Wednesday, November 5, 2008, America's New Day Dawns

Peeps,

This is a personal letter to me from a friend in Lawrence, Georgia, and my response. There's gonna' be a lot of activity in cyberspace today; thanks to Al Gore for his invention.

A

Hey Good Lookin'

I am not a Democrat, but I am proud to be a part of this history. It is 11:00 p.m. on election night and the news has just predicted your man as our president elect. I remember the riots and the marches when I was a kid. I remember Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" speech. I remember meeting you in speech class and how "bad" that was that I fell in love with a "black man!" I still love that black man! I always will. It is much more acceptable today, but not really!

Our constitution gave us certain rights in this country that, until tonight, have not really been true.

I hate racism. I hate ignorance. I hate arrogance. I am proud to be alive to see an African American be elected our president. I'm not excited that he is a Democrat, but I am proud to be witness to this history.

God put ALL of us here on this earth!!!!!!!!!!!

Have a great party tonight!

Be Blessed~

E~


E,

Cute picture of a good lookin' guy. Two good lookin' guys!

Sorry about politics, sorry about race, sorry about all the things that the things that we should be sorry about; mostly winning, losing and wars.

I have broken down twice today; the race is over and it time for the competitors to rest. I cry because their exhaustion is my exhaustion.

Before I think of myself as a Black man, I think of myself as a human. Before I think about being an American, I think about being a citizen of the world.

Maybe because my mother was an active republican and my father an active democrat, I am an active musician. We musicians are blessed to carry a love force that unites people of all ages, religions, colors, political persuasions.

My hope is that your grandchildren can see me play, witness other musicians and be inspired to devote their lives to the love force that brings people together in joy, to forget their troubles, sing, dance and clap hands. That's a legacy that, in my opinion, trumps being a famed sportsman, military or political hero.

I hope our new president is encouraged by us all, not to be a Black man, but a human, that leads and inspires our fellow citizens of the world that the good work that we do together makes our communities better. The strength of our unity, is superior to our partisanship.

Sorry, that's the way us liberal, democrats think; love feels good, hate stinks, help your brothas' and sistahs', dance to the music, get lucky when you can, it's only money.

A

Friede Bennett, 1919-2008, The Color of Love

Elfriede Bennett, one of my moms and my biggest fan, passed on to her heavenly reward, Wednesday, October 15, 2008, sixty-one years to the day after she was married to Bob Bennett, a soldier and musician that she met in Germany. The story of their struggle to get married, The Color of Love, is a statement to strength of the union of their souls, as one for fifty-one years before Bob's death in September, 1998.

Friede approached me in 2004 to write her story. Here 'tis.

Little did I know when I went to work at the U.S. Army Air Base several miles from my hometown of Offenbach/Main on December 4, 1945, that my life was about become full of such joy, but at the cost of much heartache. As a stenographer/secretary to the base adjutant and base interpreter, I greeted a sergeant who was requesting to speak to the base commander. He came to report an ambulance accident that he was in while traveling with several officers off post and his limp and use of a cane gave away his injuries.

It was at the base dispensary that I saw the same sergeant the following day. Over the next few days, our paths crossed and our small talk began, with me revealing that I traveled by bicycle ten long miles each day to the job. He offered me some transportation in my direction and I accepted.

I was really happy to meet Bob Bennett, a well-spoken and charming Black American from Boston, Massachusetts, and we became very attached to each other. However, if there was a written taboo concerning associations with Black soldiers on an American base, I was totally unaware of it. In 1946, The U.S. Army was not quite at the end of its policy of segregating troops by skin color, except that the unit’s officers were White.

When Bob and I became noticeably a pair, my new job assignment became the kitchen, for cooking detail. The fall from the grace of secretary to cook was too much for me to handle, so I quit the base.

At the same time, Bob, was a part of the unit being reassigned to an air base in Southern Germany. Since a good friend was making the move with the unit also, Bob and I decided to get married and I would follow along to live in the town near the new base. Boy, did all hell break loose with that move!

Before our wedding occurred, the pregnancy did, and our plans to marry were met with a refusal from German authorities. The local mayor was getting his orders not to marry us from the base commander. Bob, my fiancé, was facing a dismissal from his unit and a return to the U.S. to face the music of race mixing, which was a clearly defined prohibition of American and Army culture.

