© 2012 TJ Knowles
Denver, Colorado

Our cultural and historical infrastructures are being dismantled at a breathtaking pace as we pose and apologize to a world that detects weakness, a soft underbelly and a unique opportunity to topple the King of the Mountain.

We are the Headless Horseman, galloping blindly on the darkest of nights through a maze of unbridled political greed and treachery, economic apocalypse and moral mayhem.

Our War on Terror is really a war on ourselves. With so much self-destruction ongoing, why should our enemies bother with another 9/11? We are consuming ourselves and imploding so rapidly, they have only to sit and wait. Why stir the sleeping, dying Giant?

Strength comes from unity and a common bond. Diversity, at the expense of our common ground, has weakened us so severely that it will soon be time for us to look to our individual survival in what will surely be an incomprehensible scenario of violence, scarcity and the redefining of the thin veneer that we call civilization.

It may be that this is just the natural order of things. Empires do not last forever. Are we too far down the rat hole? Is there any salvation for us as a nation?

Without leadership, there can be no vision. “Without vision, the people perish.”  (Proverbs 29:18)

Give me a place where words lead quiet lives
Where things can breathe
Where memories flash like crystals in the sun
Where blue is a color and not a way to feel
Where the sun comes up like thunder
And the night fires freeze
Where lonely human hands have marked the trail
Where water is free- for a rusty price
Where bandits and snakes know the secrets
Of life and death under the rocks
Give me this place where I can go to dream
Where nothing is forced to rhyme
And judgement ceases

© 2011 TJ Knowles
Denver, Colorado

This sense of fear of late I’ve known
From time to time it pins me down
And forces me to stop and think
Of places far away and strange
Of happy times in days now gone.
I take a breath and let it go
My strength returns… my mind moves on.

And like the ripples in a silver stream
That seem to laugh and tumble to the sea
And, in a pool, will pause
To rest and lap against the curving bank,
I seek a place to rest and dream
To find my love for life again
To feel the need to move upstream.

© 2011 TJ Knowles
Denver, Colorado

“Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us.” (Calvin & Hobbes)….

“To: The Honorable Secretary of Agriculture, Washington, D.C.

Dear Secretary:

My friend, Ed Peterson, over in Wells, Iowa, received a check for $1500.00 from the Government for not raising hogs. I would also like to get into the “Not Raising Hogs” business next year.

One of the things I would like to know is, in your opinion, which is the best kind of farm not to raise hogs on, and what is the best breed of hogs not to raise? I want to be sure that I approach this endeavor in keeping with all government policies. I would prefer to not raise Razorbacks, but if that is not a good breed not to raise, then I would be just as happy to not raise Yorkshires or Durocs.

As I see it, the most difficult part of this program will be in keeping an accurate inventory of how many hogs I haven’t raised.

My friend, Peterman, is very joyful about the future of this business. He has been raising hogs for 20 years or so, and the most he ever made on them was $422.00 back in 1968, until this year when he got your check for $1500.00 for not raising hogs.

If I get $1500.00 for not raising 50 hogs, will I get $3000.00 for not raising 100 hogs? I plan to operate on a small scale at first, holding myself down to about 4000 hogs not raised, which will mean about $120,000.00 the first year. Then I can afford an airplane.

Now, another thing. These hogs I don’t raise will not eat 100,000 bushels of corn. I understand that you also pay farmers not to raise corn and wheat. Will I qualify for payments for not raising corn and wheat not to feed the 4000 hogs I am not going to raise?

Also, I am considering the “Not Milking Cows” business, so send me any information you have on that, too.

In view of the circumstances, you understand that I will be totally unemployed and plan to file for food stamps and unemployment compensation.

Be assured you have my support in the coming election.

Patriotically yours,

P.S. Would you please notify me when you are going to distribute more free cheese?”

Note: I will credit the author as soon as I can figure out who he/she is

The sleeping boats lay still at dawn
They lean and list and will not rise
Too late to catch the morning tide
That flees Kinvara’s rocky shores

The golden butter-sun ascends
To break the spell of chill and mist
And warm the rock-strewn fields and bog
From Galway up to Kylemore

And though I leave this lovely isle
My heart will race forevermore
When I recall that once I stood
Too near the windswept Cliffs of Moher

© 2011 TJ Knowles
Denver, Colorado

I address this to young couples who are experiencing the joys of parenthood and the rude awakening that comes with making room for your new family addition. Let’s be honest- raising kids is extremely rewarding and challenging.

And so I offer this way of thinking to you to ease the frustration, exhaustion and sense of lost identity.

Nature only cares that you replace yourself. Once you have accomplished this through parenthood, Nature could not care a whit that you continue to exist.

You deserve nothing, you are owed nothing.

Therefore, every second of your life is a bonus! If you get ten minutes sleep per night, you don’t deserve it. You don’t really count, except to each other. That is why marriage is so important. The stronger your relationship, the more you value each other and the more you can fool yourself into believing that you somehow count in the Big Scheme of Things.

So, young (and older) new parents, quit whining. Use your borrowed time wisely and laugh a lot. It is actually pretty funny…..

I fight the fish
The fish plays me
My reel screeches maddeningly

He dives and twists
He rises high
To shake the hook
To show his eye

Then off he runs
Across the sea
Entangled
In my destiny

“I’m out of strength!”
I scream to all
“You’re out of line!”
The gaff-man calls

And now he turns
Torpedo-like
To fix his aim
Prepared to strike

Alone against
This man and sea
He charges
Dead ahead at me

A small event
His death and wake
The lesson there
For me to take

And as we head
Once more for shore
I count this fish
As something more

From noble beast
To dinner plate
Is life’s reward
Is all our fate

© 2011 TJ Knowles
Denver, Colorado

We all are aware of how time flies, but few of us understand why it flies faster as we age.

It’s really quite simple. When we are kids, we want to hurry to be a teenager. Then we want our 15^th birthday to hustle up so that we can get a driver’s learning permit. Sixteen is a big push for a real driver’s license, and 18 is a goal in order to vote and, more importantly, to no longer be a miserable minor. Then the biggie- 21, which affords all kinds of newfound dangerous freedoms and privileges.

The only advantage after 21 is age 25 when our car insurance rates drop (depending on how disastrous our driving record has been).

Here’s the Big Problemo: We have spent years pushing time to go faster and faster, and as it picks up momentum we realize that there are no brakes!

Without a mechanism to slow things down, we are like the proverbial tigers that chase each other faster and faster around a tree until reduced to a pool of melted butter.

If you need a better metaphor, consider the tortoise, which can live for up to 200 years of age. It never worries about its metabolism, never dons spandex and expensive shoes to get an aerobic workout, and most certainly does not activate the onerous Time Machine that, once fired up, spins you like a top and whirls you through your life at the speed of forgetfulness.

Hate is a hateful word. I can think of only one thing in this world that I actually hate.. I mean really hate!

I hate hangars.

When I try to pull a shirt off a hangar and it hangs up on the curved end of the hangar, I absolutely lose my mind. I try to rip it off, but it catches like a fish on a treble hook. So I yank harder, and knock the shirts off all the nearby hangars. Why did they come off so easily?

My beautiful wife brings back slacks from the cleaners. They are neatly laid out on wire hangars with a paper liner of sorts (cleaners are not going to give me cool wooden hangars). But when I pull the pants off the hangar, it bends in half!

You belong here
Hope is never out of reach
We’re all Angels And Aliens
Drawn to the lights and the beauty and the beach

Drift by the city
On a silver stream
Park your highway heart
But please deposit 35 dreams

Come and make your wish
Walk upon a star
And wonder, like the rest of us,
Who you are

Touch reality
On the city streets
See the rabid fans
Feel the Valley heat

Where else can you find
Laughter in a can?
Waves of people crashing
On the Blue Pacific sand?

I have accepted that this is not the same country in which I grew up. Change is natural, but the changes we have seen in the last few decades have moved us oceans away from the basic agreement we once enjoyed as Americans.

We agreed that right and wrong are bigger concepts than “everything is ok.”

We agreed that the fundamental building block of our society is the family- Mom and Dad and kids.

We agreed that our national language is English.

We agreed that it is more honorable to work- or try to find work- than to wait for a government handout.

We agreed that education is not a money-making business.

We agreed that God is OK to bring in to a conversation.

We agreed that what we hold in common is better than what makes us different.

Hearing the word “appropriate” did not make us want to go running down the street with our hair on fire.

Of course, we faced many problems- social, economic and political. But we were naive and collectively unaware of the degree of corruption in our government. Our new-found  enlightenment has burst upon us like a monstrous, green, exploding zit, and it’s far too late for Clearasil.

