184 Days of Pain

An area television station says it is ‘Recovery Day 184’ since New Jerseys’ devastation by Hurricane Sandy/Super Storm Sandy.  Many people are still not able to put their lives back together.

Good I wasn’t put in charge of a multi-million dollar fund raised and on hand to help victims of Super Storm Sandy.  The fund has been talked about but mainly, not spent.  By now, I would have disbursed as much of it as possible to help the helpless.  I would have been sufficiently generous to so many, no doubt, there would be calls for investigating my work.  I would have been impetuous, but also a prolific record keeping administrator.  I wouldn’t be afraid.

Yesterday was the six-month anniversary of the storms’ smashing into New Jersey, New York and Connecticut.  Remember?  It was October 29, 2012.

These days, TV and print news periodically tell heart-rending stories of individuals and families struggling to get their lives back together.  I just barely hold back the tears. I clearly remember how treacherous a mere four days without power - electricity and heat - were for me.

Just today, New Jersey’s governor reports something like only 10% of New Jerseyans who suffered storm related abused living conditions remain so – are living in compromised conditions.  Would even that be if I had the responsibility to disburse millions of dollars contributed and now held in accounts waiting for the most perfect way to help Sandy victims? 

I don’t think so.  You see, I wouldn’t give a hockey puck how politicians and media might question my committee’s distribution decisions and my leadership.

Hopefully the next few weeks will see more of those dollars distributed.  Hopefully those funds will soon bring comfort, peace of mind and overall well-being to many who should be given assistance  without further delay.

184 days is far too long for families and individuals to remain in pain when there are millions of dollars available to help.

What do you think?

Totaled - A Learning Experience

  

      Subject vehicle was carefully selected and       purchased more than ten years ago.  From day one, it lived in a clean spacious garage no matter the weather, whether ranging from sweltering heat to freezing cold and all options in between. Sometimes, though, when the beloved SUV should have gone to the car wash and didn’t, it was parked in the driveway for nature to give it a good rain bath.   And always, the vehicle was taken for regular visits to the dealer’s garage for scheduled maintenance. 

Then a few weeks ago on a rainy night, the essentially perfect SUV was involved in an accident.  It was a two-vehicle collision.   

Thank God, it seems all involved were okay.  (Each of these five pictures was taken after the accident.)

The SUV was banged up – front grill mostly which included damage to the headlights as well.  It was driven home and parked in the driveway.   The flat bed truck came a few days later to take it to repair.  The driver backed it out of the driveway and onto the ambulance truck and away it went to be fixed.

However, the lovely vehicle was judged to be - totaled.  

The owner is recovering from the shock of learning this.

They had no idea it would not be coming back home.

Lesson learned:  No doubt one must be prepared to wave a permanent good-bye to an insured vehicle of some age that has been in a collision.  The book value will be less than the labor and materials necessary to return it to you repaired and ready to once again hit the road.  Another lesson,  it takes a long time to fall out of love, even with a vehicle.

In Memory of "Jake"

It was late evening a day in late Spring more than 30 years ago, as I remember.   My long day at the office ended with an uneventful, thus pleasant drive home; across mid-Manhattan and up the Westside Highway to the George Washington Bridge.   In a snap, I was in New Jersey, skirting Fort Lee, floating onto Route 4, then into my community, my neighborhood and home.  I was happy.

My daughter was away in college.  My son was there, upstairs in his room.  We greeted each other, voices raised to reach one another.   “Hey ‘D’.  I’m home. You ok?”  

“Hi, yeah ……. “  Darin’s tone - courteous, yet abrupt; most likely he was on the phone.   A high school senior with a part-time job, his personal time was limited.  I understood not getting his full attention.  Too tired to cook, I was looking for a quick food fix when he came into the kitchen.

“I have to go to the hospital," Darin said.  "My chest hurts.”  Any happy aura was gone.  My stomach panicked.  “Please Dear God, may it be only a mild pain siege we’re able to handle and he'll escape a full-blown sickle-cell crisis,” was my silent plea.  I questioned when he had taken pain medicine.  The answer prompted me to suggest he try to hold on, drink plenty of water and let the medicine work.  “Can you give it more time?  Let’s try?”  He went back upstairs.  It was a Sickle Cell pain attack so the possibility of avoiding going to the hospital’s emergency room was slim.  Still, maybe we wouldn’t have to go.

In my bedroom, door closed, changing from office attire, I thought I heard the front doorbell ring.  I was right.

