No More Midnight Toker

Although my days of toking and boozing are long over I am fascinated by this whole legal Recreational Cannabis industry. On our recon patrols for the perfect RV site for the Summer we see the retail shops, the billboards and pamphlets in the tourist racks at truck stops. Hell, in one truck stop there was a Starbucks, Cinnabun, Subway and then right there in plain sight you have the Sweetleaf  cannabis shop with neon signs and daily specials on a board hanging over the counter. The aroma of the fresh herb is thick in the air.

Now, don’t get me wrong I’m no prude and I’ve done plenty of my share, but I came from a time when it wasn’t legal, in fact it was so dangerous that I have had clients who served hard time for an ounce of weed. Recently, before leaving Nashville for the Northwest I understand that the Nashville Council reduced penalties to the sons and daughters of white families, and they think that in the next ten years they will extend that same courtesy to blacks.

I don’t know if I could even tell you of my experiences in the legal/penal systems of the South. Think about it, an 18 year-old from some shithole town in North East Arkansas, not much education and no worldly experience, pulls a five year stretch in the ADC at Tucker Farm for having a half ounce bag of pot. My experiences were frightening and often other worldly. That’s the world that I grew up in so this industry is such a jolt.

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The next few years will be interesting if we get this Trump AG Jeff Sessions from Alabama where one could get a life term for possession. Jeff Boy says that this industry is going to be shut down because, “…good people don’t smoke that stuff.”

A Lost Friend And A Sick Hickory Tree

As I ponder the problems with the Hickory tree directly outside my writing room window my mind wanders back to things I have read about trees. Hermann Hesse called trees “the most penetrating of preachers.” Virginia Woolf reminded me that three centuries earlier, a forgotten English gardener asserted that trees “speak to the mind, and tell us many things, and teach us many good lessons.”

While all of the other trees surrounding our house are vibrant and green, thick with leaves, this 75’ triple Hickory seems thin for leaves and during a storm the other day it dropped many, covering the roof and front yard. Thinking it might need water I ran a hose from the rain barrel to the base of the tree and emptied 225 liters of water. I’m concerned.

I learned from an experienced forester that if a tree near your house troubles you it might be a good idea to take it down. I used to reach out for guidance in these matters to my friend Glenn. He would come out set up a lawn chair and sit quietly with the tree for upwards of an hour. He would then walk around the tree taking samples of the dirt and put a sample into his mouth and hold it there for awhile before spitting it out. Following that he would put his hands on the tree and listen to it's message.

At that point he would know what to do. Maybe, it needed nutrition, had a parasite, a mold and one time he found that the tree had suffered a lightening strike. Glenn taught me how to fell a tree and I have done a good job on a number of occasions. Unfortunately my friend is no longer with us. I sat in the lawn chair, tasted the dirt and leaned against the tree. My gut tells me to feed it, water it watch it with loving care as Glenn would have done.

Police Killings And The Thin Blue Line

I read this morning about a police officer that was trying to shoot a family dog and because of fear, poor training, or whatever, shoots a 4-year-old girl. This incident is just another in an appalling list of police shootings, mostly, but not limited to, black males. There are those who support police and seek all sorts of justifications for these shootings, usually blaming the victim, but their inability to see the problem points to one of the real problems we, as a society, face if we are to ever find a solution to this institutionalized gun violence.

That said, I want to make it perfectly clear that I am not anti-police. I fully understand the role of law enforcement in our society. One of my great treasures is the service weapon and badge of my Grandfather’s older brother Bill who served as a St. Louis police officer for 44 years. I grew up being taught, and I taught my children, to interact with police officers in a polite and friendly manner. As a youth I learned the lesson of not doing so.

During the course of my life and during my career as a trial lawyer I also came to know the most brutal, corrupt and dangerous human beings alive who also carried a badge. Over the years I have made hundreds of thousands of dollars in attorneys fees from suing police officers that violated the Constitutional rights of citizens. Many of these officers were repeat offenders, and thus, repeat payers.

The Thin Blue Line is a major part of the problem. Good officers who just want to protect and serve the community get caught in between a rock and a hard spot when faced with a senseless killing that they witness. If they tell the truth and it negatively impacts another officer they are no longer able to stay in the game. They are ostracized from their police society. When given the choice between telling the truth and getting an incompetent copper off the street and bringing justice to an aggrieved family, they must choose between their careers and the truth. Under these circumstances everybody loses.