I’m not movin’ up
Just down the river
Rollin’ on
I wish it could have been
That you had come along
Free wheelin’ down the river
Out in the Deep Middle
Where the current runs strong

Clinging to the shore
Makes you cold and wet
Soon or late
The river is gonna drag you
Out in the Deep Middle
Where the current runs strong

It’s too late for swimmin’
Side by side
But I’d give a lot
To see you
Out in the Deep Middle
Where the current runs strong

© 2011 TJ Knowles
Denver, Colorado 

It is most telling that the Bad Guys have not struck us on our soil since 9/11. It’s not because they couldn’t, but because they can’t believe how quickly we are imploding of our own accord. They are terrified that some rogue Bad Guy will pull off a dumb but tragic stunt that will galvanize all Americans (well, most) and speed the rude wake-up call that is underway in the form of our total economic, cultural and moral demise.

For now, they can sit back and enjoy the show. In a perverse way, it is about as entertaining as it gets.

People never ask me for my autograph
They only ask me for a dollar
Old George Washington’s still a popular guy
He’s seen a lot of action
Lots of purses and pockets

But he’s getting older now
And so very, very tired
He’d like to retire
Maybe move to the desert
With the lizards and snakes
And the deep-buried rockets
He paid for them, you know
Look at his eyes
He’s ready to go

Old George Washington’s movin’ on
Look at his eyes
He’s ready to go

Waiting for history to repeat itself
No on wants to listen
To those who’ve been there
Or their feelings inside
They’ve already got the scoop
From YouTube and The Enquirer

We’ve gotten older now
And so very, very tired
We’d like to retire
But the world’s gotten smaller
So we sit in our place
Getting lower and higher

We pay for everything, you know
Look at our eyes
We’re ready to go
Old George Washington’s movin’ on
Look at his eyes…  He’s ready to go

© 2011 TJ Knowles
Denver, Colorado

“Where there is no vision, the people perish…”
Proverbs 29:18

“Vision without action is insanity.”
Japanese Saying

“In individuals, insanity is rare;
but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.”
Friedrich Nietzsche

“And the wind shall say “Here were decent godless people;
Their only monument the asphalt road 
and a thousand lost golf balls.”
T.S. Eliot

“Barbarism is needed every four or five hundred years
to bring the world back to life.
Otherwise it would die of civilization.”
Edmond and Jules de Goncourt, Journal, 3 September 1855

“The best way to destroy the capitalist system
is to debauch the currency.”
Vladimir Illyich Lenin

“Oh, say does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”
The Star Spangled Banner
By Francis Scott Key 1814

Picture your life with no media and no politicians.
No CNN.  No Fox News.
No Weiners. No Newts.
No daily wave of garbage and scandal. No pathetic excuses for Leaders.
No Spin.
No Reality TV.  No ten-second heroes. No wars to report.
No Trumps. No Huffingtons.
What would you do to fill your day?
No Twitter. No Facebook
How would you interact with other human beings?
No GPS. No Google Maps.
How would you find your way?
No computers. No calculators.
How would you add things up?

I was over on Aisle 6
In the supermarket of my dreams
Waiting for the cosmic stock boy
I had some questions only he could answer:
Where do you keep the instant, non-fat frozen fame?
Where can I find some hardware for my heart?

© 2011 T.J. Knowles Publishing
All Rights Reserved

My 18 years in the commercial music business paid off in an unexpected way.

I live in Denver now, and I work in the aerospace business. If my segue from jingles to rocket science seems like a stretch, then I’m in good company. Jeff (Skunk) Baxter, amazing guitarist for Jimi Hendrix, the Doobie Brothers and Steely Dan, is now a nationally recognized expert and consultant to the Department of Defense as a missile defense analyst.

Go figure.

Anyway, there’s a town called Black Hawk in the Rocky Mountains near Denver. It is home to more than 20 gambling casinos that line the narrow gulch on the way up to Central City. The road back down from the mountains snakes through the canyon and the local police know that 90% of drivers have been up at the casinos and drinking to some extent.

Late one light, after donating to the local economy, I drove down through the winding canyon and executed a perfect California Roll through a stop sign just before the freeway. In my rear view mirror I saw the cheerful, multi-colored lights of the police car, so I pulled over to face my destiny.

The police officer appeared at my window with the mandatory giant flashlight.

“Have you been at the casino?” he asked politely.

“Yes, Sir”, I replied.

“Please step out of the car”, he suggested.

For the next twenty minutes I stood out in the frigid air, balancing on one foot, tilting my head back, closing my eyes, touching my nose, counting backwards from 100, and waiting for him to throw me a fish or a peanut or any kind of reward for my performance.

He gave me no clue as to whether I was passing the tests-or on my way to a night in jail. But he had saved the best for last.

He continued, “When I say ‘Go!’ I want you to close your eyes, balance on one leg and estimate when 30 seconds has passed.”

Apparently, booze creates some time compression and impairs your judgment.

Now, after 18 years of writing jingles and music tracks for 30-second commercials, I can “sing” a spot in my head and be within half a second of 30 seconds passing. I balanced on one leg (thank God for my T’ai Chi training), closed my eyes and mentally performed a beautiful instrumental piano track that my brother, Rob, had composed for Lay’s Potato Chips in 1982. I “sang” the :30 melody in my head and when it was done I said “Now!”

I knew I had wowed him.  “How did I do?”

In response, he brought out the Breathalyzer.  It was his last shot before allowing me to get back on the road with some assurance that I was OK to drive.

He had put me through the Full Monte and I had passed.

As I drove off I realized how close I had come to not waking up in my own bed, and I thanked the jingle gods for Help(ing) Me Make It Through The Night.

Beneath old planks of cedarwood
The ants on angled legs all stood
To vent their spleens (tho’ they have none)
To make a plan, to have some fun

For work, work, work was all they’d known
From rooster crow to nesting sun
In joyless toil they climbed the hill
Afraid to look – afraid to spill

Their armloads full of prey and food
No greetings (ants are very rude)
And soldier-like upon the trail
The ants trudged on from tip to tail

Too long content in settled ways
Too long in fear of poison sprays
They seized the moment and the day
Laid down their fears  and went to play.

 © 2011 T.J. Knowles
Denver, CO

We all watched in disbelief as the deadly wall of water thundered relentlessly across the Japanese landscape, destroying everything and everyone in its path.

The Great American Tsunami is so huge that its amazing speed and destructive force is not apparent. We do not even know that we are being swept away.

It is an invisible wave that has been building for many years, and as it powers onshore it dwarfs any skyscraper or mountain or other possible safe haven we may run to. It overtakes our children, quenches the flame of our hopes, and consumes our dreams. There is no safety in our homes, our schools, our communities. We are 300 million individual panic spots, for whatever common ground we had is being covered by this ocean of indifference, fear, greed and isolation.

Unlike the random Japanese wave, the Great American Tsunami is of our own design and creation. As it approached our shoreline, the speeding shock wave feeds and rises from a shallow sea bottom cluttered with the junked remains of our morality, faith, sacrifice and common purpose.

And if we survive the initial assault, we will surely be caught by the retreating wave as it rakes across our land, sucking everything of value out to sea. All will be calm, but  all will be gone.

There is something fundamentally wrong with the concept of Happy Hour.

When it’s over, having consumed tons of snacks , cheap beer  and low-rent well drinks, we revert to a state of unhappiness.

Why not call it Unhappy Hour, so that when the comfort food and drink fix ends, we revert to a state of well-being known as Happiness?

Check out the best Unhappy Hour around.

We know the speed of light. A while back I posed the deep question “What is the speed of Dark?” Here are a few of the responses I have received to date. These replies demonstrate the keen insight and critical thinking ability of my readers.

“The speed of dark is really fast but disappears completely in the speed of light!”…G

“Since the speed of light is 186,000 miles per second (if memory serves–I got into UCSD but didn’t get out, if you know what I mean) I would have to imagine that the speed of dark is the same. If you turn on a flashlight the light goes out just as fast as it would stop. Actually, that made my brain hurt. I think I’ll take a nap.”…SK

“The speed of dark would be at the same rate of speed the last ray of light passes an object or (if we were talking about turning off a lamp in a room) at the speed of the last ray of light hitting the wall. Dark trails behind light at the exact same rate. Therefore my answer to the question of what is the speed of dark would be: 299,792,458 meters per second. Do I win a prize?”…JF

So, Deep Thinkers, send me your answer to the  question “What is the Speed of Dark?”   tj@tjknowles.com

Easter is a time of  Hope. It is the pinnacle event of  Christian faith, and a time of Spring renewal and rebirth for all. Somehow, the great wheel of life moves on…

My prayer is that we as citizens, brothers and sisters, and God’s children, find a way back to common ground.

