I believe our friends become like our family at some point; that is, if they stick around long enough to get tagged with the moniker of "family." I have a few long-term friends who are the sisters I never was blessed with having. Some would say I was lucky because I missed having to share my clothes, toys and secrets with someone who could get me in trouble by snitching on me. While a sister might snitch, a true friend has lips so tight nothing can pry them opened. My sisters from another mister or two/partners in crime are Lynne, Margie, Lisa, Theresa, Carol, Joyce and Linda.We meet many people throughout our lives and some of those people have a profound effect upon our lives and destiny. Some people enter and remain with us always while others enter and exit remaining just long enough to alter the path upon which we walk. Although Lynne faded from my life for a period of time, the footsteps she left has remained with me always. I'm truly grateful to Lynne because she entered my life at a point when I needed to be saved...mostly from myself because I was hell-bent on burning the candle at both ends. My demons had led me down a narrow path of darkened, self-destruction and then I met my savior, Lynne. There are many who would disagree with me by saying Lynne fed my demons, but those people didn't see how I teetered on the edge before she came into the picture. They didn't see how Lynne saved my life by befriending me, by extending her hand to pull me away from the edge, by giving me an alternative to my misery. They didn't see my pain, but she did. She may have never totally understood it, but she saw it and was there for me.
To say I was in awe of Lynne is a severe understatement…everyone was in awe of her! She was the quintessential woman every young teenage girl dreamed of being. I remember the first time I ever saw her. When I opened the kitchen door returning home from gadding about and walked inside my house, I heard voices coming from my brother, Brian's work out room. Ever since he had come back from Vietnam with the title of Heavyweight Champion of the 7th Fleet, he seemed obsessed with the three B’s: boxing, body building and babes. My middle older brother was Mr. Body Beautiful of Bangor, Maine (a fictitious title I gave him.) Needless to say, he spent a lot of time pumping iron so he’d have a perfect physique. And oh, how he loved the females to admire him and yes, admire him, they did! I opened the door and poked my head inside to let him know I was home and also to be a little nosy. I wanted to see what female he had back there trying to impress with his biceps and other things!
When I opened the door, standing in front of me was a vision of everything I thought I wanted to be. She was a tall, dark-haired beauty with beautiful brown eyes. (Maybe Bob Seger wrote his song Night Moves about Lynne or someone like her.) Her body was perfectly shaped and she stood confident in her hip-hugger bell-bottoms and a shirt unbuttoned just enough to show some tantalizing cleavage. Her blue chambray shirt was tied in a knot around her midriff to show off her abs. No fucking way! Did she work out also? Later, I found out she was a go-go dancer at some local nightclub and that’s how she met my brother.
She smiled at me as she eyed me up and down. I guess I passed inspection or maybe I failed because she immediately took me under her wing. I thought it was only because she was dating my brother, but opportunities like that don’t come often, so I just played it cool and went along for the ride. Whatever the reason she had for befriending me didn’t matter to me. I was just a kid, but the road I walked on with Lynne gave me an education I’ll never forget.
Shortly after meeting Lynne, my brother told her to NEVER give me any drugs. NOT EVER!!! At 14, I was already experimenting with most illegal substances, but the availability seemed to widen immensely as soon as she came into my life. Although she never gave me any hard drugs and didn't do any herself in my presence, being in her inner circle gave me the contacts to get anything I wanted. She and I would occasionally smoke a joint together, but that was more a social thing to do than it was to get high. Smoking dope for me was never really any big deal…it was just something everyone did. Adults had their cocktails as a social lubricant and the younger generation smoked weed. From where I stood, everyone appeared to get lubricated somehow!
When my brother and Lynne broke up, we continued being friends. In fact, by that time we spent most of our time together. I was blinded by Lynne’s aura, but I doubt if I had seen my role in the grand scheme of things it would have changed anything I did. I saw Lynne as my ticket out of Bangor, Maine and so when she suggested leaving, I jumped at the chance. She was older than me and was street savvy. I felt safe with her and as long as I was with her everything seemed to flow in what appeared to be a positive direction.
Lynne and I developed a strange relationship on the streets after we left Bangor. I could do as I pleased without any questions asked, but she always insisted on knowing where I was. I complied with her request because she took care of me and for that I was grateful. The streets of Boston became my new playground and Lynne became my guardian angel and surrogate mother. I watched how Lynne operated and she did whatever she needed to do with the grace of a cat to support us, but I was on a need-to-know basis so many things just weren't discussed. I complied by not asking too many questions.
Eventually, I started doing stuff intentionally to piss her off because after all I was a snotty teenager. You know how teenagers can be! I pushed her buttons often, but she rarely got angry at me. I certainly deserved a swift kick in the ass, but she never gave me one. One evening while she was "out," I got into a poker game with a group of guys who lived in the same building as us. They liked to party and so did I. When I foolishly lost all my money, I got cocky and used Lynne as a bet. When I lost, I immediately had an “Oh shit!” moment. I couldn’t believe I had done that! I really caught hell on that one, but I deserved it. Lynne graciously paid off my bet and made the winner a very happy man. I never played poker with that group again but was frequently asked to do so. Go figure!
It was a fast crowd and although I was readily accepted into it, there was an unspoken rule that no one was to mess with me in any way. I was COMPLETELY OFF LIMITS! I simply became the one who everyone liked to laugh with, hang out with and get high with. And Lynne was the one they all lusted after. I accepted my role and knew my place. I never tried to actively change it because I knew what I would be going up against. But the day did come when I was noticed first and Lynne was virtually invisible. That day immediately changed everything and my path was permanently altered once again.
I look back on my time with Lynne in those early days with many emotions. It's hard to believe she's gone now. Her Golden Years were filled with some major health problems that eventually led to hospice care and ultimately, her death. The waves of grief that consume me come at odd times and luckily most of them are when I'm by myself so as the flood gates open, I don't have to explain why I'm crying.
In my absence, I've had surgery and almost 6 months of physical therapy. While I do have use of my left arm once again, it's still weak and has a ways to go before I'll consider it up to my standards. The depressing thing is that I'm facing the same surgery for my right arm and shoulder, but until it gets to the point where I simply can't use it, I'm going to hold off on having more surgery right now.
Yesterday, I started tackling my sorely neglected yard. My yard man only cuts the grass. Everything else in the yard got put on the back burner until I could get to it. Saying that my flower beds were a mess is not an adequate description of the sorry state they were in when I started cleaning out the weeds yesterday that had over taken the beds. This time of year I always fight the same weed called Devil beggarticks. OMG! If you aren't familiar with this highly invasive weed, let me tell you that if you own dogs and have beggarticks are in your yard, your dogs will come inside the house coated with fine black needle-like seeds that cling to their fur. This time of year I always just about lose what little mind I have left pulling the damn stickers out of my dogs' fur every time they go outside.
