WHAT IS THIS ALL ABOUT?

WHO CARES, WE ALL BUSY......Exposing truths (nice and not so nice) about yourself leaves you vulnerable. I think sometimes on social media we only share all the good stuff - smiles, cackles, smiggles - and provoke debates with each other -religion, race relations, politics - etc. I'm always seeking the context between the two. So I'm going to go there and share with you some recent and older truths about me; things I think I found out about the world and my little space in it. I'm calling this 10 Days of Aznola. (Get it?) I hope you like it. ......

10 DAYS of AZNOLA - No. 2 - Mama is Sick

Mama is sick and in Brandon (Florida) Regional Hospital. My sister, Hope, is great about taking charge, helping mobilize the network and getting the direct info from doctors on the case. You all know that feeling when they call and say your parents - or any of your people - are seriously ill. The family-life transition from being the youngins to the responsible ones is a trip. I read, listen or like other folks' posts when it's you sharing about things like this. Now it's me. I don't like it.

10 Days of Aznola - No. 1 : So You Think You Can Cook?

I got invited to present a meal at the Rockland County Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority Inc.'s annual Men Who Cook event this month.

I was really excited; I've never cooked for more than 25 people before and last year I was supposed to participate but an inadvertent car crash wrecked my entry on my way to the venue.

This year as she always is, Shelly was my biggest cheerleader and supporter.

SHELLY: "You should do it babe, they will love whatever you decide to make make."

She did buy me one of those official white chef jackets to look the part.

The Saturday of the event, I'm all in. Early rising to get to BJ's (think WalMart/Sams Club or grocery supermart) getting the meat, veggies, seasonings, napkins, Bunsen burners etc.

After two hours of cooking and prep time - our kitchen looked like a hurricane had hit - Shelly was totally hyping me up...she'd ironed my white coat ....."YOU ARE GONNA WIN THIS THING BABE!"

We drive there, unload, set -up at the venue......and I start looking around at the hungry horde and the other 50 other MEN WHO COOK, with their aprons, big white hats etc.

I made what I thought would be different: the PF Chang's Chicken Lettuce Wraps.

They - mostly members of other fraternities (Omega Psi Phi, Kappa Alpha Psi, Phi Beta Sigma - had macaroni and cheese, (four different people made that) fried fish, fried chicken wings and other traditional "Southern cooking".

Undeterred I set up my station and then it happened.

Nothing, no one, no tasters.

Folks were walking right by and going to the other cooks' stations.; looking at me, glancing at my food. I stood there smiling.

"Would you like to try the chicken lettuce wraps?"

I was met with "No"s" and silent walk-on-bys to the catfish and mac/cheese guys.

The heckling started from the other Men Who Cook. " What's wrong over there Alpha man?" .......( I was one of two members of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity Inc. participating).

Shelly came to my station and took a plate and then she did her best Don King to rally to people to my table...."It's healthy" It's really good" You should try it'.

Not one of the 150+ people there took a plate. I stood there, all up in my feelings for another 20 minutes, while the party was popping all around my station.

Then two little girls came over. 'What's in this dish sir?"

I explained and bid them on all the tasty deliciousness that awaited them.

"I'll take one," she said.

I made her a serving......

Don't you know that little girl went back, told other people how good it was, and then voted for me at then end.

She came back and asked me if I knew a man by the name of St. Louis.

"Yes I do," I said. "Les St. Louis he's a good friend of mine and my fraternity brother."

LITTLE GIRL: "He's my father."

I didn't win the competition despite the wave of tasters that came over after Les' daughter's endorsement and subsequent sending people to my station.

But I felt the biggest sense of affirmation all due to the kindness of one eight-year-old child.

Photos by Shelly.

ABOUT THE TEN DAYS ON AZNOLA
Exposing truths (nice and not so nice) about yourself leaves you vulnerable. I think sometimes on FB we only share all the good stuff - smiles, cackles, smiggles - and provoke debates with each other -religion, race relations, politics - etc. I'm always seeking the context between the two. So I'm going to go there and share with you some recent and older truths about me; things I think I found out about the world and my little space in it. I'm calling this 10 Days of Aznola. (Get it?) I hope you like it. ......

