Word Challenge and Vespa Madness

At the bottom of the page here, it shows you "labels for this post: e.g. scooters, vacation, fall." Since I rarely enter any "labels for this post" I wondered, casually, if I could appropriate the explainers, "scooters, vacation, fall" with a true story. I found I could. I bought myself a scooter after seeing the deathmatch that is scooters on the streets of any sized Italian city. The mighty Vespa rules the road and since Italians simply ignore those silly signal lights, you and your Vespa might be run down in any given moment. Part of the appeal was seeing all those curvy, stylish Italian women dashing around wearing dresses, hair contained--not by some ugly helmet, but by long silk scarves, billowing in the warm Italian breeze.

The scooter pictured here is not mine but one rather carefully restored and painted blue and white and very valuable. Mine was used and had been painted a bright yellow color. When I asked about the yellow (not my favorite color) the seller said it made the scooter more visible on the road. Sold. I certainly hoped it would help me be seen on American roads unused to wannabe Italian women in scarves. But after one near miss by a large truck that nearly sent me into a ditch, I decided not even the bright yellow would save me twice. So I sold my scooter. If I had kept it, I could sell it now on eBay for enough to take another vacation to Italy and watch the authentic Scooter traffic dance. Alas, not this Fall. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Who wants to be First

Mostly, I like to be first. Well, except in grammar school when at the beginning of each school year, I got an earnest lecture from my newest teacher about how I would have to be brave and set an example for the rest of the children. See, my name was Adkins so I was always first in line for all the shots we got each year. I have no idea what they were, but small pox, measles, and a whole lot of other innoculations that haven't been seen in schools for a while, I'm guessing. It was during one of those brave days that I got the polio vaccine and caught polio. There is no way to prove that I got it from the shot, but so did a couple of kids who got the shot from the same people on the same day. Back then, nobody thought of suing people who hurt you in that way , so my grandmother never thought of suing the school, suing the medical people, suing Dr. Salk--as would be the case now. If she had, I would own Kentucky. But no matter. My polio was way better that the beautiful Martha McIntire, who spent the rest of her life in an iron lung, right in the house next door to me. What happened with me was no fun, but I recovered with few damages, stenosis of the spine, left leg shorter than the right and atrophied muscles in the left side of my back. Now all of you who know me have never noticed these shortcomings. I always work hard at appearing normal with varying degrees of success when it comes to both mental and physical. But the reason that I've been absent from posting the past little while is that I've been trying to get through this latest polio dance. It's called post-polio syndrome and many are suffering now. Symptoms include slowly progressive muscle weakness, unaccustomed fatigue (both generalized and muscular), and, at times, muscle atrophy. Pain from joint degeneration and increasing skeletal deformities such as scoliosis are common. Nobody seems to know why it comes back, but there are support groups and the like for it. But me, I'm not going to go to any support group, every time I feel weepy or pissed off, I think about Martha. I'm lucky Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Sliding Time

It does go forward and backwards and depending on where you are standing when time is rushing by is how you are judged. Some people are way ahead of their times and some never catch up to it. I had an Aunt Delma, who was married to my uncle William Howard Taft Adkins. In those days, it was very, very popular to name one of your children after some president or the other. Why my Big Mom named her eldest son after a president that nobody except "Jeopardy" contestants ever heard of beats me, but she did. Aunt Delma, I have to say, was ahead of the time curve and its public opinion. She believed children should only wear diapers once. So she threw them away after one wearing. There was a lot of throwing going on because Delma and Taft had twelve children. Jackie, Joyce and the other ten. Understand this was before disposable diapers, so this particular bunch of the Adkins clan just scandalized our name. Then comes John Travolta, who only wears his white tee-shirts once. Then the crazy guy does something with them. Who knows what? But because he's got so much money, it's not a scandal when he tosses them to the wind after one wear. Money could be the key here to whether this is a ridiculous practice or not. I got one that involves money and it's still ridiculous. A friend of mine told me recently of two young women who spent a couple of thousand dollars on clothes each month at just one store where she also shopped. The 'sales associate' confessed to her that one of those young women was her daughter. A few months passed by before she also confessed they spent so much money because they just threw their clothes in the garage after one wear and went and bought some more. Ok, I heard you, how does the daughter of a clerk roll that hard? Seems the young lady was using the equity in her house as a clothing budget. Yes, she lost the house, but there was a lot of stuff in the garage that made somebody some money. I swear this is a true story, ridiculous as it reads.