So yesterday I spent all day (6am til about 5pm) outside pulling up three foot plus "devil" weeds by the roots in hopes that I can eliminate them before they go to seed. I pulled and pulled and then when I had my first pile stacked I started burning them. While I burned all the debris I had gathered yesterday and tended the fire, I snapped some pics of the smoke while it swirled and danced in the breeze.
I know if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's supposed to be a duck, but I've spent my entire life on the back side of the closet door because... well hell, I guess I did it because being an atheist isn't a popular thing to be and I always seem to go against the flow challenging anything in my way or that smells like bullshit. There I said it! I've finally came out of the closet. I'm a heathen through and through!
If I were a Christian, I'd really be pissed off at God. I mean, here sits this omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent perfectly benevolent being doing what? Definitely not being all-powerful, all-knowing and all present! Oh yeah! That's right! We, the imperfect sinners were given free will so we can royally screw things up. I guess that's where faith is supposed to factor into the whole equation. Suffer now and get rewarded later? Be a good, faithful follower and the best one can hope for is to watch people around us suffer and die. Lead a good life and never know when it's all going to end or be taken away in some dreadful flash.
And the hereafter? I'm sorry, but I don't want to spend my eternity singing and playing harps with angels. I think this is where one might insert a puke face emoji! I don't want to reach a state of perfection when there's nothing more to strive for... I don't want to be reunited with people who irritated the crap out of me during my brief tenure on this earth. Nope, I prefer to believe I'll become part of the vast cosmos eventually.
The first law of thermodynamics states (here she goes getting all quantum and acting like she actually knows something) that energy can be changed from one form to another, but cannot be created nor destroyed. IF science has it right then my life force will simply transform into some other "energy" at the moment of my death. Perhaps it's like water becoming ice or steam depending on whether heat or cold is applied to it. It's still water, but in a different form. It looks different. It has different properties, but it's still just water. I'd rather believe that someday I may be particles of stardust floating throughout the universe and perhaps, if I'm lucky my particles will find their way to some newly forming planet or star. How groovy would that be? (Did she really use the word "groovy?)
Since I have free will, I choose not to buy into an ageless god who has sat back watching our world decline and has done nothing to intercede on its behalf. I don't want to believe in a creature who would allow horrible things to happen to good people. I detest any being who allows wars to be fought in his/her name and who shines a glorified light on the self-righteous who judge others and who claims their way is the only way to some afterlife paradise.
Nope! I just don't buy it. I'm a show me type of person and unless I see some grand stand miracle, I'm going to live out the rest of my life believing life is just life and nothing more. Bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people and sometimes good things happen to good people, but bad things don't happen often enough to bad people (I think that one needs to go in the suggestion box). Who ever said life is fair or just? Life is life! It's a short ride filled with many surprises...some good, some bad. And if I'm wrong, well, I'm sure I have many people praying for me and my willful ignorance. Maybe their God, will want to keep me around for awhile for a few giggles and grins!
Gratitude statement: I'm grateful the closet door is ALWAYS unlocked and easy to open!
From the time we're small children we're taught that growing old is something to be feared, dreaded and avoided at all costs. Just look at what advertising is geared towards! No wonder so may people go through severe upheavals as they reach middle age and start to show signs of wear and tear.
Vanity tells us that as our outer beauty fades we become less desirable in many ways. We see the fate of the elderly and know that someday we will sit where they are. As we furiously diet and exercise to stay fit, is our strife solely for health purposes or is it just a feeble attempt to hold onto our vanishing youth a little longer? Are the botox injections, breast implants or cosmetic surgery another step closer to the fountain of youth or something that society pressures us into considering as a desired partner in the aging process to help us through the mid-life vanity crisis?
Should we focus on the outer beauty and struggle to stay youthful or should we concentrate on the inner beauty and wisdom that comes with age? Shouldn’t we be able to know and feel good that within each of us is the same person we were years ago without feeling self-conscious that the physical part changes? I think I’ll stick with the philosophy "aging is inevitable, but growing old is optional…" That way I can just do whatever feels right for me regarding gray hair and wrinkles, but at 35, I have a few more years before I have to worry about my fading youth. I'm glad to see my sense of humor hasn't declined as my waistline has thickened and my hair has thinned and gotten white along with the myriad complexities of growing older.
This is yours truly at 67. My daughter took this photo of me being my normal goofy self at the Beyond Van Gogh, The Immersive Experience this past Saturday August 12, 2023. I look at it and still see the person I was many years ago and to me, that's a wonderful thing.
For the past 20+ years I've lived with chronic pain. Now, I'm faced with having a few new additional pains added to all my other "normal" ones. Several months ago I injured my left shoulder doing yardwork. When the injury happened I knew immediately that I had done something to it, but failed to get it examined until November which was several months after the injury. My rheumatalogist order X-rays of both shoulders and an MRI of my right shoulder. I didn't realize until I went to get the MRI done that the order for the MRI was for the wrong shoulder. The facility wouldn't call my doctor and get a verbal change to the order, so I just went ahead and had an MRI done on my right shoulder.
Shortly after that I got an appointment with my primary care doctor because getting back into see my rheumatologist on short notice isn't an easy feat to accomplish. My primary care ordered a MRI for my left shoulder which revealed a complete tear of my rotator cuff, bone spurs and something wrong with my biceps. After jumping through all the necessary red tape to get cleared for surgery, my surgery was finally scheduled for February 20th. The results of the MRI on my right shoulder revealed tears in my right shoulderas as well.
Yesterday, my surgeon's office called to tell me that my surgery has to be postoned until April 3rd. This delay is due to the biologic (Skyrizi) I take for Psoriatic Arthritis. According to my rheumatologist surgery can safely be done 13 weeks after my last shot. Needless, to say I'm bummed out that the surgery had to be postponed. I was actually looking forward to putting it in my rear view mirror so I could address the other shoulder.
Chronic pain can be one of the most difficult things to accept and learn to live with daily. It can be a constant reminder of our physical limitations, making it hard to stay motivated and keep up with our daily lives and relationships. Pain can also affect our mental and emotional health, creating a downward spiral of depression and exhaustion. Fortunately, there are strategies we can use to help us accept our physical limitations and learn to live with pain.
It's important to be aware of the signals your body is giving you and listen to them. I failed to do this initially when I first injured my shoulder. I tried to power through it hoping whatever was wrong would eventually heal and go away. It didn't! If you're feeling pain, don't try to push through it. Doing so can lead to further physical damage and more chronic pain. Instead, take a break and find out what is causing the pain. Pay attention to feelings of fatigue or low energy, as these can signal an underlying health condition or depression. Also, monitor your mood and be mindful of your reactions to stress or changes in your environment.