In 1624, John Donne wrote, “No man is an island, entire of itself…any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.”

May your Easter be profoundly moving, and may we all move with common purpose, direction and intensity.

I am very proud to have been raised in a military family. My Dad, Col. (Ret.) William R.Knowles, is now 88 and lives in Southern California. He is a Master Aviator and veteran of WWII and two combat tours in Viet Nam. During WWII he was a Marine Aviator in the South Pacific with VMSB 243, known as The Flying Goldbricks. He flew dive bombers- Corsair, Dauntless, HellDiver…After the war, he switched services to the US Army and flew MEDEVAC helicopters for the next 25 years.

We moved more than 33 times before I was out of high school.

On this Memorial Day, we honor him for his service to  God, his Country and his Family. We equally honor our Mom, Marmion Knowles, who passed away in 2001, for her incredible faith, strength and support as a military wife raising five kids during all those challenging years of constant uprooting and adapting.

Col. Knowles was nominated for the Medical Service Corps (MSC) Hall of Fame.

1st Lieutenant William R Knowles 1943

Col. William R. Knowles, MSC

“This distinguished Army Medical Department Aviator is known for his Pioneering and Innovative contributions to AMEDDS Aviation and to Army Aviation and Aviation Safety.

Starting his aviation career as a Marine aviation cadet during World War II, Bill

graduated as a Lieutenant and found himself on the next plane to the South Pacific. There he flew 52 combat missions in close air support of troops fighting in the jungles as they recovered island after island from the Japanese.

Returning to the States, he was a gunnery instructor until the end of the war. Bill
transferred to a reserve Marine fighter squadron in Seattle, Washington where he
continued his love of flying while attending graduate school. Upon graduation, he was offered and accepted a Regular Army commission in the Medical Service Corps. This commission gave him the chance to fly as he helped the Army Surgeon General develop Aeromedical services to evacuate wounded from the battlefield.

Graduating from the first MSC helicopter flight class, he joined the 53rd Medical Detachment (Air Amb) in Germany. There he continued his Aeromedical education under another pioneer, Lou Hamner. (Bill credits Hamner as the best CO and teacher he ever served under.) Many of the helicopter flight and safety concepts formed at that time would carry into combat evacuation and development for future Aeromedical helicopters.

Lt Knowles Germany 1952

His next assignment was as Army Aviation Liaison to the Aviation Crash Injury Research Program at Cornell University, which later became the Flight Safety Foundation. He later attended the Aviation Safety Course at the University of Southern California. This would lead to assignments with the Army Surgeon Generals office as Aeromedical Evacuation Consultant to the Chief, Medical Service Corps and to the Surgeon General. During this period, he was instrumental in the expansion of the Aeromedical Evacuation Program, recruiting many “cream of the crop” young MSC officers into aviation and initiating many training programs to make them the “best of the best” of Army Aviation.

Colonel Knowles was Project Officer to Bell Helicopters for the development of an
Aeromedical evacuation platform that became the HU-1, Huey helicopter as envisioned by MG (then Col) Spurgeon Neel. The helicopter was so successful that the Army adopted the design for its primary battlefield helicopter. Quoting Col. Knowles on this project, “ I fought long and hard for the six litter configuration based on my experience with units in Germany and CONUS. Later, evacuating wounded from the rice paddies of Vietnam, I realized that the best we could do was three or four litters plus walking wounded. This became a primary factor in development of the UTTAS (Blackhawk) helicopter.”

After the HU-I was put to bed, Col Knowles was assigned to the Army Tactical
Mobility Board, later the Howze Board, to develop the concepts for battlefield air
mobility which led to the creation of an Army Aviation Branch and the development of the Air Assault Division. For his dedicated work and broad aviation and safety experience, he was awarded a letter of appreciation from Army Chief of Staff General Earle Wheeler in 1963.

A natural follow-on assignment was to the US Army Board for Aviation Accident
Research (USABAAR), where Colonel (then LTC) Knowles was immediately sent to Vietnam to investigate accidents and set up a program to prevent accidents. Even though he was not assigned to an air ambulance or a tactical aviation unit his concept of developing a safety program was to fly the missions with the young pilots and gain the insight firsthand as to the causes behind many pilot error accidents.

Returning to Ft. Rucker, he would be reassigned to Vietnam to command the 498th Medical Company (Air Amb). As a “Flying Commander” he added 330 combat hours, 262 combat missions and evacuated 361 patients during the eight months before he was moved to the Medical Brigade as Chief of Plans and Operations. Colonel Knowles was selected by the SGO for assignment at Medical Combat Developments to apply his “lessons learned” to future development. From Combat Developments to the Army War College, then to command of a Medical Brigade, Colonel Knowles continued his distinguished DUSTOFF career.

Unable to suppress his pioneering spirit, Bill was assigned to the Secretary of Defense with duty at the Department of Transportation to develop the highly successful Military Assistance to Safety and Traffic (MAST) program.

LTC Knowles with Sec Defense Melvin Laird

This program was designed to assist civilian populations with military Aeromedical resources while giving a return on taxpayers’ dollars. It also saved the Surgeon General’s Aeromedical evacuation assets from budget cuts and in fact, expanded these assets and gained air ambulance resources in Alaska (cold weather training), Panama (jungle training) Hawaii (division support) and Japan (inter hospital support and training). Bill’s work with the Howze Board and his many friends in the Defense Department and Army Aviation saved the program from strong opposition within Army Aviation from leaders who wanted the Aeromedical aviation budget dollars for their own resources.

Colonel Knowles is an aviation pioneer as well as an innovative, strong commander dedicated to the training and safety of his flight crews. He was a savvy staff officer who knew how to get the programs through layers of bureaucracy and always a DUSTOFF aviator.

Colonel Knowles’ decorations and achievements are notable:

- Legions of Merit (2)                                                                                                                         – FAA Commercial Pilots License-1943
- Airplane license, single and multiple, Instrument, rotorcraft-helicopter; flight          instructor, airplanes. 1966.
- Dual and Instrument Rated, US Army
- Master Army Aviator
- Combat Medical Badge
- Air Medals w/V and 6 Oak Leaf Clusters
- Meritorious Service Medal
- Army Commendation Medal
- Meritorious Unit Medal (498th Air Amb)
- Vietnam Service Medals”

We lift up all military families for their sacrifice and honorable service.

I love my morning cappuccino.

It is a great way to start the day, in spite of the fact that “Too much caffeine can…
-Overstimulate your central nervous system, leading to an increase in heart rate and blood pressure.
-Affect energy levels. Following an initial energy boost, your energy plummets because of resulting low blood-sugar levels.
-Decrease bone density, putting you at risk of the bone-wasting disease, osteoporosis.
-Inhibit absorption of essential vitamins and minerals, such as calcium and iron. Taking a vitamin supplement with a cup of coffee or tea, for example, can render it useless.
-Irritate the lining of your stomach and oesophagus, causing indigestion, ulcers and digestive problems.
-Aggravate PMS and menopause symptoms, such as fluid retention, breast tenderness and hot flushes.
-Cause headaches, including the triggering of migraines in some sufferers. It can also cause insomnia.”*

I don’t care. I love my cappuccino.

*hideous caffeine facts provided by  Marius Bezuidenhout

Reprinted from SHOOT ONLINE March 29, 2002
by TJ Knowles

I found this article I wrote in 2002 published in Shoot Online, an advertising agency trade magazine.  It describes the demise of the jingle business resulting from the outsourcing of responsibility and risk.

These are trying times in the commercial music biz. There are fewer fun units and the jitter level has hit an all-time high. But in spite of tremendous competition for work, shrinking budgets, and a plethora of library and popular music available to license, one directive is clear for creatives and producers: You must maintain your composer.

Remember Amadeus? This was the movie set in the days when court composers were retained by kings. Even in those hard times, the value of original musical composition was recognized and preserved. Court composers were not house pets—it was often a dangerous profession. One bad review could land the composer in a Holiday Inn at happy hour.

You may be aware that the music industry is in the toilet. For the first time, blank, recordable CDs have outsold albums. Music from early in the last century captured the Grammys, now referred to as the Grannys. When art becomes nothing but a commodity, art suffers. The Big Music Guys hold the power of distribution, and with that power comes the obligation to cultivate and distribute music that invigorates the public and inspires new artistic talent. They have dropped the ball on their own feet and are feeling the pain.

