Tuesday, April 5, 2016

FINDING OUR DEEP THROAT

THE MONEY SHOT

Temecula, CA – The trip to Sacramento for the AUMA conference went off 'as well as could be expected' to quote Wallace [& Gromit], given that they did not see this protest coming. However, that was our initial element of surprise. By the morning of the third day in SacTown I was getting that 'living out of a suitcase' feel, plus I needed to file the story. Still, thanks to the excellent service and no hassles with our prolonged stay, as Lorraine recouped [What a Volvo. 88 years old], the holding pattern was pleasant. This morning I feel restless. I awoke before the others, being the point man/journalist, decided to take a walking tour in the opposite direction as the previous evening.

As I walked down maybe a mile or so I reached an area of construction, so I decided I had walked far enough and crossed the street to come back, noting all the last century brick plant architecture, a flashback to my days in the Midwest. The area was 'depressed' so when I came to an intersection with a handful of pennies scattered in the dirt, I stopped. You don't find loose change on the poor side of town. I noted the number, before and after I took the ones I was supposed to, see Memoirs, Chap. 7. Then I continued on my return walk.


Directly I came to a small inner city park named after John Muir and I walked down the side block to the park entrance. Two inner city black men sat at the park entrance. I walked in and went deep inside the park to find a bench and medicate, aka smoke a bowl. Halfway through a short bowl, a man sits down on the end of the bench.

“Do you know who I am?”

As I sat there feeling a head change, a man sat looking back at me wearing a beanie, shades, a thin scarf, a long cloth coat and black gloves. I knew the moment was serious but there's a saying in Hollywood, 'Never let them see you sweat.'

“You're either The Invisible Man or Deep Throat.”

“You're a funny guy.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“CCTV everywhere. I watched you leave the hotel.”

“You a hacker?”

“I don't hack shit. I patch in. You don't get the information I have, from being on the outside. How do you think I knew about Jesse Jackson booking Martin's room, paying for it, and then dropping a dime that King was on the second floor, cover the balcony..?”

“Ok, what, or how does this play out with me? You could get a hold of Letitia, or any of these other people.”

“You're the press, man. Not media, you're 'the Press'. Like back in Nixon's day. Woodward & Bernstein kind of Press.”

“Well, I'm about as old as they are.”

“You're only as old as you feel. We were both around when Nixon was up for re-election, though I did read about it. But the news was still fresh then and reporters were journalists. Now they are just ...”

“Talking heads?”

“And empty suits. Listen, PT. I'm not that altruistic. I should be enjoying fame and some fortune, but a basket was put over my flame.”

“Hmm.”

“It still burns but I know that me myself, I can't remove this basket. I need help.”

“Ok.”

“I will help you, so you can help me.”

“Ok.”

“I'll give you tips, to help you along the way to my freedom from the shadow of my family. Anyway, on the Jesse Jackson thing, find the old motel ledger and see who signed for the room.

Pause

This weekend Sean Parker and Sean Penn are going to be in LA, meeting to rally old money support for AUMA. Search for the spot and you'll find it. LA can be like an old fish wife for the right cause.”

OK”

I'll be in touch. BTW, do you know what makes a religion official?”

Yes”

Of course you do. Finish your bowl, maybe have another. 'Remember, don't call me...”

...I'll call you.'”


I sat there on the park bench, spacing off on the whole ordeal. Once again I was connected through Occupy LA, like with John. In fact, the man to die who was one of the members of some grassroots patient group was also named John, but his last name was Stone, a pot reference. And this was all happening in 'the city of trees'. They hadn't changed the city slogan after 'trees' became slang for joints. Was the Universe telling me that my journalistic emphasis had shifted solely to cannabis? I walked over to the little park bulletin on the path and left my mark, then signed 'Mr. Pete'.

Next: Links Undo The Chain

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