the lady in black

one of the highlights of my career was the opportunity to work for and with bob and nancy maynard at the oakland tribune. i say "with" because it always felt as though the "trib" was such a collaborative effort that no one really worked for anyone else. we were all in it together.

perhaps that was because it was so important to the maynards that their newsroom reflect the community we served. at the trib it was not unusual to have a black city editor send an asian photographer and white writer to cover a latino funeral in east oakland, which would then be edited by an irish catholic assistant city editor.

that was life at the trib, the best place i ever worked.

one of the worst things about working there was also the best. there was no money. but that just made us work harder. the maynards, along with eric newton and roy aarons wouldn't settle for mediocrity, so even though the trib didn't have the numbers or the cash flow, we had the talent, the commitment and more importantly, the desire to be the very best.

that was something nancy, particularly, insisted on. she was such an accomplished woman with sterling credentials. to this day i've never ever met another journalist with equal parts style and intelligence.

the first time i met nancy was in 1989 at the opening reception for IJE's prestigious summer program for minority journalists. honestly, she scared me just a little. she was so glam and graceful. it kind of felt like having an audience with the queen. i think we all secretly wanted to be her.

as luck would have it i was placed in the sports department at the trib following my completion of the program. although i was still somewhat scared of nancy, my fear dissipated once i got to know her.

nancy always wore black. nancy always looked good. nancy was not a hands-on kind of mentor, but she always had time for you and praised your efforts when you had done well. nancy was a great mom. nancy's home office was solid red and was the coolest room i'd ever seen. nancy always smiled at me and spoke when she walked past my desk, but i'll never forget that one time when she rolled her eyes at me.

it was my 34th birthday and i was bemoaning the fact that i was six years from 40--as if that milestone would mark the end of my life. nancy was like, "baby, please."

the last time i saw nancy was at the memorial service for roy aarons here in l.a. at USC. i literally fell into her arms because i tripped on a snag in the carpet. although i hadn't seen her since Bob's funeral in '93, seeing her there felt like i was back in that dusty old newsroom on the fourth floor of the tribune tower in downtown oakland.

it felt good.

i always loved being around her. she was smart, straight-forward, cosmopolitan, somewhat vulnerable and knew her way around a joke. the more i got to know her, the more i adored her. you really couldn't help but look up to NHM.

about 13 years ago i was asked to write a tribute speech to nancy at an event honoring her career. i was in cincinnati at the time and missed my plane and was unable to get to oakland in time. i was crushed because i'd never actually had the opportunity to tell her how much i appreciated the influence she had on my career and life. i knew then i might never get another chance to do so.

the irony.

i think, however, she knew. maybe she got a clue when i started wearing more black than usual.

nancy, thanks so much for letting me ride on your shoulders.

falling

sometimes i make really stupid decisions based on my inability to realize that i'm no longer 20.

last week i foolishly agreed to take a redeye flight from l.a. to toronto so that i could have a full day to do whatever i wanted to do in one of my favorite cities in the world. it seemed like a good idea at the time since i had no way of knowing that i'd have one bitch of a headache during the 4.5 hour flight from lax to yyz.

translation: i got NO sleep.

regardless, i was determined to accomplish one of the goals on my bucket list once i arrived in canada. i had to see niagra falls. my parents had been there, all of my siblings--even my grandmother who passed away in 1981. i'd been to TO many times but had just never gotten around to making that 80-mile trek to experience one of the planet's most breathtaking natural wonders.

i was determined this time because i've come to realize that tomorrow really isn't promised. if you wanna do something, you have to do it now.

so, with my knapsack on my back and my camera equipment stored in my roller bag, i walked up to the rental car counter, handed the clerk my driver's license, credit card and new mantra.

i need a car right now dude. i'm living for the moment.

at 6:30 a.m., he so didn't care.

it was a lovely drive. sensing that i was going to need some body fuel, i stopped once to get an egg mcmuffin and a hot cup of tea. half of tea spilled out when i was trying to re-open the car door because i was too out of it to realize that the roof on my WTF kind of dodge is this was slanted.