Perhaps this is why commercial music has become a popular genre unto itself. Original-music shops are greenhouses of experimental music and sound. Without these little laboratories, we in the commercial business, too, will be limited to spoon-feeding playlist pap to those we hope to attract.

Music is perhaps the most subjective and risky element in the commercial process. Over time we have been carefully eliminating risk from the entire production process. We are becoming risk managers. We have all left advertising to join the insurance industry.

Scrape together a demo bud-get and pitch original music to your clients. Answer your phones when a music house calls. Circulate original-music reels. Become aware of the incredible array of musical talent ready to knock your socks off. The pick is on the string, so to speak.

So do something original. Only then will you be able to maintain your composer.

“A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.”  William Shedd

On the most beautiful day of the year I looked out at the vast number of boats in the harbor marinas, and I marveled at how few of these boats actually ever go anywhere. What keeps them in the slip? So much potential, so much horsepower….just sitting there. All it takes is a flip of the switch, a little fuel and spark, or a sail, and the whole world of possibilities and adventure opens up.

But there they sit- beautiful, but still.

It occurred to me that each of us is like a boat in the marina. We say we want a full, rich life, but, as Captain of our boat, fear makes it hard for us to turn the key or raise the sail. It takes courage to release our dock lines and leave the safety of the slip. But whenever we do, we can choose our course and speed.

“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then—to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”        —T.H. White, The Once and Future King

On Monday I took my Toyota Matrix (best car I’ve ever had-except for my 1930 Model A) to a guy who is one of the most intelligent, practical and highly skilled men I have ever known. He works as a handyman, but his experience and expertise as a mechanic, expert welder, and all-around construction problem-solver are a constant amazement to me.

He completed some major brake work and electrical repair, gave me great advice and sent me on my way with an invoice that would have been triple at any Dealer service.

During our conversation, he said he was concerned about the economy and his workload.

It occurred to me-and I told him, that he was mistaken- that he was sitting in the catbird seat and would thrive in this dismal economy because he actually KNOWS HOW TO DO THINGS. And the things he knows how to do are a staple in today’s world.

In some ways, the cliff-diving our economy has been doing is a blessing- we are getting the big wake-up call to see that we have become a nation of consumers- not producers. We have invented 200 names for money, and none of them is worth a tinker’s dam now.

We are clever manipulators of information, which translates into zippo-nada-zero in a world in which Substance now rises from the ashes like the mythical Phoenix, devouring the pathetic, paper-pushing and digital house of cards we have been referring to for years as an “unstoppable” economy.

It is still a real world. Tools, hard work, physical labor, self-reliance  and pride will be the honorable watchwords of the day.

I watch Ken as he struggles with my car’s serpentine belt that fights him for control.

Ken will win.

I have a “thing” about being on time.

I hate to waste anyone’s time and I especially dislike having my time wasted.

This all stems from a life-altering experience I had as a young 2nd Lieutenant in the Army in 1974, while stationed at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii.

I come from a military family. My Dad flew dive bombers during WWII in the South Pacific and served two tours in Viet Nam, commanding a Dust-Off air ambulance (MEDEVAC) unit. We moved 32 times before I graduated from high school. I attended four high schools in three states. This perhaps accounts for my attenuated attention span, which is about 30 seconds.

So, with my background, I was feeling fairly experienced and comfortable in my new military environment. Never get too comfortable….

The Commanding General, 25th Infantry Division, sent a letter to all of us newbie junior officers requiring our presence at a Command briefing in the War Room. Viet Nam was still happening, and this was to be a very serious and impressive event for us. The entire Command Staff and top brass, some who flew in from the mainland, would be attending.

I looked at the date and time  and location, but I did not bother to mark the address. I knew where the building was located. I had seen the big sign in front.

So five minutes prior to the start of the briefing I waltzed up to the door and discovered that the building was empty and the door locked. Have you ever had that sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you your life is over?

A Captain passed by and saw me standing in obvious shock.  Apparently, the HQ had been moved but the sign was left in place. The actual location of the Briefing was a solid mile down the road!

Hawaii in late Summer can be very warm.

In full fatigues and combat boots, I ran the entire distance in record time (for me) with sweat leaping from my forehead and my heart pounding from fear, humiliation and the certainty that I had missed this very, very  important Command Performance. My military upbringing was of no use to me now. I was in full panic mode as I arrived at the Briefing Hall.

Red-faced and breathing heavily, I walked inside and beheld two very large wooden doors. The doors were closed, of course. The briefing was underway and 2nd LT Knowles was in deep kimche. In front of the doors and behind a large wooden desk sat a skinny young Captain who never even looked up to see who I might be.  He already knew- he was in charge of attendance- and he made no effort to sooth my ruffled feathers.

He said, “You missed the Briefing, Lieutenant. Don’t even think of going in now!” (Translation: Your career is over before it even started!).

There was no way I was not going in there. I walked around him and slowly and gently opened the huge doors.

I cannot begin to describe the feeling I had as my eyes adjusted to the darkened room and the people and objects took shape. At the far end of the room, in front of a huge, back-lit wall map, stood the Commanding General, pointer in hand and discussing some strategic jungle location on the map. He stopped talking when he saw me and blinked, briefly, like an owl. This was obviously a new and totally amazing experience for him, too.

Directly in front of me was a long conference table surrounded by a variety of Generals, Admirals, and lesser staff, seated in order of importance. When the Commanding General stopped, they turned to stare at the hapless idiot who had stumbled into the wrong room, perhaps??

Along either side of this long narrow room were seated more staff and more brass. I looked hungrily for an empty chair to end my torment. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed my Company Commander- my Boss- along the right wall with an EMPTY SEAT next to him! I moved quickly to the chair and sat down.

And still the Commanding General stared at me in disbelief. Why didn’t he just get on with it? What more could I do? Get back to your pointing and briefing!

My Boss, a LT. Colonel and an All American QB from Notre Dame, covered his mouth with his hand,leaned toward me and said, “Uh, Knowles, you are sitting in the General’s seat!”

it was then that I noticed, across the room, all my fellow junior officers, squirming like a gaggle of geese, grinning and loving every second of my misfortune. My empty, assigned seat beckoned me and I leaped out of the General’s chair, quickly crossed the room and, humiliation complete, sat down with a sigh that sounded something like a deflating birthday balloon dropping slowly from the ceiling. I kept my eyes down and waited for life to either end or proceed.

Finally, in the eternity of that moment, the Commanding General spoke to me. “Lieutenant,… with your permission,… may we continue?”

“Oh, please, go right ahead, General,” I blurted..

It was over. I was the talk of the town for weeks.

So if you ask me why I am so serious about being on time, about being prepared, and about planning ahead, I trace it all back to this one event, forever seared into my heart and mind.

So, with your permission…..lets continue.

Texting, web surfing, internet intuition, general computer knowhow and dexterity are fundamental skills of our up and coming generations. These skills are required in the context of today’s socialization.

The digital world pushes us further away from each other as living, breathing individuals and converts our personalities to one-dimensional “faces.” We can present the exact face we want the world to see, and it may or may not be accurate.

The art of communication is eroding- replaced by a strange protective shell that shields the individual from any conflict or interaction that may generate emotional risk.

As more of our existence and daily work moves online, the more we see changes in how business is conducted. The boutique hardware store has perished in the wake of a newly-built Home Depot. Yet everything at Home Depot is now available online.

Man has always sought escape from harsh reality, but to live full-time in a virtual reality, free of conflict and full of sensory stimulation, without any need for personal contact with other human beings, controlled by The State (gotta watch the movie, Sleeper, with Woody Allen) is not a future that I find appealing.

As technology and the insidious virus we call “information” take over more and more of our daily affairs, the Art of Selling seems to be heading down the road of obsolescence. Who will need to know the value of looking someone straight in the eye without flinching? Why bother teaching body language or nuanced mannerisms? Who will care about cultural and language differences?

Eventually, when it all boil down to texting, we will truly only be as good as our words.

A thought comes into your head- a new invention, an exciting business idea… This same thought will hit four people. Two will ignore it, one will think about it and scratch around it a bit, but only one will act on it….

Most people are easily defeated by the sheer weight of all the details and actions required to launch or re-direct a business (or personal goal). It is the everyday NOW that presents the biggest obstacle.