Our son, Dwayne, was born on February 5, 1947. It would have normally been a day of unforgettable joy for most mothers in the world, however the base commander gave personal orders for me “not to bring the baby out in the street or I will send you back to Russia.” Since I’ve never been to Russia, I thought that was some pretty strong talk for a person who had no authority over a German citizen. But still, the commander was a vocal obstacle in the path to our marriage and our family.

The racist commander fabricated charges and allegations against Bob, but he defended himself against the threats of jail and transfer/deportment back to the States. Bob lost his court martial on trumped charges and was restricted to his quarters. The power mad commander was forcing me into action.

One of Bob’s friends was positioned to leak to me that he had seen transfer orders scheduled for the next day. I began walking to Erlangen, Germany, home to the Eighth Air Force Command and two days later, I arrived early to see if Colonel Martin would have an audience with a German civilian.

I was admitted to the colonel’s office and found that he was not only aware of the request that Sergeant Bennett had put in to marry a German, he was in agreement with the papers. He proved to be on our side by calling the base in Roth, talking with the commander and ordering Bob’s release from detention. He arranged transportation for me back to my home and child, following me to Roth the next day to investigate the whole terrible affair.

Bob wasn’t idle during these ugly days; he had written a letter to General Dwight Eisenhower, mailed it to his sister in Massachusetts and she forward the letter to a congressman. The power of my companion’s words must have compelled the general, because Eisenhower responded with not only an approval of the marriage request but a choice of dates for the ceremony. With his help, we chose October 15, 1947.

Base Commander Glass promptly transferred Sergeant Bennett to Rhein-Main and took a parting shot with an AWOL charge for lateness. Bob fought the AWOL battle and subsequent loss of his sergeants stripe, but we had won the war to liberate our rights to marry.

The marriage, by law, was by the Mayor of Roth, Germany, with close friends and my family at the Enlisted Men’s Club. The next day’s icy marriage proceedings by American officials freed us to escape back to Frankfurt, gladly fleeing the hideous restrictions of the U.S. Army hierarchy there in Roth. We encountered harassment from military police as we arrived at the train station, “No fraternization between Black soldiers and German Fraeuleins!” “Kiss off, boys. We got a license.” MPs were left in disbelief.

When your marriage is to someone from a country with a tradition of racial segregation, the problems are seemingly endless. Bob was due for a transfer Stateside a month after our marriage, but there were military regulations disallowing me and Dwayne to travel with him. I had to wait another month and during that time I found the two of us to be people without a country.

To German authorities, I was married to an American and no longer eligible for German food rations. But to the Americans, I was German, thus ineligible to shop at the Post Exchange or Commissary. Thank God, not for government officials but for friends who helped our survival.

Two week after Bob’s departure we finally were passengers on December 18, 1947, boarding the U.S. Army Troop Transport General Callan and heading towards the English Channel to pass the ‘White Cliffs of Dover.’ Us passengers watched sunshine on the cliffs and, truly, they shown white.

After the General Callan stopped for passengers in Dover, we set course for the Azores and just in time for christmas, the crew and passengers were greeted with the suddenness of a hot and heavy storm. We weathered the rough seas and sailed onwards to the United States of America.

If the seas weren’t rough enough, the hatred was from my fellow sailors, the military people. An officer order me off the upper deck with a threat that leaving my stateroom could cancel my disembarkation in New York. and blind hatred that we encountered. But time has healed and made me very grateful for our sizable family, which includes five children, five grandchildren and several great grandchildren. Our fruitful love, that has been undefeatable from that chance meeting in December, 1945, has multiplied Black soldiers, who had heard the grapevine news about the Bennett Family’s victory over injustice, came to Little Dwayne and my aide with clean clothes and I was allowed out of the stateroom but to go get food for the two of us.

How excited everyone was to see the Statue of Liberty coming into view on the port side of the troop ship; welcoming us in the bright sunshine with her book and right hand extended. To this day, it was a sight never to be forgotten; a proud lady saying “Welcome, all of you, to this great country.”

Of course, despite what the statue was declaring; restrictive military agents wouldn’t allow me to get help with my baggage and baby. But despite the formidable odds and obstacles to our resolve, we made it.

Bob picked us up at Fort Hamilton and took me to his sister’s in Massachusetts. But we couldn’t be too comfortable together for long because the Air Force had a transfer in assignment for him to Salinas, Kansas. And that transfer didn’t include his young family, so he quickly lobbied to transfer to a post that would accept families.