about 35 minutes later i was driving through ontario's unimpressive wine country--i'm sorry, give me napa, tuscany, the rhone or my cousin arnie's homemade wine--and less than 40 minutes later i arrived in niagra, a little resort village that is about 200 miles beyond cheesy.

the canadian side of the falls looks like disneyland threw up on las vegas, circa 1967. the only thing missing was the rat pack.

ironically, once you get into that crazed maze of chain restaurants, casinos and tacky tourist traps, signs and arrows directing you to the falls are nowhere to be found. fortunately, i've been blessed with a good sense of direction. i looked to my left and there it was--god's eternal shower.

since i had gotten there so early i got to park for free in a lot that would have otherwise cost me $8. the streets were empty and i only saw a handful of people strolling along the edge of the falls.
the mist was so thick at times that you could barely see through it, but the raging currents cascading over that ledge were a sight to behold. suddenly my fatigue dissipated, my head stopped pounding and for about 20 minutes all was right in the world.

my only regret is that i couldn't share that dance with laura, rhonda, mary, pappy and all my other friends who are bravely fighting through some of life's inevitable challenges. hopefully, these visuals will strengthen them, too.

A Victory That Had Been On Ice

Thine eyes saw the glory on Thursday night.

From Jennifer Hudson's stirring rendition of the national anthem to Martin Luther King III’s powerful tribute to his dad on the 45th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.’s iconic “I Have a Dream” speech to the tremendous ovation Barack Obama received when he strolled onto the stage in front of more than 80,000 people on the closing night of the Democratic National Convention at Denver’s Invesco Field.

These same eyes, however, have seen 50 years of momentous events in America. But perhaps none were as significant and memorable as this one. It was, as Elder Bernice King said, “One of our nation’s greatest defining moments.”

All day long I had listened to the pundits go back-and-forth on what Obama would or should say as he accepted the nomination of his party for President of the United States. All day long I listened to various politicians, commentators and common people say that he needed to hit it out of the park if he wanted to close the gaps in the polls, unify his party and convince America that he had the ability to lead. I knew, however, that at the end of that long day, it really wouldn’t matter what he said.

You see, it’s already been said.

It was said in 1955 when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat and Mamie Till insisted that the world see her murdered son’s mangled corpse.

It was said in ‘63 when Martin Luther King Jr. stood in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln and challenged America to dream.

It was said a month later when four young black girls died in the basement of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Ala., showing the world that America was not the great nation she purported to be.

It was said again in ‘65 at the Mt. Zion Baptist Church in suburban Cincinnati when Dr. King took my tiny 8-year-old hand in his and told me I could be anything I wanted to be.

It was said again on April 4, 1968 when Bobby Kennedy told America to chill out after King’s assassination; and when Shirley Chisholm became the first black woman elected to Congress that same year.

It was said by the defiant acts of Thurgood Marshall, Fannie Lou Hamer, Huey Newton, Bobby Seale, Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, Dorothy Height, John Lewis, John H. Johnson, Muhammad Ali, Nikki Giovanni, Angela Davis, Cesar Chavez, Barbara Jordan, Jesse Jackson, Tupac Shakur, Spike Lee, Al Sharpton, Dave Chappelle and countless others who sang “Yes, We Can,” long before will.i.am made it the national anthem for change.

Finally, it was said again on a cold, blistery day in 2007 when a dreamer stood on the steps of the state capitol in Springfield, Ill. and announced that he was running for President of the United States.

And again last night when that same dreamer said, “Enough. This moment, this election is our chance to keep in the 21st century the American promise alive…In defining moments like these the change doesn’t come from Washington, it comes to Washington.”

Barack Obama, the son of an absentee African sperm donor and a nurturing Caucasian mother, is simply riding the wave. Therefore, it really didn’t matter what he said on a balmy Thursday night in Denver. He’s just the anchor on the relay team. He’s picked up the baton and is racing toward the finish line.

