A prom queen and World Peace

The perpetual beauty queen cliché says all she wants is world peace.

Really? Probably not if she is speaking of Metta World Peace, at least not today.

Metta, as we shall call him, is the Los Angeles Lakers power forward once known as Ron Artest. It doesn’t take a math major, as Artest once was at St. John’s University in Queens, to calculate an answer to why he chose such a name. Perhaps it is irony, but it is of little wonder to those whose minds run cynical.

The NBA handed the once Ron Artest of the Indiana Pacers an 86-game suspension in 2004 because he jumped into an Autumn Hills, Mich., crowd and began beating upon Detroit Pistons fans. Bad boy, bad boy, what’cha gonna do … ? Artest, or so my cynicism says, did what any great athlete who wants to keep his day job does. He transforms into a saint doing charity work. After all, “Metta” is a Buddhist term for loving-kindness.

Unfortunately, the 6-foot, 7-inch, 260-lb. Laker might have ignored “Good St. Metta” poised on his left shoulder — visible only to World Peace — opting instead for “Mean St. Metta” on his right. Metta says it was an accidental blow Sunday night when his elbow decked Oklahoma City’s James Harden. The Thunder’s guard suffered a concussion, which World Peace said happened, when his elbow slipped after a celebratory chest thump. Loving? Kindness?

Well, that just kind of stinks, provided World Peace intentionally elbowed Harden into a concussion.

Metta will likely receive a suspension but a real, sort of, beauty queen may receive more severe punishment. No, she wasn’t wishing for world peace, not even Ron Artest Metta World Peace. Actually, she wasn’t even a beauty queen but rather a prom queen. Hey it’s a queen! At least it wasn’t RuPaul.

It was one of those heart-warming stories I see every Saturday and Sunday evening on the local TV news where the one reporter working that day apparently has to cover every fund-raising, analeptic that will fill the 10-minute hole of “newscast.”

A 19-year-old Angie Gomez of the El Paso suburb of Horizon City claimed she was dying of cancer and managed to collect more $17,000 in donations.  Gomez professed that she had only six months to live. Angie also said she had to miss her high school prom because of cancer treatments. Her classmates were so touched they threw a prom for her which did double duty as a fundraiser. There turned out to be a problem, however. The prom queen wasn’t sick with cancer.

Wait, it’s a miracle!

It isn’t a miracle that she was charged with felony theft. It is strange that her mother didn’t know about the “extent of the fundraising,” according to numerous stories today. What does that mean? What did her mother know and when did she know it? I mean, the El Paso Times ran a story and everything! Well, maybe her Moms doesn’t read the paper.

What a wonderful world full of inspiring people. It’s enough to make one want to wish for, well, maybe not world peace but perhaps a little karma.

 

Rock and roll obits: Dick Clark and Levon Helm

Obits today for a couple of “senior” dudes who were most influential to our rock ‘n’ roll world.

Dick Clark, yeah, he counted down the fall of the big New Year’s ball on Times Square, but he also showed the world its latest bands with the tunes “you can dance to.” Plus, he was the real life Peter Pan, at least, he looked as if he never grew old.

Levon Helm, who’s he you ask? Well, ever hear about the electric Dylan? The Hawks played as the backup band during the controversial Dylan musical conversion. Later known as The Band, Helm was drummer and provided the gritty voice for the band singing stories more than songs such as “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” “The Weight” (Take a load off Fannie), or “The Shape I’m In.”

Helm, the son of an Arkansas cotton farmer, was the only Yank among this otherwise Canadian group. It was an act that probably was known more widely known after their classic “The Last Waltz,” which was a 1978 “rockumentary” of The Band’s last concert.

My favorite song sung by Helm — Up On Cripple Creek — tells of a miner’s memory of girl way down South even though that remembrance is somewhat fogged by “a drunkard’s dream.”

“When I get off this mountain/You know where I want to go/Straight down the Mississippi River/To the Gulf of Mexico/To Lake Charles, Louisiana/Little Bessie, girl I once knew/She told me to come on by/If there’s anything that she could do … “

Well, never mind it’s a bit out of the way going to Lake Charles from Colorado by way of the Mississippi and Gulf. The fact that Lake Charles was just across the county-parish line from where I grew up was enough for at least me to identify.

Rest in peace Dick and Levon. Rock on.

 

 

 

Dallas

Happy Monday. Or something.

I drove from Beaumont to Dallas today. I forgot that it is such a journey. I’m staying in the Omni, near the Convention Center. It’s a really nice hotel. I just happened to get a negotiated rate. Still, a nice view of the skyline. Business in the morning but waiting for my old friend Bruce to stop by after (his) work.

This end of Dallas is kind of old hat to me but it has been a few years since I’ve been this way. One may still get accosted for money or who knows what else when passing by the Greyhound station.

