My First Professor

            Occasionally, my folks would scrape together enough extra money to head to a country bar on a weekend. I remember one bar in particular by the name of the Gaiety, which was a honky tonk east on Chef Hwy. It was a long drive to near or maybe over the Mississippi line. (M I S S – I S S – I Pee Pee In Your Eye – that’s how I learned to spell it.)

            In that bar played a giant of man that my dad called Henry, or sometimes, Birdman. He was the tallest person I had ever seen. And he had these extraordinarily long fingers. Birdman played piano at the bar, accompanied by various musicians depending upon the night. Some nights more players would filter in late in the night.

            I always positioned myself at the end of the piano and watched Mr. Byrd’s hands pound a piano – old, beat up, cigarette scarred, turn-of-the-century vintage piano – bringing out a carnival of sounds from his ten, bony fingers and that deep voice resonating off every surface in the jernt.  Happy people, free of care, danced joyously to the music.

            I watched intently every finger stroke and would later attempt to mimic his movements with my tiny hands. I may have been six by this time. My parents were happy that I was distracted and not interfering with their conversations with the other denizens of Gaiety. And Mr. Byrd took a liking to me.

            Occasionally, Mr. Byrd would show me a pair of keys to hit, “Jus’ keeps on hitting the B-flat and C when I points at you.” I’d strike the keys in rhythm with him whenever he pointed, then he’d signal me to stop with a gentle, horizontal wave of his hand whereupon his fingers would fly up and down the 88’s, another finger point and I’d be pounding the high Bb-C as he laughed and urged me on.

            You pick up on vibes from adults. My dad loved this guy. He felt him, sang along with him (out of tune), and bought him beers. “You’re all kinds of alright, Sunny,” Mr. Byrd would say. My dad would always reply, “Henry, you know what I came to hear, you know the song. Play it! You played it for her you can play it for me.” I hadn’t seen Casablanca at that point in my few days so I missed the significance of the Bogart reference.

            “Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh, me gotta go float a pee-row down the bayou…Oh Jambalaya, crawfish pie, fillet gumbo. For tonight I’m gonna see my Cher amio… ”

            I had heard Jambalaya more than any other song at that time, but this was quite different. It wasn’t a guitar strumming version. It was a vibrant, soulful piano-based rendition. Mr. Byrd painted a completely different picture than what I envisioned from the original by Hank Williams, Sr.

This proved to be yet another transformational moment for a young entertainer like me: Make the song your own!

            Frequently over the next few years my folks travelled to whenever they could to wherever this man played. I heard my dad explain that Henry wasn’t allowed to play in New Orleans proper because he had a mixed band. Professor Longhair, Henry Roeland Byrd, was black yet he often hired white musicians to play with him. Strangely, I immediately understood what he was saying. I knew kids whose mothers would call them in from the ball field if there were Negro kids playing. At 6, I couldn’t comprehend racism, but it was the reality of the time and place. It was the way things were in 1959.

             There are still things that Fess played that I can’t figure out. I replay his every finger movement in my mind, but can’t discern the nuances of his floating digits. But I solemnly appreciate all that he taught me and for his heartfelt inspiration.

            Older classmen of the time like Mac Rebennack (Dr. John) and Ed Volker (The Radiators) – who got closer to Fess as musicians and students – were able to absorb more, but there isn’t a keys man of our generation that isn’t beholding to Mr. Henry Roeland Byrd, more famously known as Professor Longhair.  