Aunt Sophia And The Popemobile

Growing up under the watchful eye of a living saint was not easy. Actually, at times it was more than this poor boy could stand. My Aunt Sophia, know to us as Soph, was truly a wonderful woman. Four of her sisters were Ursuline nuns, Mothers Matilda, Florence, Zita and for the life of me I can't remember the fourth one. (I tried to call my Mom but the Cardinal game is on TV and she won't answer the phone when the Redbirds are playing.) Her first qualification for Sainthood was that she stayed married to my Uncle Socks, and that feat alone would have earned her a box seat behind home plate in Pearly Gate Stadium. But there is plenty more on the path to Sainthood.

While her health permitted she made lap quilts for the elderly and inform. She raised the money, bought the goods and made the product, and then gave them away. When she could no longer sew she moved her business model to baking cookies, selling them and then she gave the money she made to one of several convents she was affiliated with to help the poor that the nuns served.

I could go on with Aunt Soph stories for pages, but suffice to say she was what she did and not what she said. This brings us to the Popemobile.

Pope John Paul was doing his US Tour some years back and the Tour ended in St. Louis. The Pope hopped in his jet and headed off to the Vatican and the job of making sure that the Popemobile (hereinafter the PM) was properly loaded in a container and returned to the Popegarage, fell to my sister Colleen who worked for an international freight forwarding company.

The task of driving the PM from the private airport to her warehouse to be packaged and shipped was gladly accepted by Colleen. On the way to be dropped off, she cruised by and picked up Aunt Soph and the two of them climbed in, buckled up and took to the streets of St. Louis in John Paul's modified Mercedes. Now keep in mind that the Pope's visit to St. Louis was a big thing and everyone, even Baptists and Lutherans were familiar with the PM.

At every stop sign and all along the route people got out of their cars and snapped pictures, waived and blew their horns. Aunt Soph, with a great smile, returned the waives and smiled for the photos. She talked about that day until she passed at 104. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

What Are Your Childhood Summertime Soundtracks?

A friend recently posited a question about our summertime memories from our youth, specifically the soundtrack we remember in our minds eye. My first thought was Johnny Mathis' slow tune "Chances Are" and dancing a slow dance with Kathleen Sullivan at the CYC dances.

The nuns, with wooden pointers, would be patrolling the dance floor looking to insure that there was light between the bodies of the dancers. Never one to be deterred by nuns and their classroom weapons, I took whatever opportunity I could get to grind. Those summers were innocent. Thank you Johnny, even today you are on my Pandora channel list.

The second quest my friend raised was, "...what is your sound track for this summer?" Now this one wasn't as easy to answer. I pondered it for several days. I easily went past songs that entertain me, like most Americans I like to be entertained, often too much. But this summer is much different, the middle class is disappearing, people are going hungry, in some European, as well as North American countries, people who can no longer feed their children are dropping them off at social service and religious facilities. No, this summer is different, way different, way less innocent.

And then it dawned on me, this summer's theme song, for me, is "The Ghost of Tom Joad", by Rage Against The Machine. This song covers this summer perfectly. Rock on, Comrades, up the Revolution, are you ready to die to protect your freedoms?

The Wrong Place At The Wrong Time

Having another birthday always makes me reflect on my past adventures. As I was pondering my past and gazing out the window of my home office I spied a large bobcat crossing the creek on a fallen sycamore tree. I watched as he effortlessly leaped the final six or so feet onto the far bank.

I was immediately transported back to Mississippi, circa 1967. I was making one of my regular beer runs, you see Oxford, home of the university was in a dry county, and the entrepreneur in me couldn't pass up the chance to fill the demand. Having had several cans of my cargo it became clear to me that I needed to make a pit stop.

I hadn't seen another driver on this back road route so I pulled off into a small unmarked field road and proceeded to prepare myself to bleed the lizard. Just as the flow started I looked down into the ditch and to my shock and dismay, I was faced with a female bobcat with several kittens having dinner.

I can still hear her hiss, and although she made no aggressive move, I somehow found myself standing on the hood of the car. I quickly zipped up and slowly backed out onto the road and resumed my illegal activity. Of all of the places I could have stopped that day, I picked the wrong place at the wrong time.

I've Been Away

I've been away. Well, not exactly away, but rather away from this blog. It's not that I don't have anything to say. I doubt that that will ever be a problem for me. My mother tells me, and anyone else who will listen, that I started talking before I started walking, and I haven't shut up since.


No, lately I've been traveling through life like a Choctaw. The old saying goes that the Choctaw travels through the woods with his eyes and ears open and the European travels Through the woods with his mouth open and his eyes and ears closed. I've sort of been keeping my eyes and ears open and keeping my opinions to myself.


I have been speaking for others by ghostwriting several business blogs, a lawyer, an entertainer and a high-end hairdresser. I somehow found my way back here, I don't know what I want to say, maybe just to say that. I intend to post here some in the future and share some random thoughts about this or that. SO, anyway, I'm back, and it feels good. Dog Out