I am more familiar with downtown Dallas than with the central district of any other of the other top 10 American cities in population. That includes No. 4 Houston which is only 80 miles away from where I live. My familiarity is no big mystery why as I have worked a number of temp jobs in downtown Dallas or just wandered or watched a free concert or three at the West End. That was during my slightly longer than temporary stays in the D-FW area. There is a lot a truth in Jimmie Dale Gilmore’s lyrics from “Dallas” (“Have You Ever Seen Dallas From A DC-9 At Night.) Actually, Joe Ely, who is Gilmore’s bandmate in theThe Flatlanders made the song popular.

 “Dallas is a woman who will walk on you when you’re down

  But when you are up she’s the kind you like to take around … “

Anyone who spent desperate hours in Dallas can identify with the song although it probably has been awhile since DC-9s regularly flew over the city.

Here I am though with my feet 15 floors off the ground. Just sitting here looking at the city they (we) call Dallas.

 

Turbulent times in the Metroplex

My North Central Texas have been having a hair-raising time — most of them still have hair to raise for some reason — with tornadoes this afternoon. In that area during springtime, a young man’s fancy better turn to twisters or severe thunderstorm less they’ll be calling their insurance folks in a few days.

People talk about “Tornado Alley” — they maybe think of Kansas or Oklahoma or even the heart of Texas like Waco. Waco got flattened by a twister in the early 50s and they still talk a lot about it. But as I told my friend Bruce a bit ago on Facebook they have some real “humdingers” of severe storms in the Dallas-Fort Worth area.

I remember an Easter weekend that I when staying with my friend Ross, who then lived in the Collin County town of Allen. His patio looked as if snow had fallen due to the massive bombardment of large hailstones. My truck, yes, the one I have driven for going on 13 years, was riveted with little hail bumps. I don’t remember why I never got it repaired. Oh yeah, they wanted too much money. Speaking of which, G the work car, got estimates today from its run-in with the little old lady from, wherever. Could be as much as $5K. At least I am not paying for it, directly at least. The estimators really can’t tell for sure what the costs will come to until they can open up the rear door.  Oh and it took me the better part of two days to get Sammy’s paperwork to all those who needed it. What a bunch of crap!

Anyway, I hope all my friends in the Metroplex Metromess are safe and their homes are as well without damage.

A breaking, tragic event, leaves a touch of nostalgia

It’s hard for me to sit on the sidelines on days like today.

A courthouse shooting leaving one dead and four injured, of the kind which makes the national news happened today here in Beaumont.

Here is great breaking news report by Houston-based Michael Graczyk, the sharp Associated Press writer whose byline most people see on stories about the prison system and executions. He has attended just about every execution for AP since Texas restored the death penalty.

Unfortunately, when big stories such as these break, it is usually when people die violently from some source of the other. People still want to know the story — who it happened to and who or what caused it; what happened; when the event took place and the timeline, if pertinent; in what location or locations the event happened; and lastly, why it happened. It might take awhile to learn the latter, whether days, months or even years.

It is a rush reporting a captivating “spot” story whether one is reporting from the field or back in the office doing the rewrite. If you told me 20 years ago I would find rewriting what reporters at the scene report and then timely crafting the information into an interesting and informing story, I might have said you were smoking crack. Either reporting from the scene or back at the desk is a challenge for someone who wants to and has a burning desire to tell a story that is important to untold numbers of people who are trying to find out “what is going on?”

Reading some of the early coverage of this tragic event givse me pause as to just how good social media is for reporting or more specifically, how can it better used? Much of what I saw early on was a conglomeration of disparate parts of the story. Some information came from witnesses, some from someone who held some type of officialdom even though this person may be commenting something that is nothing more than hearsay. For instance, I read a “live” Twitter feed of the police press conference held a couple hours after the incident. It was difficult to determine just who was speaking and just what the relation was between the person speaking and the “newser.”

My “wistfulness” and my take on how journalists were tackling the story isn’t at all to make light of what happened. After all, this is my city and what happened affected my “neighbors” and their families.

If I might, one last time, take from my experience in journalism to look at what happened I would point at where this happened and the immediate event that may have triggered it.

You may think you hear a lot about courthouse shootings. I don’t know how many actually happen a year. When such an incident occurs it automatically is a larger than normal story no matter the city or town where it takes place. Courthouses — whether local, state or federal –are the almost sacred temples of our laws and the people who look to those laws for protection and for fairness. When one is on trial for their life or reputation or is seeking relief over a property or familial issue, one naturally will find high emotion. In the case of this shooting it appears the alleged shooter was on trial for the very serious charge of aggravated sexual assault.

We have armed security and metal detectors in most of our courthouses these days. The Jefferson County Courthouse, where this happened, is no exception. But even those dedicated individuals who guard our courthouses and screen those who enter cannot keep a built-in emotion at bay. So this happens. No arguments about guns because they are useless. The genie is out of the bottle when it comes to guns.

It’s a sad event. But for one who spent a great deal of his life writing about such happenings and surrounded by the drama of the moment it leaves an old newshound with just a tiny bit of nostalgia.

My sorrow for those lost or injured goes without saying.