Do I make you nervous?

The afternoon of the 28^th, I found myself trying to get home via the bus lines from The Outlets at Bergen Town Center in Paramus, N.J. (I normally ride NJ Transit trains but due to weekend track work through mid August on the Pascack Valley Line, there were no trains running. Thus I was forced to ride bus lines of which I was not familiar.)

I left the mall, I came to the bus stop area and looked for a posted schedule of times and bus lines. There was none. I looked for the text number/mobile update sign and there was none posted there either. About 3:25 p.m., a bus pulled up (Bus No. 7583, NJ License Plate OXZ7010) and parked about 30 feet from the covered shelter. I got up and walked over to the bus of which the driver was still sitting but the doors were closed.

I knocked on the closed doors and said “excuse me.”

The driver was filling out a white envelope with the NJ Transit logo on it. She never looked up or even acknowledged me. I said “excuse me” again and told the driver that I just had a quick question about the bus and its destination stops etc. This time she waved her hand at me dismissively and still never opened the door nor even looked at me.

I thought maybe she was motioning me to go look at a schedule somewhere. I walked away, looked around the shelter again and still saw nothing. I walked back to the bus and knocked on the door glass again. I told the driver “there was no schedule posted anywhere and could she please just help me with one question”. She ignored me again, then got up out of her driver’s seat and walked to the back of the bus.

I then told her that I was going to file a complaint with the NJ Transit main office because of her attitude.

I pulled out my smart phone and snapped pictures of the side of the bus and the front of the bus to get the license and bus number. (The pictures are time dated 3:36 p.m.)

I then went back to the shelter and sat down. Another woman was waiting there and witnessed the entire incident. I explained to this woman how I was trying to ask the driver a question and was totally ignored. The woman told me that drivers on this route are often rude and shook her head.

At 3:47 p.m. another bus – that said OUT of SERVICE - pulled up (Bus Number 7856) and I knocked on the window and told the driver I had a question, he opened the door, listened to my question and then I told him what had just happened. He said that the first bus was probably the one I needed to board and that he was going out of service and to be sure to file a complaint against the first driver.

The first bus was still parked, had her sign off and door closed.

I left the bus waiting area and I walked over to the CVS pharmacy across the street to use the restroom and when I came back, the first bus had pulled up to the shelter, had turned her destination sign on (168 New York) and had let the one woman waiting, and several other passengers, on the bus.

I ran back across the street and came up to the bus and waited for her to open the door. I knocked again and she just sat there in her seat ignoring me. I sat back down in the shelter and was resigned for her to pull off and wait for the next bus. It’s now about 3:54 p.m.

At 3:57 p.m., two squad cars from the Paramus Police Department sped up to the scene and out jumped three officers. I then realized that she had called the police on me.

One of the went over to her driver’s side window and started talking to the driver as the other two stood about 10 yards away from me, just staring me down. I just sat and didn’t say anything.

About 4:05, Paramus Police Officer Dmitiriy Mazur (I believed he was the officer that was doing all the talking; the other officers' names were Anthony Mordaga and Michael Ditolla) approached me.

Mazur: "What's your name and where are you going?"

Me: "My name is Alonza Robertson and I'm trying to catch the bus to Chestnut Ridge N.Y."

Mazur: "What's going on here?"

Me: "I was trying to find out if this bus is the one I need to take to Hackensack or Oradell, that will allow me to catch another bus that goes to Westwood or the one that takes the Pasack Valley train route. All the trains are not running on the weekends because of track work. I'm not familar with these buses, or bus lines, and I just wanted to ask this driver a question about which direction she's going."

Mazur: "She's nervous and doesn't want you on the bus."

Me: " You got to be kidding me? Sir...I wasn't even sure if she was the right bus for me to catch. I knocked on her window to ask her but she didn't open the door and just waved me off. I knocked again and she just got up out of her seat, walked to the back of the bus and ignored me."

Mazur: "She doesn't understand why you are taking pictures?"