You wake up in action mode, ready to take on the world. Then you get blindsided by a comment, an emotion, a distraction. You cannot seem to get refocused and you drown in the flood of muddy thoughts created by NOW. So you put off the action until tomorrow, but it is not really procrastination. It is simply the result of being overwhelmed by NOW.

Deep, huh?

I remember wood shop in 7th Grade at JF Cooper Jr. High School in Virginia. My semester project- a rectangular cutting board- displayed all the wrong cuts, sanding scratches and general torture that I inflicted on this simple piece of  maple. But I can still smell that wood shop and I can still picture my shop teacher, Mr. Wilson, who was truly a patient and skilled man.

In eighth grade I had metal shop, but that’s another story..

The girls had home economics (Home Ec) which focused on sewing and cooking.

There was also vocational training and auto shop for those who just didn’t fit in to the normal pattern, although these kids were usually very bright.

Anyway, the point is that in addition to math and English and physical education, we were exposed to these specialty classes that taught skill sets that required technique.

Great confidence comes from working with your hands and operating machinery that scares you to death, or from pedaling a sewing machine that can drive a needle through your thumb, or torching yourself on an oven burner. The memory of these activities stays with you for life.

Today, what lies under the hood of a car is a great mystery- even to experienced mechanics.

Our kids will need to be able to do more than text message and check email if they are to build successful lives. Where are the hands-on skill sets being taught?

San Francisco Earthquake / Fire 1906

Josephine Kelley was born in San Diego 101 years ago. By her own account, she has survived the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, traveled to China, made bootleg gin during Prohibition, driven cross-country alone in a Model A Ford and escorted Thomas Edison and Henry Ford down the aisle at a gala event.

In her cluttered, musty one-room studio apartment, surrounded by photographs and memories, she props herself up on one elbow in a bed covered with sheets and blankets older than she is, complains about the San Diego Padres and politics in general and looks suspiciously at the microphone in front of her.

Josephine is a drama queen. Her speech is punctuated with gestures, dramatic pauses, loud outbursts and a laugh that sounds much like a 1930 Model A Coupe starting up in the morning. Her eyes light up and she sheds 90 years as her tale begins.

And now,.. Josephine!

“I think I was a mistake. How I was born, I’ll never know. My sister tells me that she never remembers my mother and father sleeping together. She slept with my mother and my brother slept with my father.  Somebody walked at night!

I was an albatross. Forty five my mother was when she had me and, frankly, I don’t think she wanted me because (heh! heh!) she’d go off in the morning as soon as the work was done, up to the library and she’d put me out in the yard with the dog…What was his name…Prince…and he’d watch me (my sister and brother were at school). If I’d get up to walk to the gate the dog would grab me and pull me back. So I had a dog for a babysitter when I was a kid.

Well, I didn’t know until the late sixties (my sister died in ’69) and that year before she died she told me things I never knew. My brother and sister were both sworn to secrecy to tell me my father died after I was born. I didn’t know that he died when I was nineteen. He died in San Diego but they had seen him in between. They’d visited with him. He used to always ask for me and my sister said he carried (my brother brought him a picture of me) and he carried that in his pocket all the time. But he wasn’t crazy about my sister because she was a seven-month baby and she was a little wrinkled-up red ball (he was a great big man) and that didn’t appeal to him- a Frenchman.

But when I bounced out I was, gosh, I was a ten pound baby. He thought he had a French army! And you know, my sister never walked til she was three and she didn’t talk, really. I started walking- nobody helped me. I got up and Mama said I just walked. And I just started talking and the first words I ever said was (well, my brother and sister were at school and there was a neighbor with two kids next door and they weren’t very friendly with my mother because they weren’t religious people.) So they spent the whole day with me and the first words I spoke I came into the house and said to my mother: “Gimme a piece of bread and butter dammit.” My mother said “What!!” “Gimme a piece of  bread and butter, dammit.”

So another time my Mama came home, my sister was babysitting. She picked me up and said “My God, what happened?”  My sister had taken a pair of scissors and cut off all my eyelashes and picked off all my eyebrows and put my hair in little pigtails all over my head and then cut ‘em all off! I was the funniest looking thing!

But then, my father got in a fight with another Frenchman he knew in France. It seems that years ago my father stole a girl from him he’d been crazy about and there’d always been kinda bad feelings between them. So he came out to San Diego and there was one leading (what do you call those houses?) bordellos, yeah. It was run by a lady, Josephine. See, I didn’t know til my sister told me before she died that I wasn’t named after the empress Josephine. I was named after my father’s girlfriend. She was the madam of this house. So he had a fight with my father and it kept up until he told my mother that my father had a girlfriend down there. That’s where he used to go when she was in church. So my father naturally told the priest about it. I always held it against that priest. He told my mother to leave him and that was wrong. She shouldn’t have left him because he was making good money and we had our own house.

So my mother left him. Mama was brought up to be a nun. She was a teacher. She couldn’t boil water and she didn’t know anything about housekeeping. She came from a rich family in Ireland and they had servants. So, that would be between 1884-1885. Why, I guess it must have been in 1886 because I was walking and talking. So Mama was stuck with three kids and there was nothing she could do. There was no place for a woman in the world at that time and Mama was 45 years of age. Fifty was considered old in the late 1800′s. Even before that, even King Henry VIII was considered an old man when he was in his forties! And people in their fifties were considered very old. People didn’t live in those days as old as they do now. Fifty is just over the hill now but back then it was the end!

Well. anyway….Mama walked out on my father with three kids. She found out it wasn’t an easy task. That was a mistake. She shoulda stuck it out, because we were deprived of an education and everything. The only thing she could do, the priest told her, was to put us in an orphan’s home. My sister never forgave her or me because the Sisters refused to take me unless she came along to look after me. So my sister at eleven had to go in this convent and we went to LA to Boyle Heights convent. And Sisters weren’t like they are now. They were kinda mean. At least they were mean to her. I don’t remember. My poor brother was put with the Brothers at Watsonville.

Well, for Mama to go from LA to Watsonville in those days it’d be like goin’ to Europe. ‘Cause three dollars was big money for a week’s wages. That  was BIG money! So, that was very sad. While my sister was in the convent they used to come and wake her up at three o’clock in the morning and she had to take five kids including me down to the bathroom, which seemed like a mile down those cold corridors. And how could she know whether they relieved themselves or not? And if one of them wet the bed she was punished for it. And of course the only one that ever wet the bed was me! She got punished for me for all those years…she hated my guts. Hah!  She told me and I didn’t blame her when I heard the story. And the result of it was, one of the punishments, she had to wash the sheets and she was deprived of her dessert. Well. the dessert wasn’t a big thing. It might have been a cookie or it might have been a fruit or somethin’, but that, to an orphan, in  an orphanage, that’s an awful big thing.

Remember the time Marilyn Monroe said, one Christmas she got an orange. She thought it was the biggest thing in her life. See, people don’t realize, a child in those days, there was no help. The Church didn’t help people. They didn’t help Momma at all. They told her to leave my father but they didn’t offer any help otherwise. There was no Medicare, no pensions, there was no nothing. So we moved to Los Angeles. That’s where the orphanage where my sister and I was.

And my mother ( well, my brother was seventeen when he got out. I say got out, because when I met him I was ten then.) went down to the station. And I’ll never forget it- it haunts me…this old, old man got off the train. Imagine, he was only seventeen. But he was stooped and old. And the whole side of his face was black and blue.  The Irish are very superstitious people. My brother was left-handed which means you’re controlled by the devil. And they used to strap his left arm to his body and behind his back. It  was strapped all that time. And whether he was stubborn, (he’s got a stubborn streak like I have), I don’t know, but he never learned to use his right hand.  When he came out after seven years, he couldn’t write his name.  That was terrible- Momma had to start teaching him how to write his name. He couldn’t use his left hand- it was useless now. But he never learned to use his right hand. And that was pathetic.

So Mama apprenticed him out (heh, heh!) it was funny, she apprenticed him out to a bookbinder. And, he always used to take me with him. And he’s drivin’ us, (course, there was no automobiles then) he’s drivin’ this truck with all his books in the back to deliver. When he gets to the place he looks back and there’s nothing in the truck. The gate had come down and he’d lost all the books. So he got fired from that job. So she apprenticed him to a contractor to learn the building business. Well, he lasted a week there because he turned the hose on all the sacks of cement, he didn’t know. That was the end of that job.