When listening to your body, pay attention to the little things that bring you happiness. Take time to relax, try something new, or just spend time with loved ones. These activities can bring joy into your life and give you energy. Achieving balance between your physical and emotional needs can help you better understand and accept your physical limitations. Connecting with yourself and your emotions will allow you to assess how different activities affect your energy levels and happiness. This may help you become more mindful of any potential triggers for depression or other mental health issues.
Additionally, staying active even if only for short periods of time will boost your energy levels and help keep depression at bay. Taking care of yourself in small ways each day such as going for a walk or reading a book can also contribute to overall happiness. Finally, seeking support from friends, family members, or healthcare professionals can make all the difference when trying to cope with physical limitations. Surrounding yourself with positive people who are understanding of your situation can help you stay motivated and supported during difficult times.
From early childhood to present day I've always been a cat lover. And over the course of my life, I’ve owned a variety of breeds. Since 1994 Himalayans have most graciously allowed me the privilege of living in the house with them and feeding them. I often told people they ate better than I did because the cat food they consumed is Science Diet @ more than $30 per bag. If you aren't familiar with the breed, Himalayans have Siamese markings called “points” and like Siamese cats, they're highly intelligent, have a melodious voice and beautiful blue eyes, but they unlike a Siamese cat their bodies and fur were of a Persian cat. Although a lot of Himalayans have a face that look smooshed, my cats didn't carry that extreme characteristic. A few characteristics I've always found to be fascinating with this breed is their love to pose and their need to act regal in all situations.
This breed is not overly active, but they do like to play and be involved in whatever activity I'm doing. For example during my computer time, I always had company nestled around me in various spots. Draped on the tower when I owned a desktop computer, positioned on the stool next to my desk, strategically positioned on top of the printer and on the back of the sofa positioned behind where I sat, they all found a spot to best “help” me type. Not only did they assist me at the computer, but they scrutinized all my activities and followed me from room to room. I had about a two minute window of time to return if I left before they'd seek me out where ever I was. If I went to the bathroom, they'd have to “bond” with me while I was in there. It was senseless for me to attempt having any privacy because they'd thump and cry at the door until I let them in. My bathroom time usually consists of grooming, petting and sweet talking them. Too much togetherness just wasn't a concept any of them seemed to grasp.
I first got involved with this breed in a breeder capacity. When my breeding days were over, I kept the mother and father along with two males from two different litters about a year apart from each other. My clan consisted of Dixie, a small tortie-point female, Beavis, a very large blue-point male and their two sons, Chewy, a large seal point male and Whitey (Dwight Cat), a beautiful flame point male who was a stereotypical "blonde" in every sense of the word.
Dixie was the resident schizophrenic who developed a strong dislike for her two sons who loved to aggravate her. When her space was invaded she lunged at the violator. The older she got the wider her personal space got. It was comical to watch the males walk way out around her to avoid getting snapped at and/or bitten. Her "husband", Beavis was the only one she tolerated and allowed near her and although she appears to have a dislike for all other cats, she was always very affectionate towards humans and loved to talk to everyone and tell them about the horrible males she had to live with. That sounds like a typical female to me!
Beavis was a gentle giant with the softest little voice I’ve ever heard, yet his purr sounded like a loud motor boat. Beavis didn't need to be petted to purr. Sometimes merely looking at him or talking to him would trigger it. One of the funniest things Beavis would do is growl like a dog when someone would knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He was definitely the Alpha male and at the very top of the pecking order in all feline matters. He had a very gentle, loving demeanor, but about once a month he kicked ass to make sure everyone knew who was the boss! What usually started out as him giving them a bath turned into a kitty wrestling match. As soon as they'd tap out and show submission all would go back to normal until next time. It was hilarious to watch 3 large tom cats give each other baths and no matter how old they got, Whitey remained the baby of the family and was treated as such by his entire family...humans included.
Chewy (named after Chewbacca from Star Wars) reminded me of an Ewok not a Wookie when he was a kitten. It didn't take him long to train me to his liking and he deemed himself “my cat”. That position was his until the day he died from cancer. He knew exactly how to get his point across and as long as I complied everything was all sunshine and rainbows. His loud voice freakishly resembled Chewbacca's voice. He did tricks like a dog and “flopped” on command. Flopping consisted of falling over and landing with his head on my foot. The maneuver took skill and grace and was funny to watch. Chewy never learned to purr until he was around 7 and when he finally did learn it was in an erratic, unnatural pattern. It was something he never got the hang of doing, but that was okay because he after all was Chewy.
Whitey was the baby of the family and the cat Chewy picked out to keep. When Whitey was just a small kitten Chewy kept separating him from the other kittens as the time grew near to sell them. He tended to Whitey like a mother cat would and never stopped mothering him even when he became an adult cat. Instead of selling Whitey, I kept him because that's what Chewy wanted and Chewy always got everything he wanted. Whitey was very vocal from an early age and has a wide range of cries and noises he made. His most memorable sound sounded like he was saying “momma”. This was cute except at 2 am when he got on a rant and would tear through the house running upstairs and downstairs crying for “momma”. Whitey also loved to be “spanked” and talked while he received a spanking. His favorite "spank me, baby" tool was the back scratcher I keep on my desk. I would gently spank him and he would tell me all about it with such fervor.
Last night, Whitey passed away at the age of 18. His mother, father and brother who had died several years ago had been cremated and their ashes had been stored in my closet until they were all buried together early this morning.
Gratitude Statement: Yes, I'm extremely sad right now, but I feel blessed because these four filled my life with such love and joy for so many years. They are and always shall be the cats who loved me.
I've never written much about the military. It's not because I'm anti-military. Yes, I've been known to protest a war or two in my younger years, but NEVER the military. One can be against a war campaign, yet still be patriotic and be in favor of having a strong military. My problem has always been with the politics behind the wars and the needless loss of life. These things have to be closely dissected in order to be completely understood. Let's face it, politicians can be a pack of deceitful losers and suckers themselves and they get us involved in all sorts of shady things that we'd we better off leaving at the front door. Do weapons of mass destruction ring a bell? What a costly mistake that was!
All three of my older brothers proudly served in the military and I thank each of them for their service to this country. My father served during WWII in the South Pacific, but I'm afraid his service included more shenanigans than it did service. His father served in WWI, but I know very little about that side of my family, so I don't know anything about the capacity in which he served, but I don't think he served overseas. I have an uncle who was in the 1942 Battle of Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands in the Pacific Ocean during WWII. He was on USS Barton, a destroyer that was cut completely in half by the Japanese. My great uncle, Waldo "Wardie" Ingalls was one of the "losers" who survived that horrific battle. Forty-five years later my great uncle was laid to rest in 1987 at the age of 69.