No help came from the post’s chaplain, “I didn’t tell you to marry her!”, he blamed. With the help of a colonel in Boston and his connections in Washington, D.C., Bob’s transfer was to Lockbourne Airbase in Columbus, OH. We arrived in early 1948 and by early 1949, Sergeant Bennett became a civilian, along with his family.

Race problems awaited us in civilian life; I lost a job when I was spotted by fellow workers being dropped off in front of the office by my husband. But he WAS my husband and that WAS what husbands do for working wives. The loss of a job wasn’t something that I couldn’t take; my husband was a great man, whatever his skin tone.

Paper and written words about the experience of our time during those awfully struggling years can’t cover all of the indignities; emotional turmoil over nearly fifty-one years together.

We were able to retire, look back on our accomplishments, our happy family and enduring love. And how many couple think of General Eisenhower on their wedding anniversary day? Without his compassion and approving support of our marriage, what would have happened to our lives?

Of course, losing Bob to his illness in September of 1998, has triggered an unbearable shock that our great times together will not continue. What helps me, though, are all the good memories and all the love from our immediate family.

I just wish that our good life together could have gone on and on and on...

Rest in peace, Friede, with continuing love from your decendants.

Katie Smith, 2008 WNBA Championship MVP

I went to Logan, Ohio High School to do a concert in the spring of 1992 and my concert ended up being a celebration for the girl's basketball team's trip to the state finals, where they were a proud runner-up. I left Logan a part of Katie Smith's extended family.
I have followed my sistah through a trip with Ohio State to the NCAA finals in 1993, we celebrated two ABL championships with the Columbus Quest in 1997-98. I have sent her love with USA Basketball in Sidney, on crutches in Athens and victoriously in Beijing.
My Columbus brotha' Bill and I had tix for Monday, October 6, 2008, at The Palace in Auburn Hills, but instead, we replayed Sunday's match and wept in joy as our sistahs of the Detroit Shock swept game three of the 2008 WNBA Finals. Katie, your extended family in Central Ohio sends our love to you in this proud moment; we'll have hugs and kisses for you when you get back to North High Street.

The 2008 WNBA Season is over, my tears of joy are shed because now, my sistahs get a while to rest the aching bones, joints, tendons, ligaments, muscles and sleep in their own beds for a few weeks, before their journeys to make a living in sports continue with travel overseas. I love the game, every team and every player that participates in this sporting entertainment that gives such joy to our extended, women's basketball family.

I just wish our family was larger; that the tens millions of millions that worship Kobe, LeBron, Kevin, Tim and the NBA, would embrace the same passion that comes to the court with Candice Parker, Lisa Leslie, Katie, Deanna "Tweetie" Nolan, Beckie Hammond, Tamika Catchings and Diana Taurasi. But because our mighty WNBA Army remains small and it's mocked by small minds and overlooked by sports media.

I am a world traveled professional musician, a pilot, scuba diver and published author, but there is nothing more exciting in my life than women's basketball. The 2008 USA Basketball/WNBA season was the best; no ifs. ands or buts.

My personal MVP Award is shared by Katie, Ann Wauters and Taj McWilliams-Franklin; three mighty warriors.

Back from Almost Heaven; Colorado

Le & Betty,

Greetings and thanks for the nice gift that I received in the mail from you this week. At this time last week I was descending from the blue skies and mountains surrounding Denver and on the way back to Denver International Airport for the wilds of Columbus, Ohio. Boy am I glad to be home (LOL).

I went to Denver for the forty-fifth anniversary of Eden Theatrical Workshop, a company that was founded in 1963 by my grandmother, Myrtle Scales and Lucy Walker, for the development of the minority acting community. I played at several high profile venues in the area; Wells Fargo Bank, Manual Training High School and the Pine Valley Golf Club.

But my companion, Christine, and I mainly got away to relax from the grind of six busy months of composing, recording, performing, authoring and promoting. The Queen Anne Inn and Mountain Air Ranch were perfect homes for our six days away.

We spent one afternoon in Colorado Springs, where our former governor Dick Celeste is president of Colorado College, founded in 1874. Outside of his office is a bust of Kathrine Lee Bates, the educator and poet who after a visit to Pike's Peak was inspired to the poem, "Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain." Dick gave us the ten dollar tour of his growing campus and was like a proud papa. He is a great fit for the job.

At Mountain Air Ranch, we rented a lodge with three bedrooms, a huge kitchen, fireplace, a pool, hot tub and extensive hiking trails. We spent mornings on our deck reading, eating healthy, maxing and relaxing. We put on our rugged footwear and walk on trails that climbed onto lookout points, where we gazed onto treelined peaks; almost heaven.