So, finally Momma apprenticed him to a, the big thing in those days was plasterers. You know, you never see a mason anymore. Everything was brick, especially down in Los Angeles…adobe houses are the best houses there is because they’re cool in summer and warm in winter and they’re good-they last. We have adobe houses around here over a hundred years old. So she apprenticed him to this contractor to learn to be a carpenter. No, to the plasterer, that was it– they made big money then. The masons and plasterers, everything was plastered, these adobe houses were plastered on the outside and the inside.

He hadn’t been on that job a week when he was looking up, he was doing the ceiling. And the plaster fell in his right eye…. yes, his right eye. I don’t know whether they coulda saved it nowadays or not. You know, he lost the sight ’cause whatever they used in the plaster those days, there was a lot of lye, it just burnt the whole eye. But they didn’t remove the eye. The eye turned to stone.  It was stone. But the iris looked clear. But that was the end. They soon found out he only had one eye. It made life very difficult for him, see. So it was odd jobs and things and all so, he decided he wanted to see the world, so Momma said go ahead (he was goin’ on eighteen then). But he got as far as New Orleans.

In those days it was quite the thing to jump freight cars. That’s how all the bums traveled. And, you know, they had a way with them. If they hit a town and they hit a house or farm where they got somthin’ to eat, they used to leave a mark on it. So it was safe to hit that place. But if it was a tough place they’d also leave a mark “Don’t Go Here!” But they always got by. They used  to meet under bridges and sorta pool the stuff that they had. He got to New Orleans, anyway. (That’s where my mother and father were married).

And ,(heh, heh!), first crack out of the box he got arrested. He didn’t have any money on him. They’re very strict in New Orleans. That’s how they got their labor there in those days. They used to arrest all the bums and hobos and put ‘em on the chain gang. They put ‘em to work cleaning roads. And he did six months there and that was enough- that was hard work. And the minute he got out of there he shot back to Los Angeles as fast as he could and he never left my mother again.

But, oh my, what a wonderful brother he was! He worked and gave her all his salary…she used to allow him a dollar a week for car fare and his Bull Durham, and the Church got the rest. It didn’t matter whether we ate or not.  My mother was very, very religious. That’s the way it is in Ireland. The Church is so poor they take your last dime. My husband told me that. The families are very strict in Ireland that way. It’s a big thing to have either a nun or a priest in the family. That’s the main goal because, after all, in those days, there wasn’t much industry in Ireland.

Like, take my husband. He was born in Wicklow. The only way he could get out of Wicklow was goin’ to sea. That was the only way out. There was no industry there. He went to sea as a cabin boy when he was twelve years of age. His mother had died when he was ten and his father was a seaman so he was all on his own. But he was sick every day of his life. Oooh, when we got married and all, some friends of his wanted us to go fishin’ and he said “Heavens forbid, no! Heavens forbid, I don’t want to see a boat again!”

He was in the War, the First World War. He served in the British Navy. I don’t know how he got into that but he did. The ship he was on, I don’t know what it was, I got all his medals here, was torpedoed in the Atlantic and he saved a Lasker (I think that’s what they called the Indian seamen- Laskers- He held him up for eighteen hours. And after they was rescued he had an awful time. It took him over a year to get rid of this Lasker cause he made himself his servant, you know. He was so grateful he saved his life, and he just followed him all over, see. So he finally got on with the United Fruitboats.

But anyway, to get back to my mother… I think it was right after Christmas, I remember, when Momma was in charge of a rooming house. What they were was small hotels. One of the roomers told her (and Los Angeles wasn’t too big then. It wasn’t as advanced as San Francisco), she was wasting her time there. She ought to be in San Francisco where the money was. So Momma decided to go to San Francisco. In the meantime, when she got out of the convent, the first thing my sister did was she beat it. She got a job in Hollywood minding a couple of kids. She was sixteen then. And she went to Arizona, the woman took her to Arizona with her.

She had a boarding house there and my sister stayed there for quite a while until her twenties and she married a Spanish war veteran. A very nice man he was. She was married to him for twenty years before he was drowned. It was around the first of the year, 1906, I remember Momma sayin’ that night we were goin’ to San Francisco and I said “Oh, yes!” There was two ships, two boats that used to travel between San Francisco and Los Angeles- The Yale and the  Harvard. One every other day and three times a week, I forget.

But at that particular time there was a war on between the two companies. So we went on the boat…I was between 11 and 12 and we went and that was a terrible trip for Momma. And all I can see is her layin’ in that cabin so sick, sick all the way, and it took 24 hours. It was a rough trip, a rough trip up to San Francisco. And I guess we got there in January or February.

We were living in a small hotel south of Market. Everything was south of Market. That’s where all the Irish were. It was between 5th and Sixth. I can’t remember to save my soul, after all these years, what came after Mission. Was it Bryant? Or Harrison? Well, Momma used to get up at five o’clock every morning and go around the corner to St Patrick’s Church (it was on Mission between 5th and 6th). And just this morning, Momma hadn’t gotten up yet. Well, she was just getting up, she had on her robe, and she was pulling on her bedroom slippers, when the house started to shake.

She hadn’t lit the lamp yet, cause if she’d lit the lamp, why, we’d both been dead because that’s what caused the fire was there was no gas or light there off Market- it was all kerosene lamps. And the lamps tipped over and the kerosene is what started the fire, see. She hadn’t lit the lamp yet. That’s what saved us. One of the roomers came bangin’ on the door, came in and the whole side of the house was on fire and he grabbed me up in his arms, and I was just in my nightgown, and Momma, and rushed us down to the street.

And, you know, it was a terrible thing. To this day, the earthquake means nothing to me because I didn’t feel it. I was asleep. And an earthquake don’t last long. But it seemed like that fire….we were running….and that fire!….that fire was chasing us, like. And we were running like anything. Me in my bare feet over glass….We got as far as Van Ness Avenue but that was about, oh my gosh, about twelve blocks. They’re  long blocks there. But we got to stop every once in a while.

Market Street was quite safe. The Palace Hotel was shook up. The Palace Hotel’s still there. The Chronicle Building’s still there. The Crocker Building, those buildings are all still there. Smaller buildings crumbled, but The Emporium was the largest department store. It was right there between 4th and 5th. And the floors were like on balconies and a dome-I think they copied  it from the Greek Acropolis. And the post office at 6th and Mission….that was a funny thing. That big heavy post office is still there, it sunk right down in the ground about two feet or so, but it’s still standing. See, north of market, that’s where the money was. But there was no water. They had gas over there but the gas lines were broke and the gas was pouring out, and there was no water, so they started dynamiting. Well, we got to Van Ness Avenue, and that should be a lesson to every city. It was a wide street. And everybody was walking around in a daze.

But they started dynamiting on the north side and a lot of buildings that would have withstood the shake were dynamited. So there we wandered around, and San Francisco had little parks all over. So we gathered in crowds and started up Golden Gate Avenue (it was a wide street) and we landed at Jefferson Square Park.  The Army came to our assistance then, and started putting up tents. And every morning you’d see people standing outside the tents killing fleas. My God, the fleas were terrible (Josephine pauses to scratch at the memory). But one good thing it did, they used to have bedbugs in San Francisco were so big they’d carry your baggage. It was terrible. You never got a night’s sleep. You were eaten up during the night, the sheets were all spotted with blood. Bedbugs…they’re horrible things. I don’t believe anyone’s ever seen a bedbug since in San Francisco. The bedbugs were all south of market. They just bred like flies down there. There was never a bedbug seen in San Francisco again. The fire wiped ‘em right out. Wiped the bedbugs out. They were brought in, I don’t know, from all over the world, I guess.

But every morning outside these tents, we were just sleeping on the bare ground and gradually we got blankets. Finally we got a spring but no mattress. Then they formed the soup kitchen. And of course I had no clothes. People just started donating clothes from Oakland, Los Angeles and around. It’s funny how those donations go.  I got one dress and ten tam o’shanters-that’s the hats they wore. Here I had those Scotch caps. I had ten of them and one dress!  We used to walk down to the kitchen every night or at noon with a big bowl and get a piece of bread.

And Momma got a job, believe it or not! She got a job with a very rich family. (Hah hah!) That’s a laugh…as a kitchen maid. My Momma wouldn’t know a kitchen from a parlor. But she got this job, cause we didn’t have a dime. And later, they moved us all down south of Market again. There was a big, beautiful park down there. That’s where apartments became known. Before that there was no such thing as apartments. It was Nineteen Hundred and Six. Gosh, how many years ago was that? And we had this little apartment. It was so nice, with a little built-in stove and two bunk beds and the chair and table.