Me: "Sir, I told her through the door that I was going to file a complaint with N.J. Transit because of how rude she was to me and I'd told her I just wanted to ask a quick question. I took two pictures, one of the front of the bus to get the bus number and license plate number and the other one of her standing in the middle of the bus ignoring me after I knocked on the closed doors."

He walked away, went back over to the driver and then came back again about two minutes later with a bus schedule in his hand.

Mazur: "You can't get on this bus, You can get on the next bus. We don't want to make a record of you."

Me: "Why would you make a record of me?" I haven't done anything wrong."

Mazur: "She's nervous of you."

Me: "She's on the bus, with the doors locked. Why didn't she just drive off then instead of calling the police?"

Mazur: "You can't get on the bus."

Me: "With all that's going on in the national news now, she's nervous of me, why? She won't even acknowledge me. When I had walked away for a few minutes to find a bathroom, she let everybody else she let on the bus before I walked back over her. And she still wouldn't open the door. What would any reasonable person deduce from that? You and I both know the real reason she's nervous and she called the police. It's because I'm black and I was going to complain about her.

Mazur: "It's not that, it's not that."

Me: "Then what other reasonable reason could it be?"

None of the officers said anything. One just looked down at the ground. Mazur handed me the schedule.

Mazur: "You can't get on the bus."

And then they turned around, got in their cars and drove off. The bus, and all the other passengers, pulled off. And I was left sitting there, in the 85-degree heat, feeling painfully disenfranchised.

It is my contention that the driver let the other people on and then stayed at the bus stop and called the police because she wanted to cover herself, and try to get me (a scary black man?) in trouble or at least humiliate me by placing her 911 call.

The police did investigate and concluded I had done nothing wrong – I was not warned, cited nor arrested (Paramus Police Department Incident #1-2013-029908). BUT, I still wasn’t going to be allowed on the bus. They were enforcing her subjectivity too. I asked them why and they said because I make her “nervous.”

If I had been anyone else of any other race, the police would have let me board the bus after they determined the 911 dispute was really about a driver looking to retaliate against me because I intended to file a complaint. They didn’t allow me to ride, even in the back of the bus.

The end story is the bus drove away, I was made a spectacle of and I had to wait another hour for another bus, then missed a connection to my house and ended up waiting in the rain for another hour in Hackensack and just gave up and spent $45 for a cab home to Chestnut Ridge, N.Y.

I visited the NJ Transit website and their slogan says there mission is to provide safe, reliable and convenient service. I didn’t get any of that on July 28.  They also say that “NJ TRANSIT is committed to ensuring that no person isexcluded from participation in or denied the benefits of its services on the basis of race, color or national origin, as provided by Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964."

I was denied that public accommodation.

Others were allowed on the bus, but I was denied because I told her that I was planned to file a complaint. Thus her act - of refusing to answer my question, intentionally denying me entry on the bus and calling the police and making a false claim against me - was in retaliation. That is against the law too.

Afraid of that Book Cover?

I penguin shuffled out of Theater No. 4 at the Angelika Film Center Friday night, my eyes focused on no particular spot on the carpet as the exit line moved in hushed tones. A bow-tied usher, propped up near the concessions, peered at the faces of those who’d just seen “Fruitvale Station.”

 “It looks like that was a serious movie, “he dutifully announced.

I ignored him and kept walking, wrestling with my own emotions and shaking my head. Almost reaching the up escalators, I stopped and turned my face away from the crowd lining up for the next showing. My eyes welled up and I wept.

“Fruitvale Station” is one movie you are going to hear a lot about because it is a movie you will see and then feel a lot about.

It’s an unspoken fact of life that all humans are pre-programmed to make snap judgments  - sizing people up, profiling each other  - based on class: where you live, how you dress, the manner of your speech, the type of work you do, the type of car you drive; gender: if you pee standing up or sitting down;  orientation; who you prefer to spend your private time with; age: how wrinkled is your skin or how gray is your hair; and from what neighborhood, race, or religion do you come?