When the day of our flight home came, I was so lethargic, I couldn't find the switch that would return to me fast forward mode. But we finally got it together and returned to Denver International and home to a windstorm disaster in Central Ohio.

The Superbowl of Nude Volleyball

I wanted to share with my favorite nude resort experience; The Superbowl of Nude Volleyball at White Thorn Lodge (WTL) in Darlington, PA. Since 1971, Superbowl has been held each year on the weekend following Labor Day, however many volleyball animals cruise into the area, between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, before the holiday and let the good times roll for two straight weekends.
WTL is a member owned, family nudist resort and is very deep in the forests that bridge Pennsylvania and Ohio, in the watershed north of the Ohio River. It is a three hour drive for our volleyball gang from Columbus, though communities that urban folk and suburbanites have never heard; Lisbon, Rogers, Negley, Calcutta. But the drive is just long for us to wind down from our go-go, city ways and be maxxed and relaxed when we arrive at the check-in gate.
It costs fifty dollars for the weekend, upwards to two thousand athletes and family members pack themselves into the large campground that has a clubhouse, heated pool, gazebo-covered hot tub, bocce court, children's playground, rental cabins and snack bar. The players of all skill levels compete on four grass, two sand, three asphalt courts and the South Beaver Volunteer Fire Department is in attendance to "oversee" the players injuries. The uniformed volunteers, a welcome part of this unique community, also sell raffle tickets for prizes, including riding mowers and gardening equipment, to fund the local emergency services operations.
For me the weekend is the unofficial end of summer and since 2003, I have been making new friends from all over North America. Ontario and Quebec, Canada sends the six-time champion Bare Naked Ladies, featuring a woman who is rumored to be a member of the Polish Olympic team some decades back. Lake Como and Caliente send championship teams from Pasco County, Florida; the California players fly into Cleveland, throw their camping gear into rental cars and rough it for a week.
I love to rendezvous with the Chili Peppers from Buffalo, who cook for a week before the event and arrive with a hundred pounds of chili that keeps us in spicy conversation between games. It is so invigorating to see brown, healthy bodies working out in the sun, celebrating the freedom of our natural beauty in sport.
Of course, many of us don't play due to Father Time catching up to the conditions of our joints and ligaments, but club members and non-players are scorekeepers, cooks, trash collectors, yoga participants, musicians, kids games and arts are is session. Why, some folks just work on their tans, because usually after Superbowl, us folks in the Midwest, East and Canada are done with the sun.
When the sun goes down, the firepit gets stoked up, televisons are found for the late football games and a local band or disc jockey fills the clubhouse for the dance. There is a whole lotta' shakin' goin' on too, as well as elbow bending. Many clubs are represented and themed parties celebrate homebrews, martinis, jello shots, Bailey's Irish Creme; I'm sure there are Jamaica celebrations of a sort being fire-up in the deep woods around a fire-pit.
But the reason for our convention is tournament volleyball and Sunday is finals day; each team has one last chance to keep playing for the trophies. By the late afternoon, the focus is the AA classes; the best women's teams seem to be on a level that would rival Olympic play and there will be thousands of eyes watching the ball mysteriously stay within bounds and off the ground. The beautiful Canadian women deserve to carry off the trophy year after year because they play so well; forget that they look so good outta' their uniforms.
In 2006 the Canadian men were in the finals against a great Florida team in afro wigs and kneesox and after one of their huddles, the northerners broke, singing the opening of their national anthem, "Oh Canada..." Soon, a couple of smarties in the boundaries began the chant, "USA, USA!" The national war began and grew with every point in the five game series. The Canadians won the match and the war, but you can image the fever and good humor that grew among a couple thousand naked, sports fans, who don't want the weekend or summer to end.
The Superbowl of Nude Volleyball is a hoot and one year you should put it on your travel schedule. It is not the artistic flamboyance of Burning Man, but it is a celebration that burns quite brightly in my soul.
http://www.whitethornlodge.org/

Jonathan Alder 1968 Class Reunion

The long awaited fortieth reunion of the Jonathan Alder Class of 1968 occurred in a most beautiful style, on a lovely day in mid-August. Forty-seven classmates and three faculty members came out to Fred and Linda Kile's Farm in Plain City to celebrate a lifetime of friendship.