I used to go down to Chinatown and I was only 13. I used to go down there in the evening all by myself. That was Grand Avenue. I’d look in the shops and everything and get home about 8:30. No one ever molested me or bothered me. I was as safe as if I was in God’s pocket. And right on the other side of Kearney was the Red light District. That was controlled beautifully. The Board of Health took over there and it wasn’t spread around the city. Tourists used to come there. They had several big dance halls where the girls come out and danced and all. That was a great tourist attraction. But it was quite all right. You went down there with a guy and saw these places. It was a nice clean life.  It was wonderful.

As I grew up, we never had any race trouble there. We didn’t have too many colored people but what we had were educated. They were nice. They lived out in Hunter’s Point. Out with the shipyards and slaughterhouse and all. Golden Gate Avenue and McAllister Street was where the Jewish people all lived. North Beach is where the Italians all lived. The Mission District was where the Irish all lived. And the Germans, I don’t remember. We had a lot of Germans but they didn’t have any particular district that I know of. But on St Patrick’s Day, even the Chinese were Irish. It was a big thing.

We used to meet on Sunday mornings and there’d be a picnic, maybe the Policeman’s picnic, or the plumbers or the iron workers or something. And everybody’d meet down at the Ferry Building with their lunch, a case of beer, a watermelon, and there’d always be a banjo or guitar.  We used to go over on the boat to Fairmont Park. Oh, what good days they were! Everybody knew everybody else. They were so friendly…the most beautiful people in the world. There was no name-calling…no dirty words like dago and kike and all that stuff. We never made any distinction between anybody’s nationality. We’d dance and they’d play the guitar or the banjo going over on the ferry and we had races and everything. And then we’d all come back on the boat together and head for North Beach.

We used to go to an Italian place was 50 cents you got a wonderful lunch. And we sat at big long tables, and  everything was brought in courses. And after that maybe 50 or 100 of us would all head up for Filmore and Hait. There was a big auditorium up there and we’d dance til twelve o’clock at night. Oh, it was great! We’d drag ourselves to work next day but I don’t ever remember being tired.

I was the world’s lousiest dancer. That’s why I took up swimming later…because one dance with me was like dragging one of those beer horses around. But I liked to waltz and I always liked to waltz with a fat man. Did you ever stop to think how graceful a fat man is? Look at Gleason. He was very light on his feet. Watch an elephant sometime. How they lift up their feet. Very graceful. A skinny guy jumps all over but a fat man…..

Anyway, my brother was still with Momma. My sister got married in the meantime and moved back East. So, I went to work at the Pig & Whistle. That’s one of the very exclusive candy stores in San Francisco. It’s right at the corner of Post & Kearney. The candymaker, Dan Watson was his name. I never paid any attention to him ’cause I was 17 and he was about 35. And he was considered one of the finest candymakers out on the  ­coast. He was makin’ big money. I came home from work one night and walked down to Chinatown. And when I came back, here he was sittin’ in the kitchen with my mother. And I thought “What was he doin’ there?” and he’d just come over and introduced himself to Momma, and he being Irish and came from a Catholic family, they kinda hit it off. He had a pocketful of candy he gave to Momma.

Well, Momma liked him. So a courtship started that was more on his part than mine. He was makin’ big money at that time. Around $500.00 a month then was like $5000.00 now ’cause sugar was only five cents a pound, eggs was 15 cents a dozen, butter was 10 cents a pound, and on $500.00 a month you could  certainly live like a king. So this romance on his part went on for about a year. He wanted to get married and Momma thought it was a good idea, so we got married.

And, Oh, God, he was a nice guy and all that, but he drank. He used to go down to the Relay Saloon on Market Street and treat everybody to a drink. When he’d get home he’d have about fifteen cents. He was really a man’s man- totally a bachelor.

The 1915 fair came on. And I’m telling you something now that’s never been told in San Diego before. I used to go out to the Citro Baths. I took up swimming cause I was such a lousy dancer. They had a big platform out there. I don’t know whether Citro Baths is still there but I believe it was in 1901. There was a big fair held in San Francisco. Citro was an early 49er millionaire and he built this bath for the Fair. Oh, it was an immense big pool and a big platform where the men used to do somersaults and hand springs and all.

So my girlfriend and I were big showoffs. We were prancin’ around Cplayin’ leapfrog. So I turned around and saw my girlfriend talkin’ to some man and later I said “Who was that?”  “Oh, some magazine man,” she said, “he wanted to know about us.” Later on, (this was in 1914), …I’m trying to remember the name of that magazine. It was put out by McFadden. Anyway, in the magazine was a big picture of me.

There was six entries. This girl had sent in a picture of me in my bathing suit and it came out…I don’t like to tell this cause it sounds like bragging and it don’t mean a thing to me… but I came out as the Third Most Perfect-Formed Girl in the World. McFadden’s magazine. I don’t know whether they even publish it anymore. Well, my Mother was absolutely shocked when she saw the picture.

But I got a bid from the World’s Fair. So I went out there and I was made a Greeter. I met Henry Ford and I met Edison. They were together. I met Edison’s wife and she told me he was the most absent-minded man in the world. She said she had to lay his clothes out for him ’cause he was color-blind. He was a darling man. Ford didn’t smile much…he was very stern-looking, but Edison…you wanted to love him.

And I met the great Pataruski, I met Lillian Russell, Ana Hild, I met Brady…..oh, I met so many celebrities there. And later on I opened a show featuring me, cause through that paper I got all kinds of modeling jobs which was payin’ two and a half an hour which was awful big money, workin’ four and five hours a day, and I  posed for some of the biggest artists of America.  But the leading sculptor of America, Sterling Cauldor, I posed for him. I went to Washington and posed for some statues there. I posed for quite a few of the paintings for Bernard Dixon, the man from Arizona.

And I met this man he was a 33rd degree mason and head of one of the biggest lumber companies there. And he gave me $1000.00 to pose for a model…he had me patent it…it’s called the West Wind and I’m standing on my toes with my hands are out like this, my head’s back, my hair’s flowin’ and that was on the front of his Rolls Royce. There was a write-up in the paper about that. When he’d park his car he’d take it off. First it was on his Lincoln and he’d remove it cause they’d steal it. And he’d carry it into his office. I won’t tell you the name of the lumber company, it was very famous. I don’t think he’s alive now ’cause he was in his 50′s then, but he had a family and it would be embarrassing, but he used to use it as a paperweight cause it  was heavy.  Through that magazine I posed for work in New York for Mrs. Whitney. And I posed again for Cauldor in Washington ’cause that’s where his studio was. I posed for Stackpole, a very  famous painter.

But to get back to my husband and the Fair. He came out in a magazine as one of the finest candymakers on the West Coast, but he’d get drunk and give those recipes away. He was the one who brought out the candy cherries and a very rich candy only millionaires could get…Cordials with black coffee in’ em. My God, the things he put out. But a rich man wanted him to go to China to open a candy store in Shanghai. Shanghai was called the Monte Carlo of the Far East. They had a convent there and those beautiful French nuns, they did so much good. They used to pick up abandoned girl babies cause only the poor didn’t bind the baby’s feet and they’d  bring ‘em in and teach ‘em to become nuns or teachers.

So he was getting $1000.00 a month on a five-year contract. That was an awful lot of money. Well, we spent over two years there but, my God, we never had a dime at the end. Every night he was out at this gambling joint, and, of course, he was much older than I was. We were staying in the Astor Hotel and you had to dress for dinner every night. I never had an evening dress in San Francisco and I couldn’t go down to dinner without an evening dress so I met a very lovely lady there. She says “Don’t worry, you’ll have an evening dress.” We got one of those Vogue books and I picked out one of those dresses I liked. Then she took me over to the silk shop and I picked out black taffeta and I was easy to fit.

I was 5’4″ and weighed 120 pounds. I showed him the design, and at 6 pm I had the dress, perfect. And, ya know, that was Chinese silk, not Japanese silk. There was no comparison. Japanese silk was flimsy stuff, but the Chinese made the best silk in the world. When I came back to San Francisco two and a half years later I had the dress made into a beautiful street dress. Then when I went down to Los Angeles I had the style changed into another street dress. Then I later had it made into a bathing suit…. later on, into pillows. That was 65 years ago and I think the girl’s still got the pillows. You couldn’t wear it out.

I just got so bored in China, but I met several painters. While I was there, you must remember, there was war going on in England and I did some nursing and talking to English boys. And I was quite attractive and I’d tell these boys about America.  The Chinese people are the most wonderful people in the world.  They live closer to God than any other nation. They respect their parents. There’s no such thing as mother-in-law jokes. And the children are brought up to respect their parents. And if you have one Chinese friend you don’t need any more…he’s your friend for life.

