmy tried to teach me to sing like my idol Eddie Hinton.  But what I will forever remember and cherish about that trip was the final stop for me with the band on that 2 week, nearly 4,000 mile trip, in Kansas City, MO.  The night before the band had played in Wichita, home to one of the country's best blues societies and to a crowd of very knowledgeable blues fans.  One of the Hawk fans , Tim Fairhurst, Jimmy entrusted with his beloved but shabby looking fedora.   Tim promised to take it to one of the country's best hatters, Wichita Jack, to be cleaned and blocked and had it back to Jimmy the next night in Kansas City.

I had spent the last bit of cash and all the money in my bank account for a hotel room by the band at the down town Howard Johnson on the river.  The band was playing that night at the Lone Star in West Port (where video I mention was shot).  I was in a panic since the money my relatives put in my bank account was not yet electronically available and wouldn't be for 3 days.  I literally had no gas money to get back home to Minneapolis let alone food and beer money.  So even though I had been hanging out with Jimmy alot on my trip and was sadly hearing about his plan to depart my beloved band I would also hang with Jan and Mark at times and hear their perspectives.  But when my chips were down it was Mark who came through for me like a big brother.  But he wasn't just going to just give or loan me the money, that would have been too easy and set a bad example for an already spoiled child of middle class privilege, oh no he did me a favor and taught me one of those lessons I would remember for the rest of my life, he said if I would do some work for him that afternoon he would pay me by buying me dinner and then the gas money to get home.  Just the idea of hanging out with Mark for an afternoon was cool beyond my wildest dreams... I should be paying him I thought to myself.  Little did I know what I had got myself into.




I will never forget the ride to the former Kenny's Cycle Shop where I was to work off my board and gas money.  It was a blistering hot June day with a temperature approaching 100 degrees as Mark drove the band's van.  On the way there I asked Mark if he remembered one of the lines to Chuck Berry's Promised Land and he sang me the whole thing including  verses I had never heard before.  To this day how someone can memorize the lyrics to so many songs still astounds me.  We arrived at an old warehouse district of Kansas City which looked like it had seen its better days a century earlier.  When we entered the shop Mark was welcomed like the return of a prodigal son.  After numerous greeting between Mark and the owner as well as the extremely tough looking staff, the owner said "who is Rudolph?" referring to my bright red nose from nearly 2 weeks of riding.  There was a constant stream of rough looking guys showing up all afternoon long.  I later learned  from Mark that the the owner (the name Wayne sticks in my head for some reason) was known in the biker community to give jobs to men fresh out of prison which was often a condition of their parole.  It was very apparent that the shop was over staffed but I never saw him turn down a man's request for work the entire time we were there.  I found the following photo ascribed to Wayne's Motorcycle Sales and Service on the internet.  I hope I am correct in thinking his shop was the former Kenny's.


The owner and Mark had a brief discussion and then we ascended to the steaming hot upper floors that served as a parts warehouse.  Mark explained that the location had been a Harley Davidson dealership since the late 1920's until the mid 1970's when AMF took over the company.  The last ten years the owner operated as a custom bike shop but now it was time to retire and Mark had designs on his parts inventory.  We spent the afternoon picking our way through several floors of dusty OEM Harley parts which for Mark was like a kid in a candy store.  After several hours we returned to the first floor where I overheard Mark and the owner having hushed negotiations before agreeing on a price with a handshake.  After a quick estimation of how many semi loads it would take to move the inventory, Mark looks over at me and says "How about dinner?"



As I had not had much to eat the last couple of days, I was more than ready.  Mark did not take me out for just any meal but in the home of barbecue Mark takes me to Gates, but not one of the umpteen franchises that dot the greater K.C. landscape, but to the original restaurant in the heart of the African American community.  Now here is the coolest thing , Mark got the same greeting in Gates that he got from the biker crowd, and we were the only honkies in the joint.  I learned that day to be with Mark is to be treated with love and respect because that's how he treated others.

https://youtu.be/JrmZR-W9ecw



That night there was going to be quite a thunderstorm so it was suggested I ride to the gig at the Lone Star with the band.  When we arrived there was a guy setting up a professional Sony hifi camera on a tripod.  He approached the band to ask permission to film the show where to my great surprise and honor Mark and Jimmy said "take it up with our lawyer" gesturing to me.  My conditions were that it not be sold commercially without further permission and most importantly, that I receive a copy.  It turns out the guy filming was big in the nascent music video industry having just shot the new, clothespin please, Van Halen video.  Highlights that night include a fight breaking out on the dance floor , a close call narrowly missing being involved in a bad accident on the drive back to the hotel and hanging with the reggae band also staying at our hotel (if you get my splif).








My life has been so incredibly enriched by the music education I have received,  just by paying attention to the band's influences and the friendships I have made from my acquaintances in the band and their fans, simply because "I have seen the Nighthawks"!  Long live B Town Slim and the Bad Boys from Bethesda!!

Bold Initiative to Change the Police Culture in the State of Minnesota

Enough is enough.  For over thirty years I have been a criminal defense attorney in the State of Minnesota.  During that time I have watched politicians at every level of government side with law enforcement against the citizens of the Great State of Minnesota buying into the notion that the citizens are somehow the enemy and what is needed is to give law enforcement the same tools as the military coupled with sweeping legislation granting unprecedented powers to law enforcement agents that require legal gymnastics and the suspension of disbelief to uphold their constitutionality. 

What have we gained as a society for this blind faith surrender of our civil liberties and constitutional rights and billions of dollars spent militarizing law enforcement agencies across this state and the nation?  A self-fulfilling prophecy.  A police culture that views themselves as an occupying army, a thin blue line, that is the only defense against an enemy that outnumbers them at an approximate ratio of between 2 and 3 officers per 1,000 citizens.  The conventional wisdom has been for too long that to even the odds and protect the lives of the men and women in law enforcement, what was needed was an ever-increasing arsenal of weapons, gear and tactics that only belong on a battlefield during wartime.  Not only did we give law enforcement the weapons and tactics of war to use against us, the American public, we did so with minimal oversight and even less accountability.  Are we then supposed to be shocked and outraged by the result?  I contend it was highly predictable.

When this culture is combined with the failed “War on Drugs” which we now know had its origins in the most evil and cynical political and policy motives (targeting racial minorities and suppressing lawful civil dissent) it is no wonder that communities across this country have lost faith in law enforcement.  The civil forfeiture laws have been turned into a revenue stream for cash strapped agencies that have become a means to an end in itself and one of the chief corrupting influences on law enforcement personnel and along with excessive force, the prime causes of citizen alienation.

This model of law enforcement that has been going on since at least the early 1970s is broken and no amount of money, no level of military force is going to improve it and as a matter of fact have made things worse.  We keep telling ourselves it is just a few bad cops and if we just do a better job of weeding the bad ones out, the system can be saved.  Pardon my language, but BULLSHIT!!!

Open your eyes and open your minds to the bloody obvious:  the system is broken, the system is corrupt and the system produces rank and file officers who are taught that we the citizens are the enemy, we are targets to make money off of and feed a prison industrial complex through mass incarceration.  As someone with over thirty years of first-hand experience fighting to protect the constitutional rights of our citizens in a system where every benefit and advantage goes to the state in order to perpetuate income streams for mean spirited and entitled local governments to run local government and services off the backs of the working poor through traffic and nonviolent criminal enforcement.  Remember Ferguson, Missouri?  Well the same thing goes on in places like Anoka County and in judicial districts across the State of Minnesota not only through fines but through user fees and insidious, non-transparent “assessments” sometimes double and triple the amount of the fine.

We can do better.  Minnesotans used to lead the way on difficult policy issues with innovative, creative and courageous solutions.  But lately our state has been infected with a resistance and fear of change in favor of a complacency and don’t rock the boat stagnation that has not and will not serve us well.  Minnesota has yet to pass legislation or promulgate regulations that protect citizens and their privacy in the digital age.  Most states have laws and regulations that address law enforcement use of drones, stingrays, electronic plate readers and the data generated by such methods.  Not Minnesota.  Governor Dayton, whose administration did so many great things over two terms  will always have a diminished legacy in my mind for capitulating and siding with law enforcement over the citizens on issues like medical marijuana and his executive order depriving the courts of the ability to oversee law enforcement spying on citizens with technology like plate readers and stingrays.

So, I have pointed out many problems with law enforcement and our current system.  Anyone can do that.  The last thing we need is another committee or investigatory commission to study the issue and waste time and delay with hopes of passing the buck to future administrations and generations.  We don’t lack in studies, we lack in resolve and courage to take bold initiatives and quit being held hostage by entrenched power bases like police unions.  Here are my suggestions for changing the culture of law enforcement in Minnesota from that of a militarized, warrior culture fighting an unwinnable “drug war” where citizens are viewed as the enemy and revenue streams to that of community service officers.

1.      Demilitarize the police and change their culture to that of community service officers whose job is to assist citizens not make money off of them.  While enforcement of the law is necessary it should be reserved for serious violations including property offenses and crimes of violence.  Do not prioritize victimless crimes or use law enforcement to impose morality.  Emphasize treating citizens with respect and de-escalation training.  

      

      If current officers resist on the grounds they won’t be safe accept their resignations in mass.  The days of employing police force whose number one priority is going home safely each night to their families are over.  

      Much like the war in Iraq when American troops and contractors prioritized American and Western lives above the native population which became so cowardly that convoys would run over Iraqi women and children pedestrians rather than slowing down or yielding to them out of fear of ambush, a community service force of citizen officers would place an equal value on the lives of all citizens.  We should remember General Petraeus’ strategy in the Arab Awakening which emphasized getting out among the citizenry and working to improve their quality of life like restoring utilities and sewer systems in addition to providing for their physical security.  

     The first thing a citizen should think of when they see an officer is a fellow citizen who is there to help them.  Their primary function is to assist and educate reserving issuing tickets for those who persistently ignore warning and reserve arrest and incarceration for offenders who threaten public safety.  We need to raise the pay to attract better educated officers who are good at soft skills and problem solving.  Stop hiring 22-year olds whose only life experience is the military and consider older candidates with some prior life experience. 

      Of the hundreds of officers, I have encountered or had on the witness stand over the years, there is one that stands out.  He was Savage police officer who joined the force in his thirties and eventually retired in his late forties.  He told me “I was very fortunate in that I never had to draw my gun in the line of duty in my 13-year career.  Part of it was by virtue of working in a relatively safe suburban community with not a lot of violent crime, but part of it was because it isn’t necessary.  If you treat people with dignity and respect and take the time to listen to people and reason with them, there should be no need to have to draw your weapon."  He added, "...there are obviously situations that require an armed response and luckily I was never in one of those situations, but I truly believe my younger colleagues are too quick to resort to force instead of listening to and reasoning with people".

2.      Legalize Marijuana and end the drug war including abolishing civil forfeiture laws except in very rare cases like in prosecution of major organized crime organizations.  The latter was actually one of the recommendations of the review panel of the Metro Gang Strike Force debacle who had concluded that the unit was not searching for drug dealers to seize their assets but rather looking for citizens with nice belongings who they believed did not deserve them so that they could seek forfeiture of. 

3.      Limit the number and use of Emergency Response Units (i.e. SWAT) to hostage and terrorist situations as their mission was originally envisioned by the experts who helped set them up.  Through mission creep and bad incentives like programs providing civilian police departments with surplus armored personnel carriers and tanks no longer used by our military, we were sending precisely the wrong message to our citizens and the officers.  The experts believe we can reduce the use of ERU and SWAT units by 90% by stop deploying them for routine search warrant executions which executions will drop dramatically once we legalize marijuana and end the war on drugs and replace it with a medical treatment and education model.  

      

     Making these changes won't be easy.  They will take courage and keeping an open mind so that we do not keep making the same, safe but failed decisions of the past