Missed Fred

I clicked on Deaths in 2009 a minute ago. I wanted to see something about Don Hewitt and hit that box. Suddenly I saw Fred Travelena's face. It was a shock because I didn't know he had died. One of my funniest memories is of being in Sammy Davis's suite at the Aladdin Hotel. Sam always took his own personal pots and pans when he was working anywhere and often would invite some pal or other to cook. Off Brian Dellow and I would go to the market and buy all the stuff for me to cook the Puerto Rican Arroz con Pollo that Sam liked. On this particular day, I'd made it too hot for Sam and he was yelling at me when Fred came in. They started doing a routine of various people complaining that my food was too hot. Master impressionists both of them and we laughed and laughed as a long list of characters said bad things about my cooking. Too soon it was time for Sam to get ready for the night's show. I ran into Fred on a flight to somewhere about five years after Sammy died and we just hugged and remembered our friend and that silly day and how special it was. Rest well, Fred. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Cut Off From the World

I can't say I didn't have a warning. I did. When I was in Las Vegas, I lost my phone. I couldn't function. And it's not like I do a bunch of things with my phone. I am not on the Internet with it, I rarely text, I just phone. It's not my life. But as it happens, I also had no Internet access because the freaking hotel blew up my baby computer. So I was really screwed. The only savior element is that Elijah had his phone and I was able to talk to my family. I was practically bumping into furniture in my disorientation. What could I do without my phone and Internet? Well shopping seemed a good way to occupy my time and there is that great Fashion Show mall, where between Starbucks, the Oxygen Bar and a couple of massages, I calmed up and down.. Happily, I was only crazy and weepy and cut off from the world for 24hours, I got the little Sony Ericsson that I love so much back. It had been turned into security and I could reach out and touch once again. When you are all agitated, you make these vows If I ever get my phone back, I'll make a copy of my sim card so I won't be nuts again. Did I? What do you think? Of course not. I just started calling all those people who called in the previous 24. . So I came back to Cali and yesterday I was in the bike shop getting this cute little basket on my beach cruiser and must have put the phone down. Whoosh, it was gone in a split second. So here I am, phoneless and miserable again. What do I have to do now? While I wait until AT&T sends me another one, I have to pour over my old phone bills and see if I can guess who you are. So, if you get this strange call from me next week asking you to tell me your name, it's because I have no idea on earth whose number is whose. Take a tip. Dump your numbers off on a thumb drive or somewhere, so you won't sound like a fool trying to regroup. Meanwhile, I'm having it shut down so calls to Russia and Santo Domingo and the like won't end up on my bill. Yearning for my phone, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Oh Yeah, I Got Soul.

Back in the day, there was a magazine called Soul. It was something so important in our world, it might be hard to even believe the impact it had, to imagine what Soul made you feel when you held it. You knew you were gonna find something inside that you'd never get anywhere else. The articles were always longer than what was in the other papers. It made your own soul feel better to pour over the pages. If you were in the black entertainment business, you had to be in the pages of Soul Magazine. If you were black and wanted to write for a major publication, Soul was the place to polish your craft and hang out with some superstars in music, film, tv and other areas. I wanted to be the editor of Soul Magazine. But too shy me didn't have nerve enough to do anything about it. The co-founder of Soul, Regina Jones, told me yesterday she was sure Ken would have given me the job if I had asked for it. I have urged her for at least ten years to do a book about the magazine. Now Regina has one-upped my long ago dream, she is going to do a book and she is going to do it with one excited Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Apollo Anniversary fills up CAAM