Ron Russell Biography - Dr. Martin Luther King

I am helping Ron Russell write his biography, an onerous task to say the least. Ron lives an amazingly blessed life. He is a man who lives his faith with every breathe that he takes. One fateful day, Ron was introduced to Dr. Martin Luther King. The encounter would change Ron's life and history. Chapter 8 – Destiny’s First Call             S atellite Beach was a paradise back in 1962.  My father worked as a scientist at Cape Canaveral.  America was in a race with the Russians over the domination of space, which held great strategic significance during the cold war years, but not so much to me.  I was 11 years old at the time.  My focus was on my two passions: drumming and surfing.              We lived across Highway A1A, a two lane road known as the First Coast Highway running from Jacksonville in northern Florida all the way to Key West, from the Atlantic Ocean.  I would fall asleep every night listening to the rhythmic crash of waves on the beach.  I would surf every day all day long if the weather cooperated.  I couldn’t get enough of the ocean, the power of the water to lift me and propel me toward the shore, and the serenity of simply floating on my surf board watching the clouds make beautiful patterns in the sky.  It was out there, lying on my surfboard, bobbing in the waves that I had many conversations with The Lord.  He counseled me on His word telling me that these were lessons that I needed in order to fulfill my destiny.  I never quite understood what He meant by the word destiny.  God patiently assured me that a day would come when He would call upon me to serve Him.  I also never understood why He chose me other than He knew that I would do whatever He asked, whenever He asked. I was student at a local middle school, but I wasn’t a great student.  I had a learning disability.  I was dyslexic.  Words appeared backwards and jumbled to me.  Reading was a struggle, a battle that I usually lost.  Consequently, I didn’t read much if I could help it.  I never read the Bible.  I would hear the passages in church and I would follow along, and pretend to be reading along with the congregation.  They didn’t know much about dyslexia back in 1962.  I’m not even sure that had named it at that time.  They surely didn’t know how to diagnose or handle the situation in the public school system.  So, I struggled along and got by without anyone detecting my secret. I couldn’t fool God, though.  He made me.  He knew.  I guess that is why He delivered His message to me audibly.  When I did finally start reading the Bible I kept marveling that it was all in there, everything The Lord had told me was there. I confirmed that The Bible is the true word of God because I heard those words from Him. Late one night lying in my bed in my room in our comfortable Satellite Beach home nearly drifting off to sleep when the wind picked up, that same rushing wind that I had felt before, and soon came the fragrance, that glorious smell that stings the nose yet is beautiful and delightful.    Martin did a Poor People’s march in Melbourne, Florida in 1962, I was eleven years old at the time he was 33.  I was led by the Lord to talk to him because he was on the verge of becoming a black militant.  In fact, Bobby Seals and Huey Newton of the Blank Panthers were his body guards at the time.  Jesse Jackson and Ralph Abernathy were with him at the time.  There were five death threats against him.  The thing that really caught my eye was a billboard I’ll never forget on A1A down by Canova Beach.  The billboard showed Dr Martin Luther King speaking at this meeting in an auditorium and the caption said, ‘Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at a Communist Party meeting.’  And I’m going, “What?” Everything I knew about Martin, though I didn’t know that much as I was only eleven years old, but I followed the Civil Rights movement and knew what was going on.  I knew Martin was nowhere near a communist.  That intrigued me that they had put this billboard up a month before the Poor People’s march to discredit and degrade him.  There were five death threats against him the day that the march was to be held. Everybody was taking these threats pretty seriously.  I figured, now this was only a theory of mine, that the FBI was involved and who knows who else. I went to see Martin.  He was speaking at the Melbourne Civic Auditorium before the march began.  I listened to his speech and it was a little too radical for me.  It wasn’t what I expected from a Southern Baptist minister.  I didn’t understand the militant thing that he was talking about.  After the speech, I went up to him.  This is the weirdest part.  I knew Martha Hendrix for years.  She was at this meeting.  Martha vouched for me with Martin.  She told Martin that this boy is real sharp and you’d better listen to him.  Martin asked me, “What do you want from me?” I said, “I don’t know why I was sent here, but I’ll tell you what I’m willing to do.  I’ll march in front of you today and I’ll take the bullet for you,” and I meant that with all my heart.  I figured they would shoot no red-headed, blue-eyed, freckle-faced white boy.  Martin looked at me and said, “You’re serious?” I said, “Yes sir, I am serious.  I believe the death threats are for real.  I don’t know why, but I just know it.  If there is any way I can help you out.  I don’t think they’re going to shoot me so let’s go for it.” And he had me march in front of him. As we started out I hesitated as I thought that I didn’t want to lead the parade, that wasn’t my role, but it was the only way to keep in front of Martin.  So, I turned around and marched backwards.   I stayed in the lead, but marching backward looking directly into the face of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  I also wanted to know if Martin was for real, to see if was just playing this out for notoriety.  I turned around and was marching backwards and I’m looking at Martin right in the eyes and he said, “What are you looking at?” I said, “I want to feel your spirit.  I want to feel your soul.  