I’m not saying that Obama doesn’t deserve his due because he most certainly does. What the 47-year-old senator from Illinois has accomplished in the past 19 months has been extraordinary, historic and evolutionary. I’m sure the ghosts of dreamers past are rejoicing in this moment.

This victory has been on ice for a very, very long time. My hope is that we can all bask in this moment despite our varying agendas and regardless of what was said or not said.

Celebrating accomplishment is at the very core of humanity. It rises above race, gender, political affiliation and one’s socio-economic status. As Americans we should just be proud that one of our own done good.

Obama’s speech might not have been as stirring or as lyrical or as prophetic or as inspiring as Dr. King’s was on that hot August night 45 years ago. It won’t be recited by generations of elementary school kids from Spokane to Silver Spring in dusty auditoriums, and it may not do anything to improve race relations or effect tangible change in this country.

On Friday morning there will still be folks who hate people who don’t look like them—just because.

It will, however, be remembered because it was delivered during this very special moment in time by a man who believes that he is truly his brother’s keeper; that these defining moments are not all about him. I believe from this point on that me, Obama and all the other dreamers,
past and present, will now be able to raise their collective voices and sing a new anthem.

“Yep, We Did.”

a new kind of addiction

i've really broken out of my box this week. i've actually shared my opinions about the upcoming presidential election in two columns and in nightly conversations with friends.

i've been so caught up with the democratic national convention coverage that wolf blitzer's voice is the last thing i hear when i fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, and soledad o'brien's is the first one i hear hours later.

it's crazy.

i've been watching cnn 24/7 and i like it.

i love james carville's home-spun i-told-you-so wisdom. i dig suzanne malveaux's professionalism. that sister knows what she's doing and it shows. i admire the way donna brazile makes her points without raising her voice and i like the way anderson cooper just chimes in with his intriguing little anecdotes.

they all live up to their mantra as the best political team on television.

tonight is the last night of the dnc and i fear that i'm going to have some sort of separation anxiety when i have to go back to watching "soul food" reruns instead on bet j with all of those annoying penis enhancement commercials.

as if!!

of course, the best part of this new addiction has been watching history unfold in living color. as someone who is old enough to remember the post-jim crow camelot era, it's been thrilling to see a black man rise to this level. i'm part of a generation that grew up thinking a black man in the white house wasn't exactly impossible, but it was highly improbable.

the highlights for me this week included the tribute to teddy kennedy, a man i met once backstage at the kennedy center in d.c. i loved every second of michelle obama's speech. it wasn't about her making me proud to be a black woman--my mom, grandmother, great-grandmother myra, aunt hat and all the mcdonald women that came before them that i never knew, are responsible for that. i just dug that she kept it real. political speeches--such as the ones joe biden has been making--are so, so scripted, filled with all of that old school political rhetoric.

rah, rah, rah.

i think michelle must have written hers all by herself. she made it personal and no one else would have been able to record those emotions on paper.

isn't she lovely? indeed she is.

and billary, they did their thing. i never bought into bill being the first black president and i'm not sure i entirely trust their motives now, but i do give them credit for sucking it up and putting the party before their massive egos.

but more than anything else, i've enjoyed talking to my friends. they've seen a different side of me this week. i've been up for the debate. every night before or after the speeches i've been on the phone with bo, bren, charlene, mary, mary and darcea discussing what was said, dissing the republican responses and trashing that sister who was crying after hillary clinton's speech the other night. i've also been engaging in online chats with my facebook buddies.

all of this is highly unusual. for me, talking politics was akin to getting a root canal.

painful.

barack obama's candidacy hasn't made me more patriotic. i was one of those kids who refused to say the pledge of alligence and i still won't stand for the national anthem because the words don't resonate with me--at all. and i'll never wear a flag pin. but it has made me buy a few t-shirts and formulate some strong opinions about where we are as a nation--and where i think we're going once president obama is in the white house.

it's a start.