As the story goes:
At approximately 1:30 am, both sides finally made visual contact with each other as the first Japanese ships emerged from the squall line only 3,000 yards away from the entire US formation. Despite the Americans having steamed directly into the middle of the Japanese force, neither side opened fire for almost ten minutes as they passed by each other, with the Japanese ships enveloping the American battle column as they emerged from the darkness in three separate groups. In the second position of the rear, US Destroyer van USS Barton began to train her deck guns and torpedo tubes on several Japanese ships in her immediate area and awaited the order to open fire from the flagship. At 1:48 am the order to open fire was precluded when Akatsuki lit its searchlights onto the cruiser Atlanta, causing both sides to immediately open fire on each other and starting the First Naval Battle of Guadalcanal.
Now fully enveloped by Japanese battle lines, Barton and Monssen steaming astern, broke to the northwest into the main group of Japanese ships while firing at point blank range on nearby Japanese destroyers and making violent maneuvers to avoid collisions with both friendly and enemy ships in the melee. Barton had just fired a full spread of torpedoes at the battleship Hiei when the light cruiser USS Helena appeared suddenly out of the darkness and cut directly across the bow of Barton. Making an emergency stop to avoid colliding with Helena, Barton found herself at a dead stop as her engineering crew tried to get her engines back into gear to get her moving again. However, before she could get underway two 'Long Lance' torpedoes fired by the Amatsukaze slammed into the midsection of Barton; one in her boiler room and one in her engine room. The massive explosions broke the Barton in two, and both sections sank only minutes after the first torpedo struck, carrying with her 164 men: 13 officers and 151 of her crew. Forty-two survivors were rescued by USS Portland and twenty-six by Higgins boats from Guadalcanal.
I have another great uncle, John Nichols IV who served in World War II. His military story goes like this:
John went to 2 years of High School in Harrington, Maine before he shipped out as a Merchant Marine. He consigned on iron ore freighters in the Great Lakes before he journeyed on ships traveling back and forth to Europe, across the Atlantic Ocean, transporting war time supplies. His father encouraged him to stop shipping because merchant ships were war time targets, so he decided to join the US Army in December of 1943. He was sent to the Asiatic-Pacific Theatre. He was a Buck Sergeant, serving in the 24th Infantry Division where he was Squad leader in charge of 28 men operating 30 caliber Browning machine guns. He was awarded a Campaign Ribbon with Bronze Service Arrowhead, a Philippines Liberation Ribbon with Bronze Service Star, a Good Conduct Medal, a Victory Metal, a Combat Infantryman Badge, an American Campaign Ribbon and 2 Purple Hearts during his service. John eventually received a Red Cross early discharge in 1946, because his father was dying.
May both men RIP along with all their other fallen comrades and may the United States always have a strong military manned by people willing to serve proudly for our country.
If you can, allow yourself to imagine what it feels like to have a horrible secret. Perhaps this secret is that you witnessed something egregious at work and now you are torn with having to decide what to do. Doing the right thing is rarely the easiest thing to do. Do you step forward and tell someone what happened or do you fear that telling the truth will end your career and possibly stain your reputation both personally and professionally forever and always? What do you do? Or perhaps the secret is one of having been molested at a young age by a family member, by a family friend or by someone you know. Do you sacrifice yourself for the good of the family and your molester by existing in silence? Do you allow your secret to slowly devour you? Do you live your life always wondering what you would have been like if the abysmal violation you endured had never happened?
Today we seem to live in a culture that penalizes a person for coming forward. Instead of being believed, a person is made to feel shame and disgrace for coming forward. A person is often the subject of cruel ridicule while the guilty parties surface as unblemished and triumphant. No wonder people often wait years to come forward with their story. They know the hornet's nest it will stir up so many people remain silent to their own detriment. They are forced to live a life veiled by many psychological scars. Stepping forward marks you as a liar, a troublemaker or worse while staying silent marks you as a coward who isn't strong enough to possibly help future victims and yourself.
An article published on January 20, 2023 in the Los Angeles Times written by Tracy Brown and Mark Olsen brings to highlights the documentary, Justice directed by Doug Liman.
PARK CITY, UTAH — “Justice,” director Doug Liman’s surprise documentary about the confirmation of Supreme Court Justice Brett M. Kavanaugh, premiered Friday at the 2023 Sundance Film Festival.
A late addition to the indie festival’s Special Screenings lineup, the film played its sole public screening during the event — announced at Sundance’s opening news conference on Thursday — to a packed house at Park City’s Park Avenue Theatre, with Liman in attendance greeting friends and giving hugs at the front of the room.
Kavanaugh was narrowly confirmed to the Supreme Court in 2018 after a contentious confirmation process that included allegations of sexual assault. In 2019, it was reported that by order of the White House and Senate Republicans, the FBI limited its investigation into the accusations of Kavanaugh’s past sexual misconduct.
Liman, a filmmaker best known for his work on movies such as “Swingers,” “The Bourne Identity,” “Mr. & Mrs. Smith” and “Edge of Tomorrow,” explained in a statement that “‘Justice’ picks up where the FBI investigation into Brett Kavanaugh fell woefully short.
“The film examines our judicial process and the institutions behind it, highlighting bureaucratic missteps and political powergrabs that continue to have an outsized impact on our nation today,” he added. “Justice” is his first documentary.
Oh, and the last songs to play over the PA system before screening began? Marvin Gaye’s “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” and Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.”
Here are the key takeaways from “Justice” and the Q&A that followed:
1. This may be obvious, but the title “Justice” has two meanings here. It’s meant as a reference to Kavanaugh’s title and a claim that the FBI and the political establishment perpetrated a miscarriage of justice to those who came forward with allegations by failing to pursue them adequately.
2. Christine Blasey Ford, who alleged during Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearing that he sexually assaulted her when they were teenagers in the 1980s, is not a key source in the film. Though the doc opens with Ford asking Liman why he’s interested in this, and what his goals are in making the movie, she otherwise appears only in archival footage. Instead, her story is primarily told through her congressional testimony and interviews with her friends. “I felt that Dr. Ford had given so much to the country... she more than did her part for the country,” Liman said. “She did enough for 10 lifetimes.”
3. “The prominent memory is the laughter.” Deborah Ramirez, who alleged that Kavanaugh exposed himself to her at a party when they were Yale students together in the 1980s, does appear in the film to recount her story — and, like Ford in her public statements, Ramirez singles out Kavanaugh’s laughter among her memories.
4. The film features a potent recording from Max Stier. Stier allegedly witnessed sexual misconduct by Kavanaugh during a “drunken dorm party” while at Yale — and notified senators and the FBI after Kavanaugh’s nomination, though the FBI reportedly failed to investigate the claim further. Though he does not appear in the film, the recording is powerful: The alleged incident, he says, involves a woman whose identity remains anonymous because she has chosen not to come forward — for lack of memory during a night of drinking, yes, but also because she saw what happened to Ford after speaking publicly.