All people do it. Some people more than others. Others do it and allow it to influence their behavior; some suppress it and try to give unfamiliar individuals the opportunity to be just that: a unique individual.

In Ryan Coogler’s controversial true story about Oakland resident Oscar Grant, we accompany him on a cinematic reenactment of the last 24 hours of Grant’s life. We make no snap judgments but complex and layered ones; we learn he is a doting father, a son, a grandson, a nephew, a friend to friends, strangers and animals. He also has been to prison, has sold and smoked marijuana, and he has unresolved and gnawing angst about how to make his family’s future more stable.  He’s struggling to not be pushed any closer to the edge.

And just like how Spike Lee portrayed Brooklyn in “Do the Right Thing”, and how Albert Hughes portrayed South Central LA in “Menace II Society”, Coogler grittily captures the stores, the music, the streets of East Oakland and the omnipotent BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train that sleekly rumbles across The Town, that’s what locals call Oakland, a reference to Oaktown.

Oakland is seven miles east of San Francisco (The City) via the Bay Bridge or a quick ride through the underwater train bubble on BART.  This part of Northern California is called God’s Country because of the beautiful scenery, no humidity summers,  the mountains, hills, oceans, bays, the Redwood trees, vineyards etc. one of the most beautiful places on Earth.  I feel in love with this area when I first visited in the summer of 1989 and later lived there three different times since college.

Many know that Oakland, it’s hills, and nearby coast towns of Alameda, Berkeley, San Leandro , Richmond and Hayward all have better weather and  views than much of San Francisco, which is often cold and foggy. But people stay away. They don’t visit Oakland much because they are afraid of its reputation for gangs, gun violence and “scary’ black people. 

But I grew fond of the East Bay. I lived near Lake Merritt in Oakland not far from the real Fruitvale Station in the racially-diverse Fruitvale part of town. I enjoyed the ‘healthy” food, the festive people; the fun of being in cool California; the dread of earthquakes and forest fires but the joy of living and appreciating the environment.

Every Sunday morning (10 a.m. is kickoff time on the West Coast) for years, I watched the NFL games at the Golden Bear sports bar with guys just like Oscar Grant. I’ve laughed and cussed the screens and even bet against “him and Da Raiders” when my Tampa Bay Bucs faced them in Super Bowl XXXVII. I helped coached a Pee Wee football team of 25 black, Latin and Asian boys who all resembled Oscar – and his environment -  when he was probably 11 or 12 years old. I cheered their successes and helped try to mentor when their mothers got overwhelmed.

But I also was constantly aware of Oakland’s underlying gun violence problem that seemed to crash in - sometimes randomly, sometimes not - at any time, at any place:  political assassinations of news reporters on downtown sidewalks, corner street store owners blasting disrespectful customers or even police officers killing innocent unarmed people, like what the BART police did to Oscar Grant.

I was not emotional Friday night because of how the movie “Fruitvale Station” ended; I felt it because I intimately knew the place the film depicted and I felt I personally knew that young man. He had promise, he had hope, his life had value.

And I know a lot more of them; they look like my nephews Michael in Orlando, Chris and Ben in Morristown; and my friends’ teenage boys in Dallas, D.C. and Atlanta;  and the other hundreds of young men I see every day on the streets of the Bronx, Harlem, Brooklyn and Queens.

Or like the one in a hoodie we all learned about last year who died in Sanford, Florida: Trayvon Martin. As that murder trial jury now continues to deliberate George Zimmerman’s fate, the comment pages and posts on social media sites are spewing with venom: “that boy was TRASH” “Zimmerass is a punk loser”, “Trayvon deserved it” etc. etc.

There were plenty of observers, pundits and other “keyboard cowboys” that said all the same things in 2009 about Oscar Grant when he was killed and about the officer that pulled the trigger. (I ask you to closely watch the one scene of humanity and dignity between the two of them at the end of the Fruitvale movie; once both realized the preciousness of life.)  

In the Grant incident, a city’s consciousness was outraged. One man died and one man did go to jail for 11 months. But what did we learn from that? What has really changed about handguns, police tactics with unarmed people, with how we value life, or how we profile each other?

