Back around mid March, I admitted to myself that I didn’t have the will to aggressively look for employment. I knew that because of the economic times there were people who would walk into interviews wanting a job so bad that you could smell it. People who had families to support and a true deep need to work for money. I didn’t have that at all.
Shortly after that came the realization that since there would probably be no income, I better reduce my expenses to minimal. I had contemplated more than once giving up my apartment and moving in with my mother because of my lack of steady, adequate income and the inevitable result that follows it.
So I had casually brought up the idea to get her feel for it long before the decision was made. After consecutive days hanging at Venice Beach, semi-deep thinking about my life and future and lack of desire to participate in the prevailing economic system, I announced my decision. I would be moving in with Mommy. I was not saddened by this. I may have even been relieved.
In this relief came light, and in this light I was able to see. What I saw was an opportunity to travel and see my children, and a few Parliament-Funkadelic concerts. This presented itself because my sister had a round-trip airline ticket that needed to be used and I had a few favors I could call in.
So I looked into the idea and found an excitement and enthusiasm I hadn’t had in a long time. By the time I found that I couldn’t use her ticket, I had gained too much momentum to stop. I couldn’t just let it go.
I hadn’t been this excited about anything in months and I didn’t want this feeling to go away. Just as I interpret all pain as a sign of something wrong, I took this enthusiasm to be a sign of something right. I explored all possibilities, putting most of my energy into the solution and the plan.
My father had just sent me $1,000 to cover my living expenses. Unemployment pays $460 every two weeks. Rent is $585. My son’s tuition is $470. I was moving out of my apartment, the phone bill was due, and so on.
The plan I settled on was Greyhound. They have passes for unlimited travel, and I masterfully put together an itinerary that would get me to Youngstown to visit Dad and the kids, and also travel to Cleveland, Columbus, and Chicago to see P-Funk.
All while being unemployed, not looking for a job, and with no foreseeable increase in income. But for reasons I couldn’t figure out, I had to do this.
One of the first things I had to do was get this cleared with my parents. Mommy because I was moving in with her, and Daddy because he had just sent me money and I would be staying with him in Youngstown.
I was raised to always have a job, be responsible about my debt, and not spend money I didn’t have. I didn’t formally ask permission, but I explained why I was doing this. They may not have agreed, but they understood.
A fifteen-day Greyhound pass would do it, and it cost $300. Over the last fifteen years or so I had been saving change to the point where I had what I called “boxes o’ money.”
I had sentiment for this money because of the personal time it took to accumulate it, and I never intended it to be used for something as unimportant as bills.
I was going to Coinstar it all, but my sister suggested I Coinstar the pennies. Those machines count your change with a nine-percent service fee and wrap the silver coins. The bank gives free wrappers.
I had $100 in pennies and another $200 in nickels and dimes. Quarters are for laundry. So the way I saw it, my “boxes o’ money” were used for my Greyhound ticket, and I found that very, very cool.
I was really worried about riding a bus for that amount of time. I even struggled with it. I went to websites about Greyhound bus travel and found horror stories like you wouldn’t believe.
Everybody I asked said the same thing: “I rode Greyhound once a long time ago, and I’ll never do it again.” Even my last cross-country trip in 1983, the trip that moved me to California, was painful, and I had even said I would never do it again.
I was worried about this ride. I had to move out of my apartment to a place seventy miles away, plan and pay for the trip, get concert tickets, and handle everything else.
But, like I said, I hadn’t been motivated like this in months. I was up early every day packing, planning, moving, and grooving.
My plan was to move all my stuff without renting a truck. I would make multiple trips with my car full of the little stuff, then use Jesse’s pickup to move the big stuff after I got back.
It was like I was being challenged, and I loved it. I was eating right, taking vitamins, and doing all that stuff. It felt good. I felt good. My plan was intricate and had a lot of crucial pieces.
The secret to Greyhound is being able to sleep on the bus. And I could sleep at will. Toward the end of the trip I was even bragging about it to the other riders.
Speaking of the other riders, you meet some people on Greyhound. All kinds of people. I admit I’m used to flying, the service, and the distance people keep from you.