5. Context, context, context. The film includes interviews with experts who speak about how traumatic memory works in order to substantiate the credibility of Ford and Ramirez’s allegations. There are also discussions of the media discourse around Ford’s allegations in 2018, which in some cases attempted to paint the scenario as “boys will be boys,” or to counter the accusation by asking, “Why ruin a man’s life for something he did as a kid?” The film positions itself, in part, as an indictment of a broader culture that encourages us to forgive and forget misbehavior by privileged groups.
6. According to the documentary, the FBI to this day hasn’t reached out to those who sent in tips about the allegations against Kavanaugh for formal investigation. “I do hope this triggers outrage,” said producer Amy Herdy — ultimately leading to “a real investigation with subpoena powers.”
7. According to Liman, the chilling effect against accusers remains: “This was the kind of movie where people are terrified,” he said. “The machinery that’s put in place against anyone who dared speak up, we knew that machinery would be turned on this film... We live in a climate where no matter what we got in this movie, the people who support the status quo would keep supporting it.”
Now here we have an issue with two sides. One side wants the world to believe that Supreme Court Justice Brett M. Kavanaugh sexually assaulted someone when he was much younger and of course, the other side who claims the people who have come forward to tell their story have done so for fame or some other equally vile reason. Obviously, since no investigation was done we may never know the absolute truth. The question remains...is justice really blind or is it apathetic and geared towards protecting the privileged amongst us?
The conversation I had this morning with a family member turned to a topic I used to avoid at all costs. My uneasiness used to be so apparent I thought people could see right into those deep, dark scary places inside of me. I thought that the little girl who stayed cringing in the shadows could be seen, but I was wrong. I quickly became a master at covering it up. Even those people closest to me never knew the cesspool in which I lived. And when the time was right, I eagerly and willingly accepted the label of being the black sheep of the family. It so conveniently explained all my erratic behavior and kept the awful, ugly truth from being known.
Today, I attempted to explain why it takes some people so long to admit to being molested as a child. For the victim, it seems like an eternity of internalizing the pain and the shame and often times, they are quick to accept the blame because that seems to be the only control they have in something of this magnitude. The painful tsunami waxes and wanes throughout the person's life. It's crushing waters flood and warp every aspect of a person's psyche. Some people never get to the point of letting go of their false sense of security.
The buoy they often cling to is the pain itself and forgiving both themselves and the molester is an unbearable task. But without forgiveness the healing process never begins. Without forgiveness the molester always stays in control. What a tangled web it is and one that a child has no tools to draw upon to help in their own recovery.
How awful it is for any child to stay silent because they think no one will believe them.
How horrible it is to have some perverse sense of loyalty towards the molester. In protecting that person and ultimately the whole family, the child sacrifices themselves. Struggle as they may to build a facade of normalcy, underneath that flimsy facade is a house of cards subject to tumble at any moment. When mine tumbled, it took many, many years to rebuild and be at the place I am today.
In one journalist's attempt to define Crosby, Neil McCormick wrote, "David Crosby didn’t try to sugar-coat his ‘bad stuff’ – and that’s what made him special."
McCormick goes on to write that David Crosby lived one of the wildest lives in rock and roll, flying the freak flag high through decades of global fame and several fortunes won and lost, a white knuckle outlaw ride crammed with drugs, sex, death and a long stint in prison.
But that’s not why we celebrate him or mourn his passing. Because he also participated in some of the most beautiful music heard in our times, writing gorgeous, complex songs of cosmic folk jazz, gilding the air with blissful harmonies and playing impossibly complex chords he seemed to pluck out of the ether.
With his walrus moustache and a perpetual twinkle in his eye, he was a fantastic musician and a richly complex human being whose spirit became infused in the rock culture of the 1960s, seventies and beyond. He was one of the great hippies, one of the great band members in a couple of the greatest bands, and just really one of the greats.
The Croz - as he was known to friends and fans – is no more, dead at the age of 81. Which would come as no surprise to him, or anyone who knew him.
“You really don’t know how much time you’ve got,” he told me when I spoke to him in 2021.
“What counts is how you live that time. So what I’m trying to do is fill my life with my family, with love, with music that I make, as much as I possibly can. Because I know this sounds corny, but I believe in music. It’s a lifting force, it makes things better.”
Crosby personified the credo "sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll," and according to a 2014 Rolling Stone article, he was "rock's unlikeliest survivor." His turbulent life involved a major motorcycle accident, the loss of a lover, fights with hepatitis C and diabetes, and drug addictions that finally required a transplant to replace his liver.
Crosby, in partnership with longtime friend and entrepreneur Steven Sponder, developed a craft cannabis brand called "MIGHTY CROZ". Crosby, a 50-plus-year cannabis advocate, and connoisseur, credited cannabis with contributing to his creative process of songwriting stating, "All those hit songs, every one of them, I wrote them all on cannabis." Crosby also credited cannabis and cannabidiol (CBD) with alleviating his chronic shoulder pain, allowing him to continue touring and making new music well into his seventies. For more info about Crosby and his thoughts on cannabis you can read them on the Mighty Croz website.
Crosby was politically active throughout his professional career. He identified as a pacifist and was a well-known opponent over the US involvement in the Vietnam War, though he also defended the right to own guns.
Crosby was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame twice: once for his work in the Byrds and again for his work with CSN. Five albums to which he contributed are included in Rolling Stone's list of "The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time", three with the Byrds and two with CSN(Y).
RIP David Van Cortlandt Crosby (August 14, 1941 – January 18, 2023)
Yesterday I read an article that deeply disturbed me. Being deeply disturbed, terrified and angered by the news isn't anything new for most people, but in this case I wanted to dig a little deeper into the issue. Since so many people are gun owners in this country, I want to understand the mentality that surrounds gun ownership. Why does a person feel the need to own a gun? Is it truly for protection? And if so, who are you being protected from? Should limits be put on how many guns a person can own? While the 2nd Amendment does give people the right to own a gun, it does nothing to set a standard for gun responsibility or accountability. Aren't those things equally important? We can't legally drive a car with having a license. We take a test as proof of our competence in order to get a license. If we own a vehicle we have to have insurance on that vehicle. We have to take certain precautions while driving like wearing a seatbelt. There are laws against texting while driving and driving while impaired because these activities are considered dangerous.
