Something I recall like yesterday was my senior year in high school. A parade of exciting, triumphing, and promising images, events, and incidents begin their march down the main street of my mind. Though I had the academics easily "knocked", my focus was on far more important things: beautiful girls, a burgeoning taste for my father's Jack Daniels Black Label, and most importantly, lots and lots of fishing.
The priority of the last item became strikingly clear when I made my Prom date from the night before wait in my midnight blue Grand Prix as I fished dawn's light for snook around the docks of Biscayne Point. I released a 15-pounder in short order- it was caught on a Pfleuger Supreme plug reel, custom rod, and rainbow-colored Zara Spook plug. As I returned to the car, the sweet fishy odor on my hands followed me into the parlor of my vehicle already scented by Canoe, Jack Black, and primordial passion. I'm not sure I've changed all that much as to what I consider really important.
This was also a year of heroes for me- especially the Fallen Angel, Good but Bad types. My religion was Doo Wop, Rock and Roll, and Soul, Soul, Soul. A gas station became the place where I would meet my Burning Bush. Prior to biking to Sunny Isles Pier for the mackeral run, I'd stopped for my roady predawn breakfast of peanut butter crackers and ice-cold coke. As I finished, a huge black limo pulled up to the gas pump island and stopped. One of the rear doors swung open and out came James Brown himself. He was all gassed-up with a light blue tuxedo and perfect pomp atop jet black conked-back hair. As the Godfather passed by, he turned to me and said, "hello, son." I felt like I'd been blessed.
This morning I learned that James Brown died. Since I've always believed that James is the Molar Tooth of Soul, the ache of his loss is a hell of a pain. And James, I'll say to you as you sang so many times before... " Baby, please don't go- I love you so."
Jan
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