The bus is personable because of the kind of people who ride it. These folks talk to you. You hear stories and meet all kinds of varied personalities and varied levels of mental stability. There are also smells on a bus, snoring, kids, cussing, and convicts.
You stop in a lot of little cities and meet the little-city people. All of which is cool. You see a lot of the country. It is beautiful. I took hundreds of pictures.
The level of service by Greyhound is less efficient than what I’m used to, and I was prepared for this. I had all the information I needed before I got on the bus. I had a printed itinerary that the drivers or stations didn’t have, because it could only be obtained from the internet. I was ready.
During the two-day-plus ride to Ohio, I read Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time cover to cover. I understood every word and grasped every concept.
I not only gained knowledge about the workings of the universe, but also how and why the conclusions we have about the universe developed. I didn’t learn a lot of new things, but I learned new and different ways to think about and perceive our universe—the idea of four-dimensional, finite-but-boundless space.
These are the things that may move me most.
Anyway, I get to Ohio and my kids are beautiful. They are teenagers and are very scary, but they are absolutely gorgeous.
The scary part is that they are at the age where they will make decisions about drugs, sex, and things that may affect them for the rest of their lives. I remember what it was like and the things I did, so I know.
I saw people and buddies from my childhood and walked the street I grew up on like I still owned it. I saw the house I grew up in.
I decided to rent a car for the Cleveland show. I drove up early enough so I could go to the Cleveland Museum of Art.
The first thing I noticed when I got there was the Black people. It was a gorgeous museum on a beautiful campus, and there were Black people there. That was very refreshing because I don’t usually see many Black folk where I go.
What I gained at this museum was noticing the ethnicity of the early Egyptian figures—their noses and lips. They had very African, Black features.
After that I rode over to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but it was $17 to get in, so I just used the bathroom. I chilled by the waterfront and then went to the show.
The concert venue was sizable, but the stage and room were small. Freekbass opened on another stage and they were cool, but the place was so crowded that I didn’t even see P-Funk or the main stage for almost half of the show.
I danced and vibed without even seeing the stage. A few folks—young white girls—danced by me, so it was cool. I met Mr. thefunkstore.com. This show had energy, but it was too, too crowded.
I got back to Youngstown around 5:00 a.m. the next morning and continued to chill, vibe with the local folks, and hang out with the kids and Daddy until the next show in Columbus two days later.
The Greyhound bus to Cleveland was late, so I missed my Columbus connection and had no time for the pre-show museums.
I checked my voicemail during my layover in the Cleveland bus station and found that Jesse had called me. I had given him my résumé to pass to a buddy of his, and the guy wanted to interview me.
That was very good news, and it was good talking to some folks from California after a few days in Ohio. The culture in Youngstown is drastically different from that of California.
I got to Columbus and hung out at City Centre, a nice mall. Then I had a nice walk through downtown over to the concert venue.
It was a very good-looking city. I was impressed with Cleveland and Columbus and realized I may have judged all of Ohio based on Youngstown. I was wrong. It seemed only Youngstown might be a little backward and severely economically depressed.
I hung out at a large bar and club next to the venue before the show and had a Diet Coke while chatting with a cool bartender and enjoying a cute waitress.
There were lots and lots of white people. This Columbus concert was really good and may have been better than the Los Angeles concerts as far as intensity. These white folks came to get down, and they were serious.
Bootsy came out with George during “Cosmic Slop,” but didn’t sing or play anything. He just vibed and bounced like Bootsy does.
The bus back to Youngstown from Columbus left at 4:20 a.m. The ability to sleep on a bus is heaven.
When I got to Youngstown, my taxi driver was Dyno of Dyno’s Disco, a DJ from when I used to hang out all night at Davis’ nightclub there twenty-four years earlier. I shook his hand and let him know it was cool to meet him.
While hanging out, I rode with my father to play his numbers—the lotteries in Pennsylvania and Ohio—so I played my lucky three-digit daily numbers.
I can remember calmly telling my father that I would hit the number at least twice and maybe hit a big one.
I can remember the feeling I had when he told me I hit the first time. I was walking up the stairs to my bedroom, and the coolest part was that I really didn’t get that excited.