First, I am not a gun owner. I am not against gun ownership but I am against gun violence. I believe we have far too many needless deaths in this country and worldwide due to guns. I don't pretend to have the solution to this deadly problem nor do I claim that there is a solution. But when I look at other industrialized countries in the world and we stand at the top of the list where gun violence is concerned, it leads me to believe that we have a serious problem, yet year after year we refuse to rationally address this issue. We continue to remain complacent while people around us die. This is what I don't understand. I don't understand what prevents people from sitting down like adults and talking about this problem.
Last year a new gun was introduced on the gun market aimed to appeal to children. I see absolutely no value for a gun like this, but maybe someone can and will step forward and educate me on why anyone would feel the need to buy their child a JR-15. According to Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene's tweet the mass shooting at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas would have had a better outcome if the children had been armed. Seriously? Is that the solution? More guns? Especially in the hands of children? The thought of that makes me tremble. To me it sounds like "Children of the Corn" armed!!! Be careful what you wish for, Marjorie!
Representative Green tweeted:
"The kids at Uvalde needed JR-15s to defend themselves from the evil maniac that didn’t care about laws.
At least they could have defended themselves since no one else did, while their parents were held back by police..."
Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play...no, no, no! That was 20 years ago today and pushing a lawnmower had nothing to do with Sgt. Pepper or his lonely hearts club band. Thirty years ago yesterday, I stood in blazing heat pushing a lawnmower trying to ready the house I had rented for the move I was about to make after giving birth. As I pushed the lawnmower in record heat, I got more pissed off with every swatch I mowed. My dear husband was in California doing who knows what while I, 9 months pregnant was pushing a lawnmower.
People kept giving me odd looks as they rode by, but not one person stopped to offer any help. I guess doing that would have been the neighborly thing to do and apparently, doing the neighborly thing didn't seem what most people had on their minds.
So I mowed and mowed until I was exhausted and the job was finally done. At least my other two children would have a yard to play in while I attended my new bundle of joy.
Early the next morning I awoke to a low backache and a cramping sensation. I laid there several minutes before realizing I was in labor. How appropriate it was to be in labor on Labor Day. I called ahead to the Navy hospital to find out where exactly I needed to go since it was a federal holiday and the normal procedure no longer held true. When I told the person on the other end of the phone my contractions were 4 minutes apart and this was my 3 child, I sensed urgency in their voice as they told me to come to the hospital right away.
So off I went to have my 3rd and final child. After being examined, I was told I wasn't quite ready to admit, BUT they didn't want me to go very far so I was told to go hang out in the waiting room with all the expectant fathers. Ha!
Nothing clears a room out faster than putting a woman in labor in the same room as the fathers who opted not to participate in the birthing process.
Thirty years ago today, I gave birth to my youngest son. Those 30 years have sped by faster than I care to admit. Happy birthday, Matthew! You are one of the 3 beacons in my life and I love you dearly. I have a suggestion for the next 30 years....let's slow down how fast they go by!
Gratitude statement: I am truly grateful for the kind of people my three children grew into being.
Just for fun, I did this I Write Like test by letting a sample of my writing be analyzed by a computer program. You can stop laughing anytime now! The ONLY difference between Ann Rice and me is about $60 million and a little thing called talent. Other than that, she and I are just alike. So, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Addendum 5/1/18 2:41 pm CST: I'm proud to announce that I copied and pasted a random excerpt from Anne Rice's Interview With A Vampire and had it analyzed. Anne should be proud to know she writes like Stephanie Meyer [sarcasm inserted] I'm sorry, but vampires DO NOT sparkle in the daylight! Insatiable, sultry Lestat De Lioncourt vs Bedazzled Edward Cullen, the vanilla vampire? Seriously? Lestat would literally have Edward for lunch!
Because my "molemate" once told me I have the soul of an artist, I'm sending this one out here in cyberspace for you, Jnuts because I miss you everyday.
This post is a rather old one, but it cried out to me again today for a repost so here it is.
I love surfing around the blogosphere because I like crave that feeling of finding that one special blog worthy of mention, of recognition, of deep introspection. After wading through a multitude of cute family-related blogs, yummy cooking blogs, breath-taking photography blogs, reactionary religious and political blogs, unfeigned poetry blogs and all rest of the infinite spectrum of blogs that reside out here in cyberspace, I occasionally stumble upon a blog that speaks to, screams at implores me personally to say something about it and its author. Unfortunately, most of the blogs I "discover" are ones that the authors have abandoned and their voice is lost. Abandonment is something I completely understand. Most people who have blogged for any length of time have either contemplated fading into the cold, darkness of cyberspace never to be heard from again or have taken a "vacation" from time to time.
The Rest Is Still Unwritten was last updated in 2012 with a post titled Nothing Matters More Than Our Stories. David Stehle was absolutely correct in stating nothing matters more than our stories whether we know it or not. We all have a story to tell and no one ever knows what type of impact our words will have on someone else or when that impact might happen. I have a blogging kindred spirit (you know who you are) that is hands down the most talented person I know. He claims he has nothing of value to say, but I disagree. I have read his "stories" and I have felt his words. He "hooked" me a very long time ago! I can only hope that he always returns home from his "vacations" and that he never permanently fades into the darkness of cyberspace. Over the years I have grown to love him and when he is absent, I feel the void.
Below are David Stehle's heartfelt words from his abandoned blog:
Nothing Matters More Than Our Stories
In times of national crisis we often think, "My stories don’t matter – this isn’t about me" or "I'll stay quiet because I'm somewhere in the middle of the obnoxious people raging on TV." The truth is that in the midst of tragedy nothing matters more than our stories. Our complex, nuanced stories are the path to healing and change. They are the truth and there's no better foundation for change than the truth. I'd love to hear your thoughts and stories. - Brene Brown
This isn't working.
This.
What we are doing as a society, a country, as human beings. It is NOT working!
And when things aren't working, shouldn't we change things?
When people talk about school shootings they talk about guns. But I don't want to debate gun control. I'm not pro-gun anymore than I'm anti-gun. I've never owned a gun and thank God my parents never have either. Because if they had I wouldn't be here today writing this post.
"He was fearless in his pursuit of happiness and life.
He earned his ripped jeans and missing two front teeth."
Daniel Barden (age 7)
I attempted suicide at age 12 - with a steak knife of all things. But I searched the house first for a gun. If I had found one, you better believe I would have sucked on that barrel and squeezed without giving it a second thought. After all, even at age 12 I knew it was the best tool for the job.
While I had no intention of hurting anyone else, I had every intention of hurting myself. And I did. Without a rational thought. That's what happens when you are in the midst of making a deadly, permanent decision. All fear, sadness, and anger disappears. You become oddly calm. And thoroughly numb. Or at least I did.
If we're going to talk about gun control, it's just as important we talk about mental illness.