A few classmates, led by Chuck Reed, Michelle Troyer, Carol Shyers, Mary Detweiler Young, Lynn Church, Andy and Bev Greenbaum, showed up Friday evening, August 15, 2008, to begin the preparations and decorate the party barn at the Kile's property, on Route 161, just north of the town's limits. David Mitchell's truck brought tables and chairs from the Plain City V.F.W. Lodge, where he is commander.

Arnett Howard and his musical friends rolled onto the property at 1:30 pm., on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon to begin setup for the live music to begin at three o'clock. The entire Greenbaum Family was on hand to carve up the roasted pig that they had donated to the afternoon's feast of salads, sweets and beverages. Then the parking area began to fill with alumni and spouses.

The band didn't need leadership, as the leader was busy remaking friends with classmates unseen since June, 1968 when the thirteenth graduating class of the small, Madison County high school received their diplomas. Jobs at the local Ranco Controls awaited some graduates, like Mary Detweiler and Kathy Thompson, military service awaited Chuck and Andy, while Grace Hostetler, Susan George, Linda Flowers and Charlie Stenner prepared for their first college days.

Teresa Boyhan Dickinson eventually settled in Florida with the rest of her siblings, who grew up off US Route Forty-Two near the Village of Arnold. At the reunion, she saw her varsity basketball sisters, Lynn, Kathy, Susan Edwards Prochaska and with the team uniform in hand, she reminded us of the team, coached by Marcella Myers, that went four undefeated years, from 1964-68. If there had been Ohio women's state athletic tourneys during that era, perhaps Alder would have had a few extra state tournament trophies, instead of just the two gathered up by Susan's daughter, Laura's squad in 2004 and 2006.

Chuck Reed, current Madison County recorder, had a scrapbook of press clippings from the Washington ceremonies that upgraded Charlie Stenner from major to lieutenant general, commander and chief of the U.S. Air Force Reserves. Charlie and Dee Dee were among the most excited about renewing past friendships.

During the formal part of the afternoon, as master of ceremonies, I welcomed everyone and the committee began to draw names for the door prizes that had been accumulated. Charlie was the first to be invited to the microphone and he responded to the question, "What's it like to fly faster that the speed of sound?"

His answer seemed to demystify breaking the sound barrier, "As you approach mach one speed, you're watching your air speed indicator. When it passes through mach one, the needle on the gauge shakes, but you don't feel any buffet in the airplane. You just continue to watch the indicator go higher; 1.1, 1.2, 1.3."

I spoke on the grand day that I had just one year earlier, when on July 21, 2007, I celebrated my fortieth year as a professional musician, as guest trumpeter on the Twentieth Anniversary concert of the Lancaster Festival Orchestra. That same day coincided with the ninetieth birthday of my mentor and friend, Ray Starrett, who was band director in Jonathan Alder Schools for decades.

As the names of prize winners were offered up and all came forward to make their claim, they were handed a microphone and encouraged to reminisce about a great day in their lives during the past forty. And nearly everyone did, including three of our faculty who joined us for the event; Ray Russell, Dorothy Sayre and Jerry Banyots, who after winning an Alder athletic shirt said, "I look back fondly at those years and enjoy my meetings with former students."

The reunion party went well into the darkness and a bright, full, yellow moon arose over the pond that highlights the Kile farm. Linda walked the perimeter, lit luminaries and after the official farewell was bid, hugs and kisses were exchanged. We collectively repacked left over foods, tables and chairs, and took down the decorations, like the team we were in our youthful years before 1968.

What a grand day was Saturday, August 16, 2009, reuniting with lifelong friends.

Columbus: The Musical Crossroads

The long awaited book, Columbus: The Musical Crossroads, is being released from Arcadia Books and should be in your hands. It is a labor of our team’s love for preserving and exposing the world to our musical heritage, following Listen For the Jazz: Keynotes in Columbus History, published in 1990 and 1992.

Columbus has long been known for its musicians, if not its music. Unlike New York, San Francisco, Kansas City, Nashville, or even Cincinnati, it has never had a definable “scene.” Yet, some truly remarkable music has been made in this “musical crossroads” by the outstanding musicians who have called it home.

Since 1900, Columbus has grown from the 28th to the 15th largest city in the United States, eclipsing in-state rivals Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Toledo. During this same period, it has steady developed into a musically vibrant community that has contributed the likes of Elsie Janis, Ted Lewis, Nancy Wilson, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Dwight Yoakam, Bow Wow, Rascal Flatts, and other “stars” to the entertainment world. However, in many instances, those who chose to remain at home, forsaking the pursuit of fame and fortune, were even better.