20 really cool things about getting older

it's been one of those weekends in which old friends have resurfaced--thanks to facebook--and older friends have reached out because my girlfriends and i are at that point in life when we know what we're doing but don't quite know what we want.

translation: your phone rings at 3 a.m. and before you know it, it's 6:30 a.m. and you still haven't gotten to the point.

making all the right moves in what is essentially the last half of your life cycle can be stressful at times, but there's still something incredibly liberating about reaching this milestone--even when you make stupid mistakes.

the recovery time is much quicker than when you were younger and even more stupid.

here are some of the reasons why:

1. you're more inclined to preface everything that comes out of your mouth with "wtf "or "at the end of the day..."
2. you aren't too vain to use those lovely aarp discounts at l.a.'s trendiest restaurants.
3. your eyes, rather than your mouth, become the windows of what's really going on inside of you--especially when you have to go there...
4. you can drop bombs of wisdom on younger folks, watch them roll their eyes and dismiss you, but it no longer bothers you because you've come to realize that they need to make their own mistakes and learn from them just like you did.
5. you no longer have to question authority because you are now the authority.
6. you no longer freak out when your man doesn't ring because you realize that life is getting even shorter so you are no longer sitting around waiting for him to do anything.
7. you have more in common with your girlfriends than ever before because you are all going through similar emotional and physical changes.
8. you really don't sweat the small stuff any more because it's like small.
9. you're more willing than ever to take risks.
10. you no longer allow yourself to be an "option" to anyone who doesn't really care about you, regardless of the way you feel about them.
11. honesty is no longer a novelty.
12. you no longer feel all that compelled to hide your toys.
13. you no longer care what people think about you're wearing.
14. you develop the strength of sampson because you have so much more to deal with.
15. you stop counting calories when it comes to a bottle of good wine.
16. you really begin to comprehend what the good times are all about.
17.getting older is the least of your worries--especially when you consider the alternative.
18. there's no more morning-after guilt.
19. you forgot to shave your legs and...? oh well!!
20. and the one question you always ask the fools you never suffered gladly--"and your point is?"

phew! that felt really good. c'mon monday. let's go!

photo credit: hot muddy fun in calistoga. who cares if you look like crap? wheeee!

issac: all is forgiven my brother

i've got to be honest. issac hayes was not one of my favorite entertainers growing up.

to be clear, it was nothing personal. i wouldn't meet him until later in life and he'd never really done anything to offend me. i had the "black moses" fold-out cross hanging up on my wall right next to my coveted jackson 5 photos.

my beef with hayes was rooted in my mother's obsessive musical tastes. once she liked something she played it to death. and it wasn't just hayes. i feel similarly about roberta flack and marvin gaye.

every morning for about six months she blasted his "black moses" lp while she was getting ready for work downstairs and i was trying to savor those last few zzzzs before getting ready for school upstairs.

it was years before i could listen to anything hayes recorded. i loved "shaft," but i used to pretend it wasn't him. besides the version we played in the wyoming high school marching band sounded more like "we are the champions" than hayes' oscar-winning track with the funky beats.

but today, after learning of hayes' death at his home in memphis, i grabbed my iphone and played "by the time i get to phoenix"--the duet he did with dionne warwick--again and again and again some more on my way to the virgin megastore in hollywood. and before the night's over, i will probably play it a couple more times.

love that track.

mom was understandably shaken when i rang her this afternoon with the news of hayes' death at age 65, but i think that lp is probably too warped by now to be played on the old dusty magnavox in the basement. oh but wait, that album is now in my possession!

oh well.

i only remember meeting hayes a few times. the first time was on the set of "girlfriends." he used to play jill marie jones' father and it was the day they were shooting her wedding out at a rented home in malibu. i was so busy talking to the girlfriends that i barely noticed hayes standing over in a corner by himself just chilling.