While I don't see any logical reason why a person needs to own an assault rifle and feel they should be banned, I'm not about to rip a standard rifle out of a hunter's hands (punishing him) simply because other people can't act responsibly. But let's face the facts. There have been over 70 school shootings since 1994. 70! Obviously there's a lot of sick kids out there. I should know because I was one of them. And what we are doing now as a society, a country, as human beings…it is NOT working!
According to NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness), mental illness typically strikes young people in their most productive years, 16-25. Families from all walks of life are affected regardless of age, race, income, religion, or education. Most shocking, 1 in 4 American families has a relative who has a mental illness. 1 in 4!
So what was my deal? Not much. I was just a deeply depressed kid who didn't know how to open up. I don't think that fits the crazy label. But depression is considered a mental illness. And medically speaking, one could have labeled me mentally ill. And that's the problem. Because mental illness has such an ugly stigma attached to it, I was terrified to get help. I was terrified to tell anyone how I felt. I was terrified of being seen as C-R-A-Z-Y!
It's easier to get an assault rifle than adequate mental health care. And for shooter Adam Lanza it was easier to slaughter 20 kindergartners and 1st graders than to say "hey, I need some help." Like most, I'm still processing the horror that took place at Sandy Hook. I'm heartbroken for 26 families of victims I've never met and for a community I've never visited. And of course, I'm furious at the killer!
Now I'm going to ask you to do something you'll hate me for. I want you to send light and love not just to the 26 victims and their families, but to the killer and his family too. To the entire Sandy Hook community. To every community that has suffered a mass shooting. To every victim. To every victim's family. And yes, even to every killer and their family.
Praying for a murderer is hard. Honestly, it's damn near impossible! But in doing so, I realize I'm also praying for the mentally ill. Praying for every kid like me who was/is terrified of being seen as crazy and didn't/doesn't have the strength to ask for help. Helping them (and myself) today when I failed to help them (and myself) back then. Making right MY wrongs. Making right OUR wrongs. Healing together.
If that is asking too much, and I know it is, then please consider doing one random act of kindness in memory of one of the 20 children lost. That way you can put back in the world the same light and love each of their short lives brought into it. I'm choosing Daniel.
Because as we all continue to process Sandy Hook, one question in particular weighs on my mind…
What if we tackled mental illness the same way little Daniel tackled things? Fearless in the pursuit of happiness and life.
As Brene Brown said above, I too would love to hear your thoughts and stories.
Since the time of the Pilgrims, New England has been steeped in many traditions. One of these traditions came to mind this morning as I prepared a pot of Boston baked beans to go in the oven for a traditional Saturday evening "supper." My grandmother also came to mind as I prepared my beans because she always told us that she put bluing in her beans. For those of you who don't know what bluing is/was used for; it was to get white clothes white. I guess before bleach was around people used bluing. Of course, my grandmother didn't actually add bluing to her baked beans, but she told us she did so "we all would fart a blue streak!" As I stood there, I lovingly smiled as I remembered my Nana.
As a child we would sing this ditty and giggle:
Beans, beans, the musical fruit The more you eat, the more you toot The more you toot, the better you feel. Then you're ready for another meal...
What exactly is it about a fart that makes it so funny? And so embarassing?
I looked up bluing and found this additional use for it and got even more tickled and thought maybe my grandmother did add a drop or two of bluing in her beans since our bloodline is descendants to the Salem witches. Of all the people who were accused, imprisoned, tried and executed for witchcraft, I am directly related to over 40 of those people. I've been doing genealogy research for almost 30 years and have done a couple DNA tests. It's truly amazing what you find out when you start digging...
Obviously, my grandmother had her own method of cleansing a house of evil spirits.
John Fogerty Regains Control Over Creedence Clearwater Revival Songs After Half-Century Fight: Exclusive
"I'm really kind of still in shock," says the iconic rocker after buying a majority interest in the global publishing rights to his CCR song catalog from Concord.
In a happy ending to one of the music industry’s grimmest and longest tales, John Fogerty has gained worldwide control of his Creedence Clearwater Revival publishing rights after a half-century struggle.
At a time when Fogerty’s peers such as Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan and Neil Young are selling their copyrights for hundreds of millions of dollars, the iconic Rock & Roll Hall of Famer has done the opposite: He recently bought a majority interest in the global publishing rights to his historic CCR song catalog from Concord for an undisclosed sum. The treasure trove includes such rock classics as “Proud Mary,” “Down on the Corner,” Fortunate Son,” “Bad Moon Rising” “Up Around the Bend” and “Green River.”
Concord has owned the rights since 2004 when the company bought Saul Zaentz’s Fantasy Records. One of the first moves Concord made was to reinstate and increase Fogerty’s artist royalties, which Fogerty had relinquished to Zaentz in 1980 to get out of his Fantasy deal and had not received in 25 years.
Concord retains the CCR master recordings already in its catalog and will continue to administer Fogerty’s share of the publishing catalog for an unspecified limited time.
Seated on the spacious patio of his Southern California home with his golden retriever, Creedy (short for Creedence) by his side, Fogerty, 77, admits gaining control of his copyrights is a day he never thought would come. “I tried really hard,” he says to get them back in the decades since he signed his label and publishing deal in 1968 with Fantasy but suffered setback after setback at the hands of Zaentz, who died in 2014.
“I’m the dad [of these songs]. I created them,” he says. “They never should have been taken away in the first place. And that hijacking left such a massive hole in me.” With the support and love of his manager and wife of more than 30 years, Julie Fogerty, he says he had gotten over the anger that plagued him for decades over Zaentz’s treatment, but the longing to own his songs never went away.
“The happiest way to look at it is, yeah, it isn’t everything,” he says of acquiring a majority, but not full ownership. “It’s not a 100% win for me, but it’s sure better than it was. I’m really kind of still in shock. I haven’t allowed my brain to really, actually, start feeling it yet.” Fogerty, who had retained his writer’s share of his CCR copyrights, also owns the masters and publishing to his solo material, including such hits as “Centerfield,” “Rockin’ All Over the World,” and “Almost Saturday Night.”
The reclaimed CCR copyrights number more than 65, mostly written by Fogerty during the group’s short, but extremely prolific career. As one of America’s seminal rock bands, CCR had a tremendous run, including landing five top 10 albums on the Billboard 200 between 1969 and 1970 before breaking up in 1972. Their popularity continues with new generations: CCR’s Chronicle: The 20 Greatest Hits, released in 1976, has spent 622 non-consecutive weeks on the Billboard 200, the fifth highest of any album on the chart. More than 50 years after its initial release, CCR hit “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” reached No. 1 on Billboard’s Rock Digital Songs Sales Chart in 2021.
Keep On Chooglin’
The latest effort to gain ownership of his publishing began 18 months ago as the Fogertys realized that under U.S. copyright law, rights to his compositions would begin reverting back to him in a few years as the songs turned 56 years old, but that wouldn’t have included rights outside the U.S. “Julie began to think larger and [told Concord], ‘John would like to buy his songs. He’d like to figure out a way’,” Fogerty says.
