And when I die
and when I'm dead, dead and gone,
There'll be one child born and
a world to carry on, to carry on…
and when I'm dead, dead and gone,
There'll be one child born and
a world to carry on, to carry on…
“And When I Die” by Blood, Sweat & Tears
My birthday was Thursday.
I’m sixty-one. Damn!
I’m not trying to sound
morbid but lately, I’ve been thinking about my last days on this planet. Life
is a precious but fragile thing so, I’ve been contemplating what I’ve accomplished,
what’s left to do and what I want to leave behind.
If I do kick off soon, please
know it’s been a wonderful journey. Within the past six decades I’ve received
incredible gifts in the guise of relatives, wives, lovers, children,
supporters, friends and readers. Owning my own magazine (Take Five), writing
for the Post-Dispatch and starting
the Sweet Potato Project has provided me with a spiritually lush life of
challenge, purpose and gratification. Writing from the heart all these years has
been my doorway to many wonderful, long-lasting relationships. I did my personal best to make the world a
little bit better than when I entered it. I have been blessed.
There’s so much more I
want to do before the final curtain. I’ve always known how I want to spend my last days on earth. It’s a Walter
Mosley/George W. Bush/Jimmy Buffet type scenario. I my mind’s eye, I see myself
in a warm place near water, writing fiction and painting pictures.
To get there, I gotta
make some some stuff happen-quick like. The Sweet Potato Project, interacting and
inspiring potentially young entrepreneurs who share my hue, working to build a
sustainable, replicable, urban agricultural project in North St. Louis fires my
soul and keeps me jazzed.
Yet, I wonder if I’m
the guy to bring it to full fruition. Raising enough money to operate the
program, grappling with operational deficiencies and trying to convince politicians
and people with clout and resources that this is a viable way to create a long-term
economic engine in the city is more than a notion.
But just when I think
it’s time to call it quits there are signs that we’re close to the finish line.
I have a few students eager to own land and grow food. Across the country,
urban agriculture is now viewed as a positive, productive means to revitalize
disadvantaged neighborhoods. Politicians like Alderman John C. Muhammad have
introduced bills aimed at putting vacant land in the hands of poor people. State
Rep. Bruce Franks has introduced a bill aimed at instituting trauma curriculum
in schools where kids deal daily with crime, violence and poverty in their
neighborhoods. This is a huge concern of mine that I address in my
soon-to-be-published book, “When We Listen.”
This summer, a collection
of nonprofits representing the North City Food Hub (NCFH) will offer classes on
land-ownership, writing business plans, food-growing, culinary certificates, and
will open a professional shared-use kitchen in the Ville where anybody who
wants to develop a food-based product can do so with the help of trained chefs.
There is indeed progress on this front.
My goal is to get SPP
to a place where it can operate without me. Oh, I plan to always be its
champion, its spokesman and spend time learning, listening and being a part of young
people’s lives. But, honestly, I’m tired of the struggle. The project needs to
be under the stewardship of an organization that’s better than me at fund-raising
and the day-to-day operations of a strong, viable nonprofit.
I’ve come to the
conclusion that my first love, writing, supersedes all my other endeavors. For
the past six months, I’ve been mostly researching and scribing. I have three
books in motion, the last is a work of fiction. Doing this has been
economically challenging but, it feels right. In total, the works speak to my
passions, my love and concern for our city, politics and progression. Unrestricted
writing has allowed me to deploy my real-life experiences, my woes, joys and
dreams in real and imaginary formats.
I cherish the fact that
I’m still a naïve dreamer, even in my early 60s. I still believe that the power
of love, compassion and humanity will ultimately defeat greed, tyranny and
restricted thinking. I hold on to the notion that genius has no color-code and
I’m encouraged by the creativity, resiliency and tenacity of our youth. I want my
grand exit underscored by the fact that I left something tangible behind that my
children and/or another generation of dreamers-those not willing to live lives
in vain-will utilize and push forward in their own unique and wonderful ways.
It’s funny. As a
youngster, I used to draw. Up until my mid-twenties, I pursued a life as a painter,
cartoonist and political satirist but, writing was always a part of that. As a
kid I used to make my own comics that reflected the things I was experiencing
in life-poverty, bullying, girls and fighting evil. There was something
fascinating about creating something new and unique. That aspect of creativity
transcended into my actual life efforts.
I’ve only had two “real”
jobs in adulthood, Laclede Gas (12 years) and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch (six years). Everything else I did was of
my own making-Take Five Magazine, When We Dream Together, a multi-media website
and the Sweet Potato Project. I was
miserable at the gas company and the daily newspaper. I simply don’t do well
with institutional racism or down-right white superiority thinking. My own
projects have been economically and emotionally-straining but, Lord, so
fulfilling.
I’m not itching to die
but life is promised to no one. Mine, so far, has been one of living, learning
and loving and I desperately want more. I’ve been blessed to paint on canvasses
of my own making. Writing has been my way of coping, connecting and interacting
with opposing and supporting souls.
I want to thank
everyone for sending me “Happy Birthday” wishes this week. It's been an absolute pleasure sharing this journey with you. The Blood Sweat and Tears tune above speaks to my
hope that young people will carry on where I leave off. But “My Way,” popularized
by Frank Sinatra, perfectly sums up my feelings about my life and humble accomplishments.
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way.
Yes, it was my way
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