Today was good for me. Almost every chair was filled with people who wanted to celebrate Apollo's 75th Anniversary, as seen through the eyes of the people on stage. Cornelius Grant showed a 20 minute clip of the very first MotorTown Revue to play the Apollo. As is the custom, the unknown acts open a show. This time it was the "no-hit Supremes." They looked pretty good, but Mary, Florence and Diane didn't have the choreography to any state where they were comfortable with it and the song was certainly not memorable. It was great to see Bill Murry the comedian who was then the "voice of Motown" handling the emcee chores. The CAAM crowd laughed long and loud at Marvin Gaye, second on the bill, as he went through the gyrations of "Hitchhike," and were amazed by how tiny 11 year old Stevie Wonder was and how fluid his playing was. Cornelius, of course, was the guitar player with the Choker Campbell band, dead center, hair conked out and guitar pick in hand. When he talked about some of the people on the Apollo stage now gone forever, he was very emotional. The audience loved him as they did Tony Neuton, the bass player with Smokey Robinson, Thelma Houston and as the photo said one of the Funk Brothers during the international tour. I stitched the day together with memories of working at the Apollo, first in 1985 for the 50th Anniversary; then again for six years as the writer and episode producer for "Showtime at the Apollo," and for the "Apollo at 70: A Hot Night in Harlem." We shared some good things, funny and uplifting things and spent almost an hour taking questions. Guess nobody gets tired of old Motown memories or of the place in Harlem where "Stars are Born and Legends are Made." Doing something is rewarding, getting to relive it with an appreciative audience is sweet icing on the happiness cake. Icing all over my face, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Feedback feeds my Head

I've been writing the blog now for about 70 days. I started with it because I took a class that told me this would be a good thing. I had no idea what a GREAT thing it could be. I get to say whatever I feel, think or suspect. There's been some great feedback, and I always appreciate the things said by other writers I love (trust me, that's not a big number). One such is an old friend, the very talented and insightful Steven Ivory. Look at what he said: "I love what you're doing with the blog. I've always loved the matter-of-fact elegance with which you tell a story. I had no idea about Whole Foods. I'd heard a bit about the union thing, but like so many others, I basically bought the Whole Foods post hippie goodness thing. I didn't shop there a lot in the first place, but I'll certainly keep my black ass out of there now. Love you, Steven" What a thrill to have him say that and how amazing to provide information to the informed. Got the big head today, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson

Happy Birthday, Lioness

I called my best girlfriend in Miami today and sang, "Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to You, You're Now As Old As me." We laughed because age seems to be in the forefront of our minds lately. She's actually in better physical shape than I am, but Health Care is on our mind and not just because the insane Republicans are practically rioting at those town hall meetings. My Daddy used to say when you get 50, everything you got falls down, out or off. That's the truth and Lydia and I are feeling the effects of travelling the world for so long with things dropping down out or off all along the way. She lives in Fla now, but I met her in Los Angeles when she was the editor of a magazine called "Celebrity Focus" and she hired me as its music editor. We got along instantly because she is a colorful character, like me. Lydia speaks perfect English with a Spanish accent. She was born in Puerto Rico, but she's not Puerto Rican. One of her husbands was Cuban, but she's not Cuban. Her father had a business in Venezuela but she's not Venezuelan either. The unsimple truth is Lydia had one Italian parent and one Jewish parent. She's smart as a whip, has a long history of working in tv and print and I'm thinking of moving to Miami to work on a book with her. Subject of the book? Well, since she was the producer of hundreds of segments on Michael Jackson for ABC and has written a trunkload of articles about him and I know what I know, perhaps him. Or, perhaps a book on women writers in a man's world. Or maybe something about single mothers in the 60s or maybe even "How to thrive and survive after everything you've got has fallen down out or off." We usually talk two or three times a day and when I last spoke to her, her cousin Annie was taking her to dinner. To tell you what kind of person Lydia is, while Annie's parents were both dying at the same time, L drove miles every day to sit with, deliver, take care or just offer comfort. She's generous, kind and caring and I'm glad the old girl is the best friend of Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Bad Taste from Whole Foods