Sure, it was only $80, but how many times does one hit the number? How many times does one hit the number and expect to hit it?
It had been years since I played, and I always played the same “642 boxed.” After he told me I hit, I said, “Oh yeah, I’ll hit it again,” so matter-of-factly and so coolly that I even impressed myself.
Now, the second time he told me I hit, I was in bed preparing to get up early the next morning. This time I got excited, and that energy had to come out. It got me out of bed and onto the internet, talking about it.
Real or imagined, luck or coincidence, stuff like this happens to me so often that I gain a confidence in myself and life that few people have ever had.
I also know these things strengthen my belief in my philosophy. I won a total of $160, which roughly equaled $63 for my car rental and $100 for my Chicago hotel.
Planning for my trip to Chicago and then back to California, I found I had made a slight miscalculation in my fifteen-day pass. It would run out around Vegas, so I figured an alternate route and used it.
When I checked my bus to Chicago at the Cleveland bus station, the girl said she would make me a ticket to Chicago. She said this would make things a lot easier. I said, “Cool.”
Then I asked if she could make me one for Chicago to San Bernardino two days from then, and she did. So not only was my miscalculation handled, but I now had a ticket and my pass.
I arrived in Chicago at 5:30 a.m. I had been able to sleep on the bus ride, so I wasn’t tired at all.
It was raining and still dark, but it was a Midwest humid, warm rain. It was beautiful and comfortable as the city woke up.
I went to the hotel, and they let me check in before 6:00 a.m. I went to the room and connected to the internet to vibe with my P-Funk buddies.
The local news was on, and one of the traffic reports was called “Outbound Loop to Jeffery.” I photographed it and posted it to my webspace.
When I did leave the hotel, the rain had stopped and it was a gorgeous day. I walked to the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art and then took a bus down Michigan Avenue to the Art Institute of Chicago.
I took in the beauty and absorbed its history. I ate at a cool local Chicago place, with food so greasy you can only find it in the Midwest.
The Chicago show was good. The highlight for me was the song “Mothership Connection.”
I know there are songs George doesn’t like to sing. “Dr. Funkenstein” is another one. I’ve even seen him stop songs cold. It may be the songs a deceased member used to sing, or songs he feels they don’t have the voices for.
But I knew he would stop the ending part, “Swing Down Sweet Chariot.” So I sang the refrain loudly and determinedly to get it going.
It seemed he reluctantly gave in as the crowd followed me and sang. Then a guest singer on stage stepped to the front and began singing the lead.
I can’t remember if I had ever heard this song sung live before. Big James got down. He sang word for word a previously recorded live version performed by Glen Goins, the deceased singer.
It was good. I sang the refrain and we grooved. The song calls for the Mothership to come down, but there was no Mothership stage prop.
Funkadelic and the crowd sang it anyway. It didn’t hit me that there was no prop Mothership until days later. I think something came down as we called, so the spaceship wasn’t missed.
On the bus ride home I read ninety-five percent of Albert Einstein’s book Relativity. I completely understood about ninety percent of what I read, apart from the equations.
This was a tough book to read, but I got through it. The feeling of accomplishment and the knowledge gained from reading Einstein’s words made me feel good.
And there even was snow.
When I got to California, I called Daddy on the freeway while going home to Van Nuys, and he told me he hit the daily number boxed—562 for $40.
He doesn’t usually play the daily and did because I did. He doesn’t remember ever hitting it.
When I got home, I didn’t leave my apartment for two days and almost didn’t even notice that I didn’t. It was like my brain and body were processing the data from days of stimulation and experience.
I relived and refelt and absorbed the many positive experiences as I rested. I often emerge from these “hibernating meditations” feeling very different spiritually.
The only thing I did on day three was go to Tito’s Taco and chill at my favorite spot in the Marina.
All I had to do was move, and I had days to do that, so there was no real hurry to do anything.
On day five or so, I got a call for the interview Jesse had told me about while I was at the Cleveland bus station. I was hired twenty minutes into the interview.
Another key point in my intricate plan was moving my refrigerator, couch, and big stuff. I had to be completely moved out by April 30, and I started work May 1.
The move went smoothly, and the final complicated piece of the plan had been executed.