I want to know if you’re for real. That’s what I want to know.” He smiled his incredible wide grin and said, “Yes, I’m for real.” Suddenly, there was an explosion to my left their right, because I was marching backward.  There was an explosion, which was meant as a distraction to divert everyone’s attention, and every head snapped to the right.  From my right side, came a twenty-two to twenty-five year old white male with a Bowie knife, a literal Bowie knife, a wide, long-bladed Bowie knife.  What happened was the Sun reflected off the Bowie knife, the glint caught my attention and I saw this guy lunging straight toward Martin’s heart, and he had Martin dead to rights, right into his heart.  I reached over and grabbed him, and I knew that this guy was so much stronger than me that if I didn’t disable him in some way that I was gone. So I diverted the blade and stuck the knife as hard as I could into his leg, deep, nearly all the way through.  We wrestled, he hit me and then shots rang out.  Bang, bang, bang. I remember three shots being fired from a high-powered rifle.  I heard one go foop right past my ear hitting a black lady ripping her leg wide open.  A second shot hit a black man bringing him down.  Meanwhile, the crowd assisted my wrestle with the assailant.  I started hollering, “Get Martin out of here.  Get him out of here now!” The limo pulls up and it’s bulletproof.  Bobby Seals, Huey Newton, Ralph Abernathy and Jesse Jackson all shove Martin into the limo.  They shoved Martin into the limo and started down the street traveling about 150 yards down when the limo stopped and backed up.  Ralph Abernathy climbed out of the limo and hollered to me, “Yo Red, Martin wants to talk to you.” I said, “Cool.” Another shot rang out striking the limo.  They thought that Ralph was Dr. King because they all dressed alike back then.  It’s like the old saying that they all (blacks) look alike.  That’s what they were hoping for, that they wouldn’t be able to hit Martin. I jumped into the limo behind Ralph and I’m all excited when all of a sudden Bobby Seals and Huey Newton grab me, restrain me, and physically it was harming me, and asked me, “Who are you working with?” Because they thought I was part of the set up for this assassination attempt. I said, “Get out of here. No, I was sent of God to help you out, Martin, and that’s the truth.” Martin wasn’t saying a word. At that point I began speaking in tongues. Ralph Abernathy was blabbering and Jesse Jackson pissed himself. Everything was so intense at that moment and I felt in grave danger. Martin finally spoke up, “Why did you come today?” “Because of that stupid sign on A1A, I wanted to know if you were a communist.” “What?” asked Martin. I said, “You haven’t seen the sign? Come on, I’ll show you the sign.” We drove down A1A to the sign that said, ”Dr. Martin Luther King at a Communist Party Meeting.” He laughed as he viewed the libelous billboard, “That’s me at AFL-CIO Union meeting. I was with the union at that time.  I can’t believe they made it out as a Communist Party meeting” He made a call and the billboard was soon taken down.  They had done it to degrade him.   When they grabbed me I was freaking out. I thought they were going to get rid of me. I didn’t know anything about the attempt. I just knew that the threats were real and an attempt was going to happen. They drove on down to Melbourne Beach, which was the colored beach at that time (beaches were segregated at that time), and now I was certain that they were going to do away with me.  They’d bury me in the sand never to be seen again. They pulled onto the beach and I now I knew this was it, they were going to kill this 11-year-old child.  But, here is the neat thing: as soon as we got out of the car a Brevard County Sheriff’s car pulled up.  He asked, “What’s going on?” I said, “Man, good to see you.” I started talking as fast as I could to this guy who was the first black deputy sheriff in Melbourne, Florida.  “This is Dr. King here and they think I’m part of this conspiracy and I’m not, but they don’t know me. They don’t know whether to believe me or not, but, I’m just a child and they don’t believe me.” Deputy Sheriff Henderson pulled up.  Now, here was the guy who became the chief of police of Satellite Beach years later.  Now, I had a white sheriff and a black sheriff, so that was cool and I felt a lot more comfortable.  I explained the whole story to them both. Martin finally got out of the car and said to me, “Ronnie, let’s go have a talk. I’ve got to know what is really going on here.” And the two of us walked down the beach away from the others. “Martin, I tell you man, I am truly, truly anointed of God and God sent me to save your life. And that is the honest truth. And, sorry that you don’t believe me…” He said, “I don’t know what to believe at this point. Let’s go back to your house.” I replied, “No, you can’t. He asked, “Why?” “First of all my father is a scientist at Cape Canaveral, an electrical engineer.  He has a Top Secret clearance and as soon as they hear that his son is hanging around with a civil rights leader he would lose his job, absolutely, and I know that.  You can’t go there.  I’m going to protect my family.  So, I’m not going to tell you where I live or anything else.”  I didn’t tell Martin where I lived until the second time I saw him.  Then, we became close enough that I knew I could trust him.  He couldn’t believe me and by that time I didn’t know if I could trust him.  We had some issues to deal with and once we dealt with those issues we became best, best friends.  Every Sunday night Martin would call me.  It was the neatest thing to have him as a best friend because, man, what a genius he was at vocabulary and statesmanship  As the Lord promised, “My word will not return void.” God sent me to Martin as a vessel with the message that Martin needed to establish a personal relationship with Jesus. During our weekly talks, Martin would read his speeches to me and challenge me to look up and learn the words that I didn’t understand. I told Martin that he wasn’t the leader of the movement but rather the drum major, which inspired his Drum Major speech. “You’re not the movement and you aren’t even the leader of the movement. You are like the drum major.”