“While John is having the time of his life out there on the road, with his kids playing with him and celebrating this music, [I thought], why can’t we take those few years left [before the titles revert] and not have them give them to us, but we’ll buy them,” Julie Fogerty says. “Whatever the value plus a little bonus. We’ll figure out how to come up with the money and we’ll just buy that. [Concord’s] not going to lose because they’ll have the value.”
Concord initially declined and Fogerty was once again resigned. “I was sort of a bump on the log going, ‘Never going to happen,’” he says.
Julie Fogerty then brought in Irving Azoff, who had briefly managed Fogerty more than 20 years ago, to help mediate. She says Azoff called Concord chairman and CEO Scott Pascucci and said, “‘Scott, you’ve made so much money on Fogerty. Do you want to be known in the music business as Saul Zaentz or [revered late Warner Brothers Records head] Mo Ostin?’ And I think he heard that. And [Concord president] Bob Valentine has been incredible as well.’” Azoff encouraged the Fogertys to pursue worldwide rights, advising they would have to give up an ownership percentage in order to do so.
“John Fogerty is one of music’s greatest treasures. Now, finally after decades of suffering, I’m thrilled to see John regain ownership of his music,” Azoff tells Billboard in an email. “And kudos to Concord for understanding that doing the right thing for artists is great for their business as well.”
“John’s songs are some of the greatest compositions of the 20th century,” Valentine said in a statement. “We’ve been honored to own and represent these works ever since we acquired Fantasy in 2004. Given the unique set of circumstances around the history of John’s relationship with Fantasy, we were more than happy to oblige John and Julie in working out an agreement for these songs to revert back to him early. And we’re profoundly grateful that John has agreed to partner with Concord for the remaining worldwide copyrights on the share of these songs that we will retain.”
Fogerty was represented by Barnes & Thornburg partner Jason Karlov and associate Amanda Taber. Reed Smith’s Steven Sessa and Josh Love represented Concord.
The winding journey to reclaim his rights and undo the damage from his contentious relationship with Zaentz has been long and, at times, debilitating for Fogerty.
In addition to taking his artist royalties for decades, in 1985, Zaentz sued Fogerty for $144 million, alleging the artist’s then current hit, “The Old Man Down the Road,” ripped off CCR’s “Run Through the Jungle.” Even though Fogerty had written both songs, Zaentz claimed Fogerty was now plagiarizing a song Zaentz owned. After Fogerty won, his effort to be reimbursed for his $1.3 million in legal fees went all the way to the Supreme Court in 1993.
For years, Fogerty refused to play CCR songs live, unable to stomach Zaentz making money off his performances, but he softened his stance in 1987 with a little prodding from Bob Dylan. While at revered North Hollywood, Calif., club the Palomino, Fogerty, Dylan and George Harrison joined headliner Taj Mahal on stage. “The crowd started asking for ‘Proud Mary,’” Fogerty recalls. “Bob looked at me and said, ‘John, if you don’t do ‘Proud Mary,’ everybody’s gonna think it’s a Tina Turner song,’” referencing Ike & Tina Turner’s 1971 cover. “It’s Bob Dylan, for crying out loud. In my mind, I was still committed that I wasn’t going to do those songs, but I decided I guess I can give that up for three minutes.” Later that year, Fogerty began incorporating CCR songs back into his set.
‘They Tried to Erase Him’
Fogerty last tried in 1989 to buy his publishing when he and Zaentz sat face-to-face with legendary rock empresario Bill Graham acting as a mediator. They agreed on a sum, but then months later in final negotiations in the early ’90s, Fogerty says Zaentz doubled the price to a figure Fogerty couldn’t afford. Fogerty went to Warner Chappell and asked if the publishing company would go in on a deal with him. “I met with the top guy, and he looked at me and said, ‘It’s not sustainable.’ That might have been, at least as business kinds of things go, the worst day of my life,” Fogerty says. “I don’t think I could even impart to [Julie] how final that was: ‘There’s no hope for you. You’re dead.’”
He had a freeing revelation shortly thereafter when on a jog, he was listening to a radio therapist counsel a woman who had been with a man who refused to commit to marriage. The therapist told the women her boyfriend was never going to change, and she needed to understand that. “The light goes on in my head as I’m listening and I just fell on the ground,” Fogerty says. “I actually started laughing. I realized it was never going to happen. It was a horrible realization. Anyway, that was the end of that: Saul was a jerk and will be eternally that and, in some way or fashion, I got over that.”
When asked if he now would pursue ownership of his CCR masters, Fogerty says, “My heart of hearts would love if that ever happened, but I’m not actively sitting around worrying about that. The fact that I didn’t own my own songs was much more bothersome to me because of the treatment that I received.”
Though he could undoubtedly flip his majority share for a large payday, Fogerty says now that he finally has control, selling his publishing rights is “not what I’m thinking about…I’ve never been allowed or gotten to experience participation and ownership in the sense of being involved. And, you know, the last thing on my mind is thinking about selling it, I want to enjoy it. It’s good. That’s where I’m at.”
For now, Fogerty, whose last release was the socio-political track, “Weeping in the Promised Land,” in 2021, is focused on playing live. With his two sons in his touring band, he says, “playing is more joyful now than in any time in my life…. The last years of Creedence got to be like every band that dissolves, it was so tense. I mean, I miss my brother, [Creedence rhythm guitarist] Tom, who passed at a time when we were not really in each other’s lives [in 1990]. I’m looking forward to getting to heaven and playing in God’s band and Tom will be there.”
With control over how his music is used now, Julie Fogerty says she’d like “to take these iconic songs and reintroduce them to the new generation because I think the songs will be around forever,” adding there’s talk of both a biopic and a documentary about Fogerty. “But it’s mostly I think just connecting John to those songs. There were a lot of years where he felt like they tried to erase him.”
For Concord’s part, which released Creedence Clearwater Revival at the Royal Albert Hall last year without Fogerty’s participation, Valentine tells Billboard he hopes regaining his copyrights “gives John a sense of closure for the years of the feelings that he’s had ever since he signed with Fantasy…. Also, hopefully, [with] that sense of peace that it’s a new beginning. We hope he will be reinvigorated and continue to do things that promote the catalog. It’s extraordinarily important — not only culturally as one of the greatest American bands ever, but it’s an important component of Concord’s legacy. We hope it gives him a feeling of partnership and moving forward in a way that makes him feel more invested in the songs and Creedence with us.”
As Fogerty moves into the next chapter with the “lingering specter” that has haunted him for so long finally gone, he says with a big grin, “I’m ready to feel really good about music.”