David Meyers, Arnett Howard, Jim Loeffler, and Candy Watkins, the team, have been actively researching and documenting the history of music in Columbus for decades. Among the other books we have produced that reflect our interest in local music history, in addition to Listen For The Jazz, are More Columbus Unforgettables, and Columbus Unforgettables, Volume III. Our team also developed the Jazz Ohio Exhibition for the Ohio Historical Society and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.

We have several ways of marketing our short run of books.

1. Stocking local bookstores:
The Library Store, 96 S. Grant Ave., Columbus, OH
Columbus Museum of Art, 480 E. Broad St., Columbus, OH
Acorn Bookshop, 1464 W. 5th Ave., Columbus, OH
Karen Wicliffe Books, 3527 N. High St., Columbus, OH
Used Kids Records, 1980 N. High St., Columbus, OH
Lost Weekend Records, 2960 N. High St., Columbus, OH
Walgreens, 3445 S. High St., Columbus, OH
Walgreens, 975 E. Dublin Granville Rd., Columbus, OH
Walgreens, 4890 N. High St., Columbus, OH
Walgreens, 4530 Kenny Rd., Columbus, OH

2. Selling them off the side of the stage at concerts and upcoming festivals

3. Putting them in the hands of friends and people who have an active interest in the subject of music, the arts and entertainment history.

I hope you enjoy Columbus: The Musical Crossroads. Bright moments and happy reading,

The 2008 Westerville Music Project

The 2008 Westerville Music Project was something I conceived during the spring, as a tribute to the Westerville Sesquicentennial and the city’s legacy as the home of Benjamin R. Hanby. The project builds on the 2007 Westerville Schools Leadership Summit and the Mark Twain Elementary Music Summer Camp, that was administered by Dr. Scott Ebbrecht, principal.

The objective of the 2008 Westerville Music Project was to write and record as many songs as possible with Westerville school students and prepare a series of compact discs and a book to place in the community’s sesquicentennial time capsule. The project involved students in the multidisciplines of song writing, performing, recording techniques, as well as the history and music of Benjamin R. Hanby, Westerville’s most noted historical figure, who was an educator, as well as a composer.

Beth Weinhart, of the Westerville Public Library, expressed an interest in providing Hanby music resource materials from library and Otterbein University archives. Mary Bigham, a volunteer with the Hanby House, also offered to duplicate and provide Hanby scores from her private collection of songs that Ben Hanby used to teach students.

I guess Ben Hanby and I do the same thing, only separated by one hundred-fifty years. I love history, music, kids and I have been having the most wonderful experiences with Westerville students since Bob Abbott brought me and my Creole Funk band to John Greenleaf Whittier Elementary in 1987.

Ben Hanby is said to have written more than eighty songs in his short life (1833-67); most devoted to educating his students. As time passes and the population Westerville community grows with newly arriving families, his name is still present on a school building and the historical Hanby home site, but his life work has been forgotten in the rush of our modern life.

I hope this effort to bridge the one hundred fifty years since Ben made his songs will carry his legacy at least another fifty years. Who knows what young Westerville composer and songwriter might be in the hearts of music lovers in 2058 when Westerville celebrates its bicentennial, opens the Ben Hanby Songs book and listens to these recordings.

I have performed countless events in the Westerville communities; the Music and Arts Festival, Alum Creek Park, Heritage Park, Otterbein College, Central College Presbyterian Church, the Library, the Scoreboard Restaurant and every school building in the district, weddings and parties for local families.

Because of the Westerville Music Project, Benjamin R. Hanby is in the hearts of Westerville students today!

Kidding Around II Released

I do a lot of very cool things in life, however, composing songs with kids is a big motivator. Knowing that before the morning is over there will fun new songs in the world, makes me get up at six in the morning and have a smile, as I carefully rush down the highway to schools in Central Ohio.
My first recording collaboration with youngsters occurred in 1997, Arnet Howed’s Cruel Funk Band, Kidding Around. My second was with students in Grandview Heights, Ohio, I’m a Walkin’, Takin’ Pair of Pants, in 2003.
The lastest collection of rhythms, rhymes, melodies and body noises, Kidding Around II, comes from projects that began in 2006 with the Lancaster Teens C D Project and Schultz School Jazz. The main 2007 event was the Mark Twain Elementary Rock and Roll Summer Camp and 2008 has found me writing songs with imaginative kids at Mark Twain, Pointview and Annehurst Schools in Westerville, Ohio, as well as Pickerington Elementary, in Pickerington, OH.
I was sixteen when I made my first recordings and I hope my fellow musicians on this disc, from aged five to seventeen, can boast (like I continue to do) about how young they were when they made their first appearance in front of the microphones. Music is a love force; long may you sing your songs!