I was reminded then, and now with the Martin incident, that you can’t always judge – or be afraid of - a book by its cover.  That little saying is known and said by all of us. What’s sad though is too many people still don’t even bother to open the book and look at any of the pages.

###

Drugs are a white elephant, after MJ what have we learned?

Drugs as the white elephant

Three years after Micheal Jackson’s death, what have we learned?

 BY JAMES L. WALKER, JR

ATLANTA – This week marks the third anniversary of the death of the King of Pop, Michael Jackson.

On June 25, 2009, the legendary entertainer was found unconscious at his home and rushed to a hospital where he later died from an overdose of propofol.

While Jackson’s personal physician now serves prison time for involuntary manslaughter for his role in putting the singer to sleep and then death, much of the music and entertainment industry remains asleep, or sedated, to its incessant and problematic drug problem. For many, many years now , the early- grave conveyor belt streams through some of the best and brightest artists. 

It’s time to wake up.

  

Michael Jackson was a drug addict.  Whitney Houston was a drug addict. 

And, so was Amy Winehouse, Heath Ledger, Gerald LeVert,  Donyale Luna, Brenda Fassie,  Old Dirty Bastard,  Pimp C,  Phyllis Hyman,  David Ruffin, Ike Turner, Rob Pilatus of Milli Vanilli , Elvis Pressley, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix Curt Cobain and countless others. 

Watch more: Celebrities that have died from drug abuse 

But that’s those who’ve died. Good luck assembling the list of the addicts still drinking and drugging their way through their fame today. I’m sure you know some of the names. (Lindsay, Britney, Soulja Boy, Charlie Sheen and others who are so often admitted to the hospital for exhaustion and dehydration?)

Three years ago, I thought Michael Jackson’s death would be used as a world- wide teaching moment about the dangers of  legal and illicit drugs. I wrote and spoke on the topic extensively, as did others. But that moment was obviously fleeting.

Rather than effecting a change to the continued veneration of clinically dependent individuals, the clarion call became a familiar but obviously broken record. New title but same tune only sung about a different drug and a different life gone too soon.

Like Jackson, Houston was a megastar. 

While certain facets of her story – and death from a cocaine and prescription drug overdose and subsequent bathtub drowning - were markedly different from that of Jackson’s, the world had a seemingly front row seat to her gravely familiar narrative: “music artist bigger than life, grapples with drugs for years and eventually looses the battle and his or her life;  another beautiful talent turned ugly because of the tempting appeal of crack cocaine, heroine, ecstasy, marijuana, alcohol, prescription and synthetics drugs.

Unfortunately, if you audited any of the  mega-celebrity responses to Houston’s death, and many of the others, it’s seems that they too are in denial or are very good liars because they all express and echo a collective  “shock.”

Shock?!?!?  For real?

Should the inevitable end not reign obvious at this juncture?  Other responses expressed deep regret, sorrow and empathy for the deceased.  The one thing you never hear is outrage.

Not one artist ever calls for a revolution of realism, an acceptance  about the underlying evil that should first be acknowledged and then confronted. 

It appears the answer to the question of “where are we as a music community after Whitney Houston’s death?” is the same as the answer to the question of “where are we as a music community after the third anniversary of  Michael Jackson’s death? Answer: The same dead-end place!!! 

While a general tone of cynicism may appears to suffuse this commentary, I want to be clear of one undeniable fact. 

There is a “silent consciousness” within the entertainment industry.

But, it is not limited to just drug related deaths in the music industry.

Someone, somewhere, on the night of Houston’s death, held another dying person close and begged that friend to seek help.  They refused the help and died with traces of drugs in their system like Houston and Jackson.

Perhaps another started with the “Man in the Mirror” and packed a bag to check into rehab. 

Either way, as we celebrate Michael Jackson’s music throughout the week, I hope when the music stops, we will wake up and have a real confrontation with this huge white elephant of an issue.