Easy Marinara Sauce

I'm visiting folks that I've known since 1965. They live in the coolest never-heard-of town on the Gulf Coast and they aim to keep it that way so I won't divulge the town's name. The area hasn't changed much since my first tour visit when I met them. I was playing a local honky tonk where underage could drink and party freely. We did a lot of that and they hooked me up with a beautiful young gal who has remained a close friend ever since.
They took me back to their house after a gig. We were all hungry. They had nothing prepared and everything was closed by that hour. I offered to whip something up if I could scan their cupboards where I found enough ingredients to build a marinara sauce. The result was spectacular. I've been making this sauce since that night.
The ingredients were onions, green pepper, garlic, country sausage, and canned tomatoes. I chopped the onions, green pepper, and garlic into a fry pan with olive oil. Those were sauteed until the onion became translucent. That leaves the green peppers a little crunchy, which adds texture to the dish. I added these to a larger pot containing a large can of chopped tomatoes, a large can of tomato sauce, and a small can of stewed tomatoes. Herbs complimented the flavors with oregano, basil, tarragon, and rosemary. I simmered the pot for a half hour while we drank a beer and smoked a bowl to enhance the dining experience.
Pasta boiled to al dente and we were ready to eat.
I build more complex sauces when time and ingredients permit. I also build simpler sauces using fresh tomatoes and herbs from my garden.

Cold Day Indoor Actvity

Cold days are great days to turn on the oven. Well, duh? 

Today's activity includes roasting, boiling, and baking. It will warm up my house, my body, and my soul. 

First off, I placed 6 stalks of celery, 5 large carrots, and 2 large quartered onions onto a baking sheet. Next, the sheet was placed in a 350 degree oven to roast the vegetables. Roasting the veggies brings out their true robust flavor. 

Third, I poured hot water into a large stock pot and set on a burner on high to boil. This adds warm humidity to the air to mix with the oven warmth. 

Fourth step is to begin making bread. I've developed a time-tested technique that usually produces great results. Occasionally, it fails, but is still tasty though flat. 

Set the oven to 375. Pour 2 cups of warm water (120 degrees) into a large mixing bowl. Stir in one packet of yeast until it dissolves completely. Add 2 tbsp of sugar, 1 teaspoon salt, 1 tbsp vegetable oil into the mixture. Stir thoroughly. Slowly add 3 cups of flour, stirring constantly until the dough chases the spoon around the bowl. Keep adding 1 tbsp of flour at a time until the right consistency is reached. 

Flour a large, long surface. Dump the dough onto the surface and knead, turning constantly (the dough, not you). Add flour until the dough is no longer sticky. Place the dough ball in an oiled bowl. Flip it over (the dough, not the bowl). Place a towel over the bowl and place it in a warm spot. 

Remember that this is a cold day. My kitchen was cold, about 63 degrees, so I had nowhere warm to set the bread. One trick is to place a cup of water in the microwave on high for 2 minutes, then place the covered bowl in the microwave. But, I hate microwaves so I put a small pot upside down over the burner where the oven vents. The bowl with dough went on top. This way the dough is warmed but not cooked. 

I let the dough rise for an hour, then returned the dough to the board for more kneading and flowering. Next, I formed the dough into a loaf and slid it into a glass loaf pan. Aluminum pans works also and are much cheaper, but I prefer non-toxic glass. 

And the covered loaf pan went back to the warm spot for 30 minutes after which I sliced the top and placed it in the 375 degree oven. 35 minutes later I removed golden brown bread from the oven. 

My activity warmed me, exercised my arms and hands, warmed the kitchen, and filled the house with the great smell of fresh bread. 

The vegetable stock will simmer overnight and through tomorrow.