Fred Holdridge in Grant Hospital, Columbus

Dad,

Even though we miss you, you haven't missed much a' anything since you been in 'da' joint.' Terry Dickey's sixtieth birthday party was a real good time; her sisters came up from Dallas and they were not only very attractive, tall women (you know I'm a sucker for a pretty face and long legs), but they could shake it too. The bash ended too early; the old crowd don't party like we used to twenty years ago. But there were some mighty good meatballs; Dave, my bass player, took home the leftovers.

You did missed a lot of good music during Easter week. John Carter and I sounded real good together, although I blew the last three measures of a hard piece on Easter morning. I hope Barbara Zuck isn't too severe in her criticism of my performance.

Well, now that I think about it, you woulda' enjoyed the Cols. Jazz Orchestra last weekend. Their guests, Ken Peploski and Peter Appleyarn, brought back those good old Benny Goodman clarinet days when Lionel Hampton played vibraphone. They played Airmail Special and Flying Home and I never get tired of hearing those songs. Thankfully, we didn't have to suffer through another version of Sing, Sing, Sing, for the ten thousanth time.

The rich people over on City Park returned from boozing, whorin' and drugin' around Amsterdam and we did go see a strangely beautiful Israeli film, The Band's Visit; about an Egyptian Police band that gets lost in the deserts of Israel, in the town of Beth Tivah. Sorry, we didn't eat any popcorn in your honor; I been eatin' way too much of it lately at OSU basketball games.

Byron and Milli Kohn had their fifty-seventh anniversary last Tuesday, with lunch at Shaw's Restaurant in beautiful, Downtown Lancaster. We talked about you; I told 'em you was a mess but too stubborn to kick the bucket and too hard headed to heal.

Well, this is week two of my six week creative period; taxes are due in two weeks, so I guess I can't put in off no longer. One book is done and one more to go, as well as two compact discs. I'm too creative for my own good.

I play a party at Cooper Stadium, Friday. I'll get a box o' corn for you, after I finish the National Anthem! How many of them dime dogs you want?

Sorry, we're not havin' any real fun while you're on vacation. Maybe we can get the warden to give you a furlough; we can go put a cherry bomb in Greg and Catherine's mailbox and wheelchair like hell.

Bright moments from Creole Village from your loving 'sun'!

A

March 2008 Trips to Florida and Indianapolis

Florida Trip Report, 3/8/08

Greetings from Creole Village, where it is as quiet as it is gong to be this year. Ohio has just been through a thirty-two hour winter storm/snow blizzard. I woke up in Indianapolis, where we partied with the Indiana Department of Transportation’s Entrepreneurial Development Institute, administered by Linda McHenry, esq. and Dr. W.C. Benton.

Each year I write a jingle for EDI that is based on the conference theme and this year’s song, Innovate Indiana: Are You In?, was a masterful piece of jazzy, funky rap, that I whipped up in a whole four days. Linda is the song’s commissioner and I think she’s been sailing on a cloud since 2007’s theme song, Nothing Happens ‘Till You Decide (That the Future Is Now in Indiana). ”It kicked everybody in the pants real good.

Same results with this year’s song and the EDI Party Animals swamped the dance floor on the second selection’s opening rhythms, “Say Hey! Indiana! EDI want’s to know, ‘Are you in? (Are you in?)." The fellows in the band reminded me that we did three remixes during the evening, the last being a rockin’ reggae to finish the party like it started, with everyone in the call and response choir. Sail on Ms. McHenry and Dr. Benton; ya’ll pulled it off, storm or not.

I returned from Tampa/Land O’Lakes/Lutz/Kissimmee on Wednesday, after a week of serious sun worshiping/maxing and relaxing in the hospitality of Eve Feber, comedian, sexy senior naturist and, now author of Bare Naked Humor. Eve and I celebrated twenty years of our family as entertainers. We met entertaining at Hedonism II in Negril, Jamaica after 1988’s Hurricane Gilbert.