"black moses," i whispered to myself. at that point i wasn't really sure whether i wanted to throw him in the pool--redemption for all those years his voice woke me up prematurely--or embrace him for the genius he was. i wisely opted for the latter. he was nice, but kind of on the quiet side.

that old school cool. sexy.

my most vivid memory of him, however, is protesting his nomination for an naacp image award for his portrayal of chef on "south park." i was like, does anyone realize he's voicing a cartoon character and maybe shouldn't be up for best supporting actor in a comedy? well, that's what i wrote and my readers agreed. thankfully, he didn't win and was never nominated in that category again.

crazy.

i also remember that he was bald before it became bold and sexy and that he had a flair for wearing some outrageous stuff on stage. none of that mattered, really. the man could sing and play. the last time i saw him was shortly after his stroke and he had to be wheeled into the banquet room. as luck would have it, he was seated at my table. he was wearing african garb and was really, really friendly.

i think he was just happy to be there--anywhere.

like bernie mac, who reportedly passed away saturday morning (ironically, mac and hayes will appear together on screen in this fall's "soul men"), hayes' legacy will live on in cds, dvds and on whatever new media they come up with next. i'm thankful for that. i have a feeling that too much of hayes in the coming days will surely become a very, very good thing.

maybe i'll sync up my ipod/ihome alarm so that it plays "hot buttered soul" nice and low. that might be nice to wake up to.

so long you bad mutha... i wish you nothing but good mornings up above.

king bernie mac always

kept it real and original

the first time i met bernie mac i said, "what's up." he said, "chicken butt." from that point it was on with me and one of the original "kings of comedy."

in the ensuing years i would interview him at least a dozen times and it was always a pleasure. mac was always present in the moment, consistently dressed to impress and so eternally lively and engaging that i thought we'd be teasing each other for years to come. perhaps that's why after all the rumors of his death that surfaced earlier in the week, i thought i was dreaming when i actually heard that bernie mac had died. in fact, i had fallen asleep watching CNN early saturday morning and subconsciously picked up the tragic news.

and now mac is sleeping, too, at 50 years young.

the last time i saw mac i was interviewing him for his role in "pride," the true story about a black swim coach in philly who trained a championship team. mac played the gym janitor, a composite character. the thing i remember most about that interview is mac's claims that he really could do some damage in the water.

"i'm a SCUBA diver," mac said in a voice that made you want to half believe him. "i can go down to 60 feet and do some things."

talk about your double entendre.

later, his costar terrence howard said the only thing mac could do in the pool was jump in and "splash all the water out."

i also remember how healthy he looked despite the fact he was "just getting over something like pneumonia," he told me. there was a period when the chicago-born comic didn't look so good. toward the end of "the bernie mac show" run mac had developed a condition called sarcoidosis, a lung disease. his face was bloated and he'd gained a lot of weight, an apparent side effect of the meds he was on. he freely discussed the details of that disease with me during the press junket for "mr. 3000," a comedy about a retired baseball player who returns to the game to reach a career milestone. according to early reports that affliction, which had been in remission for three years, had nothing to do with his death this morning. mac apparently died from complications of pneumonia.

what I always most appreciated about mac as a performer was that he had the ability to elevate even the weakest material--if only for a second. he was able to hold his own in starring vehicles like "guess who?" and also in supporting roles in which he had very little to do like in the "ccean's" franchise. but it was his television show that gave his fans the greatest joy. from the moment he uttered, "I'm gonna beat them till the white meat shows," America finally had the first TV dad we could relate to since cliff huxtable.

and, on the real tip, bernie was far more real then mr. bill.

what i dug about him most as a person was the connection he was always able to establish with people from all walks of life. he was one of those celebrities who always made you feel like you were a cherished cousin he hadn't seen in a while. and, the brother could brag. according to mac he was the best at everything from cracking jawbreakers to playing hoops.

maybe he was.

mac will live on in reruns of his show and in his last film, the upcoming "soul men," a flick about an estranged duo who reunite at the apollo to pay homage to their recently deceased band director. i'm totally excited about the potential comic possibilities between Mac and his costar Samuel L. Jackson.

i'm just sorry i'll never have the opportunity to chat with him about it.

r.i.p. bernie mac.

allmylove,
chicken butt