James L. Walker, Jr. is based in Atlanta, Georgia.  He is the author of This Business of Urban Music. A professor and entertainment lawyer, he can be found at www.jameslwalkeresq.com

R&B star Stacy Lattisaw Reflects on Michael Jackson

Three years after the King of Pop Michael Jackson died June 25th of an accidental overdose, former teen singing superstar Stacy Lattisaw – best known for several 1980’s hits including "Jump to the Beat" and "Let Me Be Your Angel," and who once toured and opened for the Jacksons mega successful Triumph Tour in 1981 - reflects back on the man she knew.

Ms. Lattisaw is now married (Mrs. Jackson now to be correct) and the mother of two teenagers and lives in Fort Washington, Maryland. She took this weekend to speak to entertainment lawyer James Walker and myself. Read more below.

“Michael Jackson was the most kind and the most humble person I ever encountered in the entertainment industry,” said Lattisaw, whose own career began in 1979 at age 12 and extended through 1992 with several Top 40 R&B hits.

 Click here:  Stacy Lattisaw performing on Soul Train with Johnny Gill


“And that’s one of the most important things I learned from him,” she says.

”At the tender age of 14 I had the opportunity to open for The Jackson's "Victory" tour in 1981. I remember that as if it were yesterday, I was outside playing kickball with my friends and my Mom came outside and said "Stacy, we just got a phone call from the Jackson's management company requesting you to open for them."

“Not realizing that this was a opportunity of a lifetime, I immediately began to think, if I accepted the offer, I would be away from home, my family, and friends for 13 weeks on a 38-city tour. My mom set my mind at ease and convinced me to partake in this once in a lifetime experience!”

The tour began July 9^th in Memphis and Stacy’s brother accompanied her on the road. She remembers being in awe of the 23-year Michael, who was already a megastar – as this was just before the release of his classic Off The Wall album – one whose electrifying aura had tens of young fans collapsing in excitement every show.

Watch a clip from the Los Angeles show here: Triumph Tour 1981

“He was a perfectionist and was very diligent.  He would practice for hours and hours. He was very dedicated to what he did, but I also remember he was very quiet and reserved. But when he hit the stage, it was like all of a sudden a magic from somewhere just came and the crowd went wild and thunderous. I saw him give all he had every show, he’d be exhausted.

"And after each show, my brother Jerry and I would go sit, talk, and take pictures with Michael for a few short minutes. Just to be in his presence was amazing. And while being around him, I learned the importance of humility. His success never changed him. I learned the importance of being a giver. A lot of people don’t know this, but Michael donated all of his earnings, his money, from the Victory tour to different charities.

“l also learned the importance of surrounding yourself with people who have your best interest at heart. Because Michael was such a giver, there were some who took advantage of his kindness.” 

“Those were some of the most precious moments that I will never forget,” she said.

After Lattisaw retired from the music business in 1992 to become a wife and doting mother to two children, she and Jackson did not stay touch. She, like millions of others worldwide, learned of his sudden death June 25, 2009 while watching television.

“I was devastated when I heard the news,” she said recalling the moment and how she began to cry. “It broke my heart.

“In some ways I wish that maybe I could have spent some time with him and maybe we could have prayed together. While I never reached the level of his success, I could totally relate to him, I’d had a taste of what he’d gone through, not having had a childhood and growing up in the harsh light of stardom at a very young age.

“Most people only see the glamour and glitz of fame, but there are so many unseen things I dealt with and sacrificed,” Lattisaw says about fame. “Michael indeed was a superstar and what people should learn is that no one will ever know what it was like to walk in his shoes because when you reach that level of stardom, your life becomes an open book.

“I think people had put so much pressure on him, that it probably became too much for him to handle. All he wanted was to rest and sleep.”

Jackson died from an accidental overdose of propofol administered by his personal physician Dr. Conrad Murray, who is now serving four years in prison for involuntary manslaughter.

“I am very humbled and honored to have met Michael and tour with the Jacksons and in my opinion, there will never be another Michael Jackson. He was the greatest entertainer of all-time.”

Stacy Lattisaw Jackson lives in Fort Washington, Maryland and now operates a women’s ministry called Believers Building Bridges. Learn more at stacylattisaw.net