Oh, I loved ‘em. I wasn’t so crazy about the women ’cause they’re spoiled. The Chinese revere women. They did. but they were so gentle and nice…I had a Number One Boy who used to bring my tea every morning. And a Number 2 Boy that did all else and I had my own private rickshaw. But there was no place to go!

I was only in Shanghai 24 hours and got arrested. There was this Englishman smackin’ this coolie driver on the shoulder with his cane cause he wanted him to go faster. So I went over and grabbed the cane out of his hand and started beating on him. They had Shiek policemen from India, great big handsome men, and they arrested me. They took me to the police station. My husband had to come and get me out. Turns out he was a very prominent Englishman. I didn’t know that and I didn’t care who he was. He coulda been the king and I’da still hit him. Here he  was beating this poor Chinese coolie. I couldn’t stand that.

The streets was filthy. The people sat on the curb. As winter came they’d sew pieces of cloth onto what they had on. And in spring they’d peel off these pieces. We never got to Peking. That was the Forbidden City. Foreigners weren’t allowed. There wasn’t a big American colony. The river running down to Shanghai was just covered with sampans. People who never stepped foot on the ground…born and raised on those sampans. And you know that river was so dirty, it was like mud. And I never saw any cattle in China because there wasn’t enough water. And the poor Chinese, I don’t know how they grew anything because they had no fertilizers. They depended on human fertilizer.

I once had a watermelon there and it had no taste to it.  See, the honeydew merchants with a long pole on their shoulder would come around and collect. And you’d see them walkin’ on the street with a bucketful on each end, and their meats and stuff hangin’ off the side of the buckets heh! heh! They’re such beautiful people! And not appreciated in the world.

The first narcotics thing I remember was the opium the Turks brought into China. And that stupefied the people. See, I been in opium dens and saw them, but there was no violence to ‘em. They were like  in a different world, up on cloud nine. See, China has always been overcrowded. That’s why they limit them to one child to a family now. And not enough to feed them! There was no cattle, but they had pigs. While I was there I used to see boats come in from New Zealand, and they’d be throwing off sides of mutton-no beef. Just these sides of mutton fozen stiff.

And I recall the first dinner, there was so many chicken wings. I found out later they were frog legs. The meat was so tender and good. That was all they had. The chickens just wandered around  to get what they could.

You know, I don’t remember too many flowers.

And I remember getting a tomato as big as a cantaloupe. Like the watermelon, there was no taste to it cause they used human manure. But the Chinese revered their women and bound their feet. Now that I think about it, I didn’t see too many Chinese women. The men I saw were so polite. And I haven’t had a decent cup of tea since I left China. There, on every other corner was these great big clay pots with a fire under ‘em, boiling the water to make their tea. And how they drank it I don’t know. They used to drink it boiling hot. See, no matter how hot the day is, a hot drink is better than a cold drink. It cools you better.

I had my own rickshaw coolie and I paid him five dollars a month. That was big. He could live for a year on that. Rice was cheap. They talk about noodles in China but I never saw any. But one of my girls who worked for me was a Russian. When the uprising in Russia happened, her and her family crawled from Russia over Siberia to Shanghai. She said they’d hit these towns and out in the yard they’d make these noodles. The dogs went on ‘em and there was bugs and it didn’t matter but I never saw a noodle in Shanghai.

It took her and her mother and brother three months to get to Shanghai. They were fleeing the Bolsheviks and they’d hide if they heard anyone coming.  The day before they left there was a big school like our West Point and the Bolsheviks marched those two hundred young cadets out onto the streets, lined ‘em all up and shot ‘em all  dead.

So Shanghai was the main town then cause all the furs used to come in from Siberia. The buyers came from Chicago mostly and they were all Jews. Now in San Francisco, some of the best friends I had were Jewish people. The town was overridden with smallpox and all kinds of diseases. Somehow they survived.

And this acupuncture thing, you know they operate with it. I had some dental work done with it and you don’t feel anything.  I’ll tell you something funny. You’d see the poor Chinese goin’ around with great big black & blue marks on their necks. And, nosey me, I had to find out what that meant. Well, when they got a headache they used to take two coins and pinch the skin. And it hurt so bad they forgot the headache! Hah! Poor people couldn’t afford to go to a doctor. One of the ladies there took me to an opium den. There they were peaceful and calm, up in seventh heaven. Did you ever see opium? It was in long skins like sausages and it was a very thick syrup from the beautiful poppy. It was the Turks that sent it in to China. The poor man would cook it and put it in the pipe, smoke it and lay around in bunks and pass out.  That was the downfall of China was the opium.

That’s why they don’t allow today narcotics of any kind. It was the Turks who did that. Then the Germans moved in, the Japs, the English. I’ll give the French credit. The French nuns saved a lot of the Chinese women and culture. After I left, the Japs invaded China. The Germans opened a big brewery there. The Japs took it away from the Germans. That’s  where the Japs got beer from.

We never did one thing to harm China. That’s why the Chinese love the Americans. And our missionaries never tried to grab any part of China or hurt them in any way. That’s why when we recognized China, the American missionaries and priest were the only ones they let in. The Catholic churches was closed down all those twenty years but secretly they were kept open all through the Communist time. But those Chinese kept those churches clean.

Now as far as Taiwan, Reagen wanted to connect them. That’s something the Chinese must handle themselves because there’s a very bitter taste in China against Taiwan. All the rich, Chiang Kai-Shek and his wives and sisters took all the money. When they left China they left the orphans and old people with not a dime. That’s when the Communists moved in. The Communists controlled China for ten years until they wiped it clean. There was nothing left. Nobody helped them.

When I left China my husband couldn’t come back with me ’cause  he was under contract. I came back to this country, I think it was the last month of 1917. I can’t remember if we were at war with Germany yet. My, how that first world war altered everything. A whole new America resulted from that war. First, silk disappeared. There’s no silkworms in Japan today. That’s where nylon came in. we lost all the rubber plantation rubber and started manufacturing our own rubber.

And one of the worst things to happen to America was Prohibition. I can remember as a kid, you never saw a woman in a saloon. They had separate family rooms where you could go in and have a beer. The big thing was ice cream parlors. After a show the family went in and had hot chocolate.  That was the big thing in my day. The 1900′s.  I was in Australia in the 20′s when Prohibition happened. I was so fascinated by the word “speakeasy” and the way you had to knock at the door and they’d peek through the peek hole to let you in and that’s what I faced when I came back from Australia. I was so fascinated. And I ‘d never had a drink in my life.

And everybody was makin’ Near Beer so I decided to make it, too. I didn’t know how to make it but nobody in the house could get in the bathroom for two months. So I got my brother workin’ filling bottles. I don’t know why I was doin’ it, cause I didn’t drink the stuff. And the corks blew off all the bottles. We almost had to move out of the house. That was the end of my experience with bootlegging. Drinks! You could get all the drinks you wanted during Prohibition but my, they was terrible. You were drinking pure alcohol.

I used to go down to the speakeasy with some people, course I didn’t drink…and you’d knock at the door and they’d peek through a keyhole, and if they knew you you could get in. There was a very famous place in San Francisco, down in the basement, and they supplied you with a little wooden hammer. And everybody’d sit and hit the tables with those hammers while ordering this phony beer. And that was a big night in San Francisco!

There was another place, Bucket Of Blood, you went up the stairs. An awful place where you got phony gin and beer. And the result of all this, why I say it was a terrible law….all the legitimate business people went broke and all those bootleggers became millionaires. And all the business ever since has been controlled by gangsters, all on account of Prohibition. But people want to forget it, they don’t want to remember those terrible days, but that was what happened.

I was a poor bootlegger, and my brother and mother were glad to be able to take a bath again. Money seemed to be plentiful and it was like humpty dumpty on the wall when the Depression hit. Regardless of what anybody says, I blame it on Prohibition because before Prohibition we had these beautiful breweries. They went out of business. The only wine allowed was this sacramental wine for churches for the Jewish people and you had to get a permit to buy that. The beer was spiked with alcohol and was dangerous to drink.

But so many businesses all across the United States went out of business because of Prohibition. And what was left that was of any account was all owned by gangsters. Prohibition is what ruined us. Young people ought to pay more  attention to laws from the past…..”

Josephine turns her head and looks out her window at the passing cars. I sit quietly for a few minutes and then stand up to leave. Irritated that my movement has brought her back to the present, Josephine turns back to me and says

“Don’t let the cat out.”

T.J. Knowles

June, 1998

Encinitas, CA