Daily Blues & Views

 The Reader's Digest magazine used to have a feature called "My Most Unforgettable Character." Maybe it still does, but I haven't picked one up in years.  I don't think waiting rooms have them anymore.  I never considered writing a piece by that title because I always thought it was something best done in the later years of life.  Now that I've arrived at that distinction, here goes. His name was Bob DeWitt.  We first met at his place in Mariposa, California.  He had a ranch in those Yosemite foothills where he'd built a little barn theater he called the "Feedback Theater." Bob's connection to the outside world was through the Pacifica radio station KFCF in Fresno, Ca.  He'd heard some excerpts of a show that my friend Lenny Anderson and I were doing called "An Evening with Woody Guthrie" and invited us to do the program at his venue.  Apparently, local ranchers, folkies, and interested people from far and near often attended th...

 I just finished The Four Winds , a novel by Kristen Hannah.  My sister recommended the book to me because it's a dust bowl story, and she knows I've studied that period of history for many years and taught both history and English classes using materials, books, artifacts, and films of the period.  This novel is important because it is from a woman's perspective.  That's a criticism that Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath has long withstood.  Were I still in the classroom today, there's no doubt I would pair these two novels for a richer and more accurate picture of the people and issues that have been so poignantly been portrayed in this culture. Like the existing literature on the dust bowl, The Four Winds includes the bloody labor struggles of the period.  So many of the things we take for granted, like weekends, minimum wage, and paid vacations, came from those labor wars.  The author doesn't shy from the collusion between the big growers and the politic...

 I remember the day.  My colleague who taught right next door to me came over to see me a few minutes before the first afternoon class that day.  She'd been assisting some of the counselors with programing for next year so I wasn't too surprised with her request.   "Is it possible," she asked, "for me to pull out your students one at a time to check in with them about their programs for senior year?"  I had no problem with that.  It was a 90-minute block class and my American Lit students were finishing up an assignment, after which we'd share responses and discuss the play we were currently reading.  My only concern was that everyone is back in the room by the last 15-20 minutes of the period.  She assured me they would. So, that's what happened.  Students were called one at a time and they quietly exited and reentered the classroom until all 30 or so were finished.  Marilyn, my neighbor, popped her hear inside the door, thanked me...

 Portland is doing its best imitation of Death Valley today.  Another record falls today.  As I write today it's currently 108 on its way toward 112 or 113.  Just for curiosity's sake, I checked on Death Valley.  It's 120 the same temperature it was on the day I visited that marvel of a landscape about 40 years ago. While many in the Pacific Northwest are strangers to this kind of oppressive heat, I grew up in Southern California and recall days in July as a Little Leaguer when 3 digit temperatures threatened to cancel our games. They never did. Coming home to a cool shower and some cold watermelon were always waiting and made for a most relaxing end to the day. When I lived in Texas, the heat was laced with humidity.  Same for the time I spent in Louisiana.  I remember one Sunday morning in New Orleans when I was meeting some friends for brunch in one of those old Garden District homes converted into a restaurant.  It was only about a half-mile f...

 The past few years I've been thinking about memory more and more. What gets retained, and what does not? What drifts away and what finds its way back with a little help from our friends? Lately, too, I've been finding that not only does my memory play tricks on me from time to time, but some things that remain crystal clear in my mind are no-shows in the memories of close friends of mine.  Close friends who were right there with me at the time. Loss of memory with age is to be expected.  It comes with the territory.  But what I'm talking about here is the loss of various experiences that one would expect to be saved, if not permanent.  This may have to do with the emotions felt at the time.   In my introductory psychology classes, I often asked students to think about their first memories.  What is your earliest memory?  On occasion, there would be a handful of students who can't recall anything before the age of 5 or 6.  Conversely, th...

 We hit the road a couple of days ago.  The first driving marathon since before the pandemic.  I can still do a 12-hour stint, though I don't advise that for anyone.  But when the temps in the Central Vally are three digits and there is a good bed awaiting you in the next state over, nice to know it's still doable. From Portland to the California line is a beautiful stretch.  Still very green this time of year, but also showing the scars of last year's awful wildfires in parts.  Somewhere between Cottage Grove and Roseburg a melancholy song came on the radio.  It was Dinah Washington's version of "I Got It Bad and That Ain't Good." I was reminded of how smooth and distinct her voice was.  Katie asked if that was Billie Holiday and I said that while that was certainly a good guess, I thought it was Dinah Washington because there are subtle differences.  I wouldn't be surprised if Billie recorded a version of the same tune because it's definite...

  Ashgrove c2021 B. Greene The ash grove, how graceful, how plainly to speaking The harp through it playing has language for me; Whenever the light through its branches is breaking, A host of kind faces is gazing on me… -The Ashgrove Traditional Welsh Folk Song It’s often said if you can remember the 60s then you weren’t there.   I was there and I remember most everything.   The music, the sit-ins, the love-ins, and the marches are all vivid in my mind.   The political assinations, the incense, the hair length, and the Black Panther Party were all part of my higher education.   The bell-bottoms, the Army surplus store shirt selection, the Indian moccasins, and Wellington boots were all in my closet.   Dylan and Donovan, and Baez albums huddled around a portable record player with Albert King and a blues anthology or two.   I spent most of the late 60s days on the UCLA campus.   Working part time in the research libr...