I haven't shopped in Whole Foods for several years --ever since I walked out and left my wallet on the checkout counter and turned around 30 seconds later and it was gone. I did some yelling but got nowhere with the cashier or bag stuffer. Later I realized they were working in such bad conditions for such pitiful wages, stealing must have become a viable option. Whole Foods pays its hourly employees the equivalent of 1960s minimum wages (when gasoline was 19 cents a gallon). They have fired people who've tried to organize a union. They lie about the quality of the food, won't promise to use only shrimp caught in turtle free nets, sell tuna so toxic it shot the mercury levels of one customer up so high, the Center for Disease Control workers were shaking their heads. There is a lot of other mess, but it all points directly back to the man at the top. Imagine a guy who assumes a fake identity and goes on line to trash his competitors, praise himself and snipe at his own employees. Where does he place on the scumbucket meter does he place lower than one of those predators who tells a little girl somewhere that he's a 17 year old football star.? Yeah, for my money and that of Daily Kos it would seem Kos said of this, "The very idea of the founder and CEO of a major national corporation hiding behind a pseudonym to lambaste one of his own hourly wage earners on an online message board says something about the personal moral integrity of union-busting executives. That John Mackey would step out against the healthcare reform is just another way of saying screw his employees. Let that despicable little man Mackey go out of business. Shutter Whole Foods up and let him try and live on what he pays his workers. Headed for Trader Joe's, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson

She's A Brigadier, Dear!!

It was one of those events that you felt in your gut and your heart. The air was electric because for the first time Colonel Stayce Harris was about to be pinned with her stars for the rank of Brigadier General. The room was filled with friends, high-ranking everybodies and her relatives. This entry would be ten pages long if I started to record all her credits. But here's a few, Stayce was the First African American female to fly the B-747-400, the First African American Female to command an Air Force Flying Squadron, taking command of the 729th Airlift Squadron in February 2001 at March Air Force Base, Ca. She was rated as a C-141B aircraft commander logging over 2500 hours and actually landed that aircraft on Antartica. There is much ceremony to the pinning --six separate times the stars go on-- two for her uniform jacket, two for her shirt, two for her hat. I heard a lot of wonderful things said about her this night, but the grace note for me revealed more about her than any words. The person pinning stars on her uniform was a pioneering Air Force nurse. It happens that the nurse is elderly and tiny. Unconsciously, Stayce bent her knees so the Nurse would not have to stretch, to be able to easily pin on those stars. She is altogether a trailblazer, but also a well rounded human being--her interests in travel, jazz, her soro, the Links and others were all identified by cheering sections. At one point as I wiped away my tears, I looked around and saw a bunch of ranking officers doing the same thing, all of us overcome by the history being made in the room. The General said she waited four months for the actual pinning ceremony because she wanted to have it take place at the Tuskegee Airmen Conference, because they were her heroes. Personally, I was no more good when she asked the entire front row of women to stand. Imagine, they were all pilots of extraordinary achievement, including the first Black female combat, yeah COMBAT, pilot. You can bet that Stayce was a hero to those women. She's poked holes in the ceiling and the sky so young women like my granddaughters can fly at whatever they dream of doing. When I was young, no such thing was possible, so she's a hero to me, too, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Thinking About Bob Jones

When I got back to a computer after a week in the desert, there were hundreds of emails and almost a thousand spam entries. Slipped in the mail I actually read were a few chain letters and they made me think of Bob Jones. After he was uncermoniously fired from the Michael Jackson organization, Bob had a lot of time on his hands and started sending out chain letters. There are few things I hate about the Internet as much as the cyber version of chain letters. They make me crazy, but I was also crazy about Bob, so what I would do instead of sending them on to other people who would hate me for doing so, I'd just send it to myself with a copy to Bob and only Bob. He didn't know what I was doing and it was harmless, didn't hurt anyone. I thought Bob had been hurt enough anyway. I never quite got over the way he was dumped by MJ. Bob loved Michael like a son and had devoted his life to MJ for more than 20 years. Mike never fired anyone personally, so one day, without notice, some thugs delivered a pink slip and took everything with MJ's name on it out of Bob's house. Bob could have really told the dirt in a book, because he was the only one around without a confidentially agreement. I think he might have wanted to, I think he might have even tried, but he couldn't do it. He'd been protecting Michael for too long, Bob just couldn't hurt him in print. Three weeks ago when I learned of Michael's death was the first time I was glad Bob was no longer around. It would have broken his heart. I'm Bob Jones' friend, Ruth Adkins Robinson