Eve is eighty-eight and still spoiled rotten. I played for her twice at Ukuleles Bar and a Sunday spiritual service around Moss Lake at her home in Lake Como Family Nudist Resort. I had come to 2008 Superbowl South, the annual nude volleyball tourney, that is Lake Como's welcome winter break for snowbird players from around the U.S and Canada.

Eve and Ed, her young eighty-three year old companion, invited me to join them in Clearwater Beach at the beautiful Ruth Eckert Hall, to see two old comic entertainers, Joan Rivers and Don Rickles. I had never seen either before, but Joan has the raunchiest act and the foulest mouth; she dropped a couple of f-bombs even before the curtain opened. In a non-stop hour-long set to open the show, Joan stalked the stage and whomever in the audience she could view and she abused every ethnic group possible, except Blacks; unless you call musician/aledged child molester, Michael Jackson, a Black.

Joan Rivers is a very bad but funny woman. Compared to her act, Don Rickles was pale, hardly as entertaining but he sang, “I’m a Nice Guy,” between his legendary sarcasm.

But the sun rose early on Saturday morning and I maxed my sun time in the company of a like minded community. I would just describe the experience of a nude community as exhilaratingly free; a soul can wake up and not worry about closing the drapes, garden au natural, throw a book, some money and a towel in a bag, go for a walk and greet everyone with a word or a wave. Breakfast was usually an hour at the Bare Buns Cafe for a short stack of banana, pecan pancakes and crisp bacon.

The opening weekend of games was on grass courts and teams played in threes and fours; mostly men, several coed teams and plenty of sun and temperatures as the balls and bodies bounced. There is nothing erotic about nude volleyball; players of all ages and sizes dig, set, bat, spike and chase the constantly moving ball, hour after hour, game after game.

The volleyball community that I have been a part of for five or six years, although I don't play, is a group of friends that I am excited to spend time with; they are a free spirited bunch who are way more fun than your typical, tight-laced, textile person, who always resorts to self-abuse when body freedom issues are topical. ‘Nuff said; fun is where you find it!

Lake Como has a perfect hot tub facility; clean showers and a large, 104 degree jet powered soaker, that, once you can get fully in, you don’t don’t wanna’ get out of. The Lake Como community also has horse shoe and pettanque courts. Pettanque is an international game, like bocci ball, but using a small and heavy ball to throw closest to the targeted "pig" and I was welcomed onto the court by Dennis 2 (there were two Dennis’). Eve played; we made jokes about retrieving her balls from the back seat. I enjoyed the play and should invest more time in the game of pettanque, because it’s not murder on the knees like volleyball.

Bob and Carla, Eve’s next-door neighbors got married on Sunday afternoon and the event was a fashion paradise. My senses haven’t gotten overwhelmed like that afternoon since my second visit to wood sculptor David and Susan Hostetler’s Athens, Ohio home in December, 2007. David would have been inspired for months, if not years (although Susan keeps him pretty inspired by herself).

Photographing activities at Lake Como Resort has well defined rules that I intended to follow. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and forgive me, for I sinned and took more than a few pictures of all of the friends that gathered to witness for Bob and Carla. I also took interior shots of the “Ho Tow,” the 1969 Airstream trailer that Bob plans to haul Carla around the U.S. in as they enjoy a honeymoon this summer.

Although I called Patty Wagstaff and Rob Lock while I was in Florida, I never got to get into the air with either of the two members of my aviation family. I did get to spend a night in Kissimmee/Poinciana at Sola Vita Resort with Arnold and Mevelyn Estis, part of my Plain City family. George and Ethel Ware, fellow Plain City folk, join us for breakfast, before I hit the road for an eighty mile trip back to Lake Como.

Curt Zeigler, a volleyball player from Columbus, met me and a few of us Cols. boys went to see filmmaker Spike Lee speak at the University of South Florida. Afterwards we found a serious Jamaican eatery called the Jerk Hut on Fowler Street, close to the USF campus; they had chicken dishes and I had escoviche fish, baked with the head on. Ital, righteous foods, good beer and an atmosphere feeling of the real island experience.

I didn’t want to dress for the airport Wednesday morning; long pants and a shirt replacing no pants or shirt, hard shoes are less comfortable than a week in sandals. But I covered myself, loaded my bags, turned in my well-used gate pass and aimed the rental car towards the cold Midwest via Tampa International Airport. I was scraping iced windows by 6 pm. Wednesday.

Maxxed, relaxed, brown, beautifully destressed, not depressed,

Yours,

A