Opening the door, I was surprised to see Mr. Stevens (Jake) our not-quite-directly-across-the-street neighbor.  In a helpful but hurried tone, he said, “tell Darin I’m here.”   Obviously reacting to the puzzled look on my face, Jake told me Darin had called him.  “He asked if I could take him to the hospital.”

Three thoughts flooded my mind.  First the selfish one, that being how mortified I felt to have misread Darin’s critical need - and, not helping.  Second, I was proud of my son for knowing whom he could call on and following through for what he needed.  Third, how blessed we were to have wonderful neighbors such as the Stevens family unit. 

The Stevens had grown children with careers and families of their own.  They also had a younger daughter, Janet, a best friend of Farah, my daughter, and a grandson, Harold, a best friend of my son.  Mrs. Stevens (Sarah) and I were close, warm friends.  We women and children frequently shared time with each other.   If Jake happened to be around, he was a willing conversationalist, ready to debate history, politics, and the news.

Everyday Jake went to work in Manhattan.  He worked in the Fashion District; a pattern maker, I understood.  A tailor too, I’m thinking.  He traveled back and forth on a commuter bus from NYC’s mid-town Port Authority.  In the evening dusk we could see him walking home from the bus stop several blocks away.  I always thought of Jake as a fine role model of a family man.  He was a hard working, reliable contributor to his family.  He was a reader and a thinker.  He had opinions and expressed them.  Jake was the kind of Black patriarch I tried to evidence and sought to recognize in Black Star Girl, my book written to celebrate my own exemplary black father. 

I don’t recall ever asking Mr. Stevens or his wife for  help with a specific problem.   Thus my surprise and gratitude the night Darin was in distress and made that call, confident he could count on Harold’s grandfather to get him to the hospital when he was in need.  It was a revelation I appreciated and I’ll never forget. 

A decade and more ago, the Stevens moved away from our neighborhood, our community, from New Jersey.  We remained in close touch.

Earlier this week, Jake's living on this earth ended.  He was 89 years old.  The family, his widow, children, grandchildren, in-laws, nieces, nephews, and other family members and friends will celebrate his life this coming Saturday in the Atlanta, Georgia area.  My prayers for their peace and comfort go out to them.

Rest in Peace Jake.  You will be lovingly remembered as the great man you were to many.

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Have you had the opportunity to be a memorable neighbor, a helpful neighbor, a role model of a good neighbor?

His Inspiration Lives On

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed this day in 1968. 

I remember hearing of his murder on that day. 

I was shocked in a resigned sort of way.  Dr. King was constantly under threat of death; had spoken of anticipating an early death.  In Harlem (NY) one late summer afternoon he was critically stabbed.  It was in Memphis, Tennessee that he was shot and killed.  I was miserably sad.  I was angry.

Actually, these forty-five years since Dr. King’s assassination, the anger I felt then is the emotion I remember most now when I think of that day.  In no way did I express my anger at the time.  In cities across this nation, unfortunately, many others did.   (Internet search ‘1968 Dr. King Riots’)

Dr. King was important to me.  He was a learned, reasonable, passionate, brave, and an articulate leader who ‘had my back’.  I always knew my father ‘had my back’.  For many years I knew my husband ‘had my back’ (a reason why our divorce was so painful).   My father, husband, and Dr. King cared about the quality of my life.  Quite honestly, I haven’t felt any single living individual has had my back in any fashion since Dr. King was taken from us.

I was born when discrimination, segregation and injustice against black people was a crucial topic of discussion and political discourse in America.  Such was the case even into my adulthood.  “Segregation’s wrong/It’s not wrong.”  “It’s time for a change/Not yet – separate but equal is just fine.”  “It’s an issue for each State to resolve with appropriate legislation/The Constitution of the United States must include language that assures fair and equal treatment for all.”  

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. didn’t waver from leading the nation toward implementing Federal laws that gave me and mine access to all the nation could provide for anyone.  Yes, Dr. King had my back and I knew it.  Losing him was a personal loss.

Dr. King ’s dedicated work inspired many throughout the world. 

Dr. King has been gone 45 years yet he continues to inspire us to continually seek justice for all.

May we always be grateful for him.

Aretha Franklin in Concert!

-  By guest contributor, Farah Diba Stith - 

NJPAC after departure of the packed audience 

The “Queen of Soul” was in New Jersey this past Saturday evening and I was lucky enough to see her in concert! My BFF planned the evening and I was along for the ride which was first class all the way.

Aretha Franklin was at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center in Newark, New Jersey at the invitation of Mayor Corey Booker, or so he told us in his introduction of the Queen. Funny, but she didn’t grace us with her presence for another 20 minutes after the Mayor's exuberant introduction.  Early into her concert Aretha thanked Mayor Booker but he was gone! She speculated maybe he went to the men’s room. Another time she asked for him, she had a special song picked out for him. She put her hands above her eyes looking out into the crowd for the missing Mayor. He wasn’t there. Yet another time she asked for him and finally we all knew he had gone. Wow, not good at all!  I think Mr. Booker wanted to introduce her for political reasons.

While we waited on Aretha to come on stage I mentioned to my bestie that I have always been a fan of Aretha. She was the reason I took piano lessons when I was a child. I wanted to play and sing at the piano just like Aretha. As we waited some of the audience called out her name. Even my bestie was a bit anxious, commenting that she had seen “Daughtry”, “Blood, Sweat and Tears”, “Ra Kim” and “Tina Turner" perform at the PAC and each started on time. I responded that none of them could hold a candle to Aretha, well maybe Tina can, but we should count ourselves lucky to be waiting on the Queen! Yes, I’ll wait. I was glad to wait; at least I wasn’t sitting up in my room (the old Brandy song from the movie, “Waiting to Exhale”) I was sitting in the NJ PAC concert hall waiting on Aretha. I was a lucky girl and my bestie agreed.

About 7:20 pm the real introduction began. That booming voice announced “ladies and gentlemen…” and went on to state the awards Aretha had won, the accolades she had received and then from the corner of the curtain a silvery figure appeared, moving to the music while stepping out onto the stage, finally Aretha, the Queen of Soul, was in our presence! She looked good. She sounded even better. Her voice is strong and true, riffing and lilting and booming where necessary. The orchestra was unbelievable. It was real music and a real performer on a Saturday night. In the very beginning the sound wasn’t that great, something was off. Aretha noticed it too and asked her conductor to move one of the speakers in front of her - "up and to the left". He did and then he went to move another one and she said, “No that’s ok.” Then she sang again and it was all better! I’m sure we all appreciated her attention to detail.

She wore a long silvery gown, sleeveless, and 2 or 3 inch silver heels. Our seats were second floor balcony, to the right of the stage and Aretha was maybe 150 feet away. We could see her entering and exiting the stage.  They were excellent seats, except for the slide show presentation of Whitney Houston photos shown when Aretha took a seat at the piano and played a tribute to Whitney.  She sang Whitney’s hit from the movie, The Body Guard, “I Will Always Love You” written by another favorite of mine, Dolly Parton. We ran from our seats over to the left of the balcony, hopping over the hand rail hoping to get a better view of the slide show. The folks sitting there were very gracious and waved their hands to come on over and get a better view. The audience was full of Aretha lovers, we were all family.

Aretha sang many songs, including “Call Me the Moment You Get There”, “Hey Baby Let’s Get Away”, and “A Natural Woman”. And Aretha told a joke, about a couple that had a bad dog.  It always found its way back home after the owners had tried to lose it by driving and leaving it out of town. It was a funny joke! I felt as if Aretha was telling just me that joke.

Oh, and we got to sing “Happy Birthday” to Aretha! She is 71 if you read the recent Record article about her visit here. The orchestra played a few chords of “Happy Birthday” and a man from the audience gave her a bouquet of yellow flowers and her conductor presented her with a huge bunch of flowers. The announcer told us she was here in New Jersey during her birthday and the orchestra played both the standard “Happy Birthday” and Stevie Wonder’s “Happy Birthday to Ya”. We sang both. That was fun!

She left the stage three times and she never made a wardrobe change. The first time was a short intermission. The second time was the beginning of her final exit; she went behind the curtain where there were a few people, men I saw, waiting with drinks, a towel and a shawl to put around her shoulders. At this time she chose to take her shoes off to come back on stage and sing some more. Her final song was “Respect”. The crowd sang along and she encouraged it. Finally, Aretha said goodbye. I thought if we clapped long enough she might come back again but then the backup singers got up to go and I knew it was over. Aretha was done. It was 9:00 pm and while we thought that it was a bit early to stop I knew we had been sitting down while Aretha had been standing, for the most part, singing and performing. It was time to stop; I mean she is in her 70’s! I don’t think there are many 70+ year olds that can do what she does for an hour and a half or many 50 year olds either. Wink, wink.

Afterwards my friend and I took a seat at the PAC’s bar, “nico”, and drank pinot grigio and ate margarita pizza. We ended the night a little toasty, which is a good way to end a night out on the town spent with your bestie and the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin.  (BFF’s husband was our designated driver, whew!)

          
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     "Thank you, my daughter,  for this 'fun' post."