Lost

I am back from Las Vegas just now where I exploded my computer, lost my phone and my mind and left my meds back in Cali. I will be catching up here when the clouds roll away from my brain and I can coherently speak bout the last week.--I think I am Ruth Adkins Robinson

Tuskegee Top Guns

Last night in Las Vegas the Young Guns Team saluted the The First United States Air Force Top Gun winners--two Black men. Yeah, that's correct. Black guys from the 332nd Fighter Group. The first national fighter gunnery competition took place here in Las Vegas at what is now Nellis Air Force Base. This was back after WWII in 1949. Each operational USAF Fighter Group in the US was to send three pilots to compete. It was a ten day meet with big time shoot outs for top honors in two categories Group and Individual. The pilots representing the 332nd Fighter Group were Cpt. Alva Temple of the 301st, First Lt. Harry Stewart of the 100th and First Lt. James Harvey of the 99th and alternate pilot First Lt. Halbert Alexander of the 99th. Top Team Honors in the Convention Class with the to the 332nd. Top Individaul Honors to Lt. William Crawford of the 82nd and Captain Alva Temple of the 332nd in second place. There's a funny story attached to this win...somehow, someway the powers that were didn't want the world to know these particular people won, so accidentally the trophy was missplaced. It stayed missplaced for decades. Sitting in awe of the two heroes honored tonight James Harvey and Buford Johnson, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson

Gotta Stop Micro-managing

Today I did a lot of walking and shooting and sweating. Well I did a lot more sweating than walking or shooting. I had assigned myself the job of second camera on today's shoot because I'm trying to let go of my tendency to micro manage everything. I don't know why other people hover, but for me it's just pure ego. I really do think my ideas are the ideas that work best. Yet today one of my favorite people Maurice James (MoJo Films) was the director and I was letting him insert his ideas for what the production should feel like and look like. I am so amazed that I actually walked away and let him do it. That's a first. I nearly had apoplexy when I was unable to go to New York for one of the "Showtime at the Apollo" re-packs and he went in my place. I was obsessing the entire time he was gone--telephoning him way too much. He's a calm guy, good-natured and let me rant on long distance. He came back with good stuff. When he worked on the Black Music Awards, he was fantastic. In fact that was one of the greatest teams ever. Sean O'Hare, the editor, Simon Fuchs, the post super. We actually slept in rotation on the floor on Sean's air mattress. So maybe it's just a trust factor. Plus, I'm getting smarter as I'm getting older--running and sweating in LA in August. Not too clever. Plus when you've got talented folks, you can ease up. But wait, what am I'm gonna do when it gets to editing. Keep repeating, I'm not obsessing, I'm not obsessing. Uh huh, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Ole Blue Eyes, the Flu and the back of the Rolls

Getting ready to go to Las Vegas for the Tuskegee Airman convention this week let loose a stream of thoughts about back in the day when I went there every single weekend....and what a different town it is now. One particular tale is worth telling here. The marquee simply said, "He's Back" and that meant Sinatra was at Caesars. For some reason I don't remember I didn't stay at Caesars this trip. I was at the Tropicana. I had gone to see Frank and while sitting in the dressing room at the end of the evening, I started feeling feverish. I got really sick, really quick. So Lee Solters said he'd take me back to my hotel. Because I was sweating, I took off my prized diamond and opal ring and put it in my purse which, then and now, holds my entire life-- airline tickets for Paris, several thousand dollars, passport, etc, since I was leaving the country in a few days. Somehow, I got out of the taxi without my purse and didn't even know it until I got deep in the lobby. I turned to Lee and he said "Just Sit." He went to the phone and called Frank's man Jilly Rizzo and within fifteen minutes my purse was delivered to me--with everything in it! I had the flu and couldn't fly back, so I rode to L.A. sleeping in the back seat of Norman Winters white Rolls. I got home, wrote a review of Frank sent it in and left town. When I returned two weeks later I had mail. I think I was one of the few newspaper people Frank liked, he sent me notes from time to time. This one said, "Forgive the delay in getting this to you, but I had the goddamn flu. Your review was so lovely, please consider this my love letter to you." it was signed Francis Albert. Nobody ever knew until now that I always felt guilty about hugging and kissing on Sinatra and giving him the 'goddamn flu.' --I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson

Check That Email Before You Send It

Check the email before you send it and know what is down in the body of it when you do. You know all the everybodies who have commented on it as it is forwarded to this one and that one. Today, someone sent me just an email with about 20 added entries. One comment wasn't that kind . Nobody seemed to notice. Usually I don't notice, either. Call it self preservation. I don't because some years ago one of the people I'd known forever sent me an email with a truly ugly comment about me contained within it. What was said about me wasn't even true. God knows I have lots of faults and flaws and if one of those had been pointed to and snickered at, well, what can you do. Truth doesn't move. Oddly enough I didn't get mad at the jerk who made the comment. He's one of those snarky little bitches who enjoys being nasty. I got mad at the person who was supposed to be my friend. I simply stopped speaking to her because she never said anything in my defense. She could have. But she didn't. Which is a puzzle to me. Isn't a friend supposed to be a friend when you are there and when you are not? I am a great champion for my friends. But I'm a very confrontational person. Long ago, I tried to understand that everybody is not me. And I wouldn't want them to be, but I do think people should stand in defense of friends. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

What Happened to My Spelling

They call me the English Police. Not that I’m a London Bobby (after that famous Home Secretary Robert Peel), no I’m just serious about grammar and spelling. I used to be so fierce about it that if an unaware publicist sent me a press release at The Hollywood Reporter or at BRE that was misspelled or grammatically incorrect, I'd toss the offending piece of paper in the trash. But first, I'd call the person and tell them what I was planning to do. It was actually good training for the careless. And, it was easy for me to spot something spelled wrong. I have always been a champion speller. Suddenly I have to look at a word once or twice to see if it is spelled correctly. Bob forbid, if I am someplace without spellcheck, I now find myself in trouble. When did this all go wrong? Did I just get lazy? Once outraged at online people who couldn't be bothered to capitalize the necessary places, I now have my settings adjusted so they will do that for me before I send anything. Today during a post, I couldn't think how to spell something, so I just substituted another word that I could spell. This is, no doubt, the first step on the slippery slope on the pathway to Hell - for Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Eleanor Roosevelt, A Hero of Mine

When we had one of those high school assignments to pick a hero, I picked Eleanor Roosevelt, child of privilege, niece of President Teddy R. When she married the philandering Franklin, she had about half as much in income as he did, very rare in those days. She could have simply indulged herself with whatever other society matrons did back then, but she didn't. Off she went to fight for the rights of women and underprivileged. When I read about her support of the opera star Marian Anderson, it fascinated me. Imagine in 1939, those most racist Daughters of the American Revolution wouldn't let the Diva in Consitution Hall, Eleanor fixed it by helping to arrange for the concert to be held on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Then she appointed Mary McLeon Bethune as head of the Division of Negro Affairs. In WWII, the heads of the military would not let anybody "Negro" fly in combat. They weren't smart enough, were afraid of the dark, highly superstitutious and other reasons to keep them out of the air. ER wasn't having it. She fought for the Tuskegee Airman to be allowed, to well, fly. On a trip to Moton Air Field training facility, she asked Chief Anderson if blacks "Could actually fly a plane." When he said he'd show her, the Secret Service were apoplectic, but up she went and flew around for an hour. She went straight back to the White House and gave FDR an opinion. The Airmen went to war. FDR like men before him and men after him couldn't keep it zipped. When Eleanor found out about his first recorded affair, she threw him out of the marriage bed and never let him back in. But she was the model of devotion, taking care of him when he became paralyzed. Over time she became a towering figure--and always a champion for women's rights. She is one of only two First Ladies to be named honorary members of the Black Women's Sorority, the AKAs. Eleanor was first, Michelle Obama second. Tons have been written about Eleanor, seldom does her sense of humor get mentioned. Watch this: Eleanor had a rose name after her. She notes she was "flattered. But I was not pleased to read the description in the catalogue: no good in a bed, but fine up against a wall." Smiling at the greatness of one of my oldest heroes, Eleanor R, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson