“Two Parades” by David LaMotte: A story in rhyme about a KKK rally that was trumped by a troupe of clowns
You likely have heard of the VNN Vanguard Nazi/KKK rally in Knoxville on Saturday, May 26 that was neutralized by the comic antics and spirited merrymaking of the 100th ARA (Anti Racist Action) clown block. Check out the photo below and read more details at Asheville Indymedia.
My friend David LaMotte, WNC-based singer-songwriter, has put the incident to rhyme, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear it in song sometime soon. By the way, David was recently selected as a Rotary World Peace Fellow. In January 2009, he and his wife Deanna will head for Brisbane, Australia so he can begin classes at the University of Queensland. David is the real deal, a man of peace in his music, but more than that, a true man of peace in his life. David and his family are the folks who created the blue bumper sticker “God bless the people of every nation” in response to the bellicose jingoism that was prevalent in this country immediately after 9/11.
You may purchase a bumper sticker and some of David’s music by clicking here. And you can sample David’s music by clicking here. By the way, I highly recommend the CD This Is My Song, a ten-song retrospective CD sampler of David’s songs on the topic of peace, justice and hope. I can tell you that when I listen to these beautiful and compelling songs I feel more enlivened, inspired and impassioned about my role in creating the more compassionate, just and sustainable world I wish to see.
Two Parades
By David LaMotte
The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
The men put on their uniforms and quickly took their places
In white robes and those tall and pointed hoods that hid their faces
Their feet all fell in rhythm as they started their parade
They raised their fists into the air, they bellowed and they brayed
They loved to stir the people up, they loved when they were taunted
They didn’t mind the anger, that’s precisely what they wanted
As they came around the corner, sure enough, the people roared
They couldn’t quite believe their ears, it seemed to be – support!
Had Knoxville finally seen the light, were people coming ‘round?
The men thought for a moment that they’d found their kind of town
But then they turned their eyes to where the cheering had its source
As one their faces soured as they saw the mighty force
The crowd had painted faces, and some had tacky clothes
Their hair and hats outrageous, each had a red foam nose
The clowns had come in numbers to enjoy the grand parade
They danced and laughed that other clowns had come to town that day
And then the marchers shouted, and the clowns all strained to hear
Each one tuned in intently with a gloved hand to an ear
“White power!” screamed the marchers, and they raised their fisted hands
The clowns leaned in and listened like they couldn’t understand
Then one held up his finger and helped all the others see
The point of all this yelling, and they joined right in with glee
“White flour!” they all shouted and they felt inside their clothes
They pulled out bags and tore them and huge clouds of powder rose
They poured it on each other and they threw it in the air
It got all over baggy clothes and multi-colored hair
All but just a few of them were joining in the jokes
You could almost see the marchers turning red beneath white cloaks
They wanted to look scary, they wanted to look tough
One rushed right at the clowns in rage, and was hauled away in cuffs
But the others chanted louder marching on around the bend
The clowns all marched along with them supporting their new friends
“White power!” came the marchers’ cry — they were not amused
The clowns grew still and thoughtful; perhaps they’d been confused?
They huddled and consulted, this bright and silly crowd
They listened quite intently, then one said “I’ve got it now!”
“White flowers!” screamed the happy clown and all the rest joined in
The air was filled with flowers, and they laughed and danced again
“Everyone loves flowers! And white’s a pretty sort!
I can’t think of a better cause for marchers to support!”
Green flower stems went flying like small arrows from bad archers
White petals covered everything, including the mad marchers
And then a very tall clown called the others to attention
He choked down all his chuckles, and said “Friends I have to mention
That what with all the mirth and fun it’s sort of hard to hear
But now I know the cause that these strange marchers hold so dear
“Tight showers!” the clown blurted out, and hit his head in wonder
He held up a camp shower and the others all got under
Or at least they tried to get beneath, they strained but couldn’t quite
There wasn’t room for all of them, they pushed, but it was tight
“White Power!” came their marchers’ cry, quite carefully pronounced
The clowns consulted once again, then a woman clown announced
“I’ve got it! I’m embarrassed that it took so long to see
But what these marchers march for is a cause quite dear to me!”
“Wife power!” she exclaimed and all the other clowns joined in
They shook their heads and laughed at how mistaken they had been
The women clowns were hoisted up on shoulders of the others
Some pulled on wedding dresses, “Here’s to wives and mothers!”
The men in robes were angry and they knew they’d been defeated
They yelled a few more times and then they finally retreated
And when they’d gone a black policeman turned to all the clowns
And offered them an escort to the center of the town
The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
People joined the new parade, the crowd stretched out for miles
The clowns passed out more flowers and made everybody smile
And what would be the lesson of that shiny southern day?
Can we understand the message that the clowns sought to convey?
Seems that when you’re fighting hatred, hatred’s not the thing to use
So here’s to those who march on in their massive silly shoes
(Based on true events of May 26, 2007 - ©2007 David LaMotte)
Monday, November 26th, 2007Thanksgiving dinner, G-O-D and the Turkey Trot
It’s been an enjoyable and joyful Thanksgiving weekend. On Wednesday I had a great hour-long conversation with my friend and mentor John Hoover regarding how I best offer myself and my gifts to the world. I told John of this vision I’d had several years ago while 
in a deep meditative state: “I am your instrument” appeared as what seemed to be an exceedingly brilliant neon sign. Clearly the meaning of this vision was a surrendering of myself to God, to be his/her agent during my time on this planet. By the way, I’m not referring to God as the main character in the Bible created by man in his own image. I don’t mean the omnipotent and omniscient bearded white guy sitting on a throne somewhere in the clouds doling out judgment on us mere mortals. I could just as easily have said the Divine, the Big Kahuna, the Creator, Yahweh, He Who Must Not Be Named, Life, Allah, Holy One, Great Spirit or Al.
Furthermore, when I use the term “god” or “life” or any other such term, I mean the entire web of life as well as all non-living entities, the energy that connects all things, the entire universe. I mean that you, me, the tree outside my window, the mountain in the distance, the insect crawling on my window sill are all connected, are all part of the divine. While I’m relatively clear about this, I just don’t know what my service to the divine looks like at this moment. I gained some clarity in my conversation with John. And I intend to continue with his support and, at the same time, remain aware of the messages Life sends my way until I regain my vision for myself and my world, until I discern where my path proceeds.
* * *
On Thursday morning Shonnie, our friend Barbara and I ran the Turkey Trot 5-K race here in Asheville. More than 600 runners participated, an excellent turnout for a city our size. I was only nine-or-so minutes off my personal record of the 20:32 I’d run in 1985. That was, of course that was 22 years ago when I was actually training for road races. Plus at that earlier race I was motivated by a wager of a sexual nature with my female counterpart at the time, a bet I won but never collected.
* * *
Then Thanksgiving dinner at Mike and Brenda’s with five other folks, none of whom we knew. It was a delicious feast with lots of vegetarian (and even vegan) options and lots of connecting conversation. After dinner, dessert, coffee and more talk of what each of us was up to now as well as our visions (or, in my case, the lack thereof) for the future. It was a highly satisfying experience, and we left fully satiated in almost every sense of the word. I slept for a solid ten hours that night.
Monday, November 26th, 2007My pal, Norman Mailer
Norman Mailer, novelist, journalist, playwright, screenwriter and film director, died on November 10. From the New York Times:
Norman Mailer, the combative, controversial and often outspoken novelist who loomed over American letters longer and larger than any writer of his generation, died today in Manhattan. He was 84.
I heard of Mailer’s death while I was in St. Bernard Parish in Louisiana and was reminded of my brief encounter with him in Knoxville in the late 1970s. Mailer was in town for an English Department symposium at the University of Tennessee. He was also guest of honor at an evening reception being held at a UT professor’s home across the river from the campus.
Figuring there’d be free drinks, my friend and drinking buddy Nubbin Woods and I invited ourselves to the festivities only to find that it was a wine and cheese affair. Luckily we’d brought along a pint of tequila, of which we drank frequent shots in order to gain the desired state of drunkenness that was too slow in coming from wine alone. In fact, we offered Mailer a portion of our tequila several times, but he begged off. “Thanks, I’ve got a drink,” he politely replied. This, of course, went against everything we’d heard about the hard-drinking, brawling legend-in-his-own-time.
So when I’d had enough liquid courage, I sauntered up to Mailer and inquired “Are you still stabbing your wife?” He looked at me and roared, “Now, that’s the kind of talk I’m used to!” Having evidently had enough of literary niceties with English students and faculty, he turned my way to strike up a conversation. But I’d used my best (and only) line, and I smiled weakly and made a sheepish retreat.
You may remember, by the way, that Mailer had seriously stabbed his second wife with a pen knife in 1960 during a drunken party in New York City. His wife recovered, and he was sent to a mental hospital for observation for a short period after she declined to press charges.
I’ve read and enjoyed Advertisements for Myself, Tough Guys Don’t Dance, Miami and the Siege of Chicago and a number of Mailer’s essays. But I think I’ll miss him as much for his powerful, stormy presence as for the literature he leaves behind.
May peace be with you, Norm, now and forever more.
Writing books is the closest men ever come to childbearing.
Some of the things I’m grateful for this Thanksgiving
I’m writing this post in response to my wife Shonnie’s query on her blog (see below) and, of course, the Thanksgiving holiday.
I would be grateful to know about your experience with gratitude. How has it changed your life? What keeps you from feeling grateful? What most profoundly evokes your gratitude? Please use the “comments” area to share or trackback to this post from your site. –Shonnie Lavender
Some of the things for which I’m grateful:
Shonnie, my wife, partner, friend, lover, running buddy, confidante, fellow adventurer and co-author whose happiness and exuberance are infectious, who accepts my family as her own, whose beauty and attractive energy draw me ever closer, whose level of honesty and integrity are constant reminders for me, whose expansive horizons help broaden mine, whose encouragement makes it easier for me to take on things I might otherwise avoid, who calls me out to be who I really am and to do what I’m meant to do
My family—my mom Sue, fierce protector of her clan; my daughter Lilla, her husband Brandon and their kiddos, my grandkids, Molly and Jack who bring joy and delight during their week-long summer visits; my brother Modern Art, his wife Eve and their kids and grandkids; my sister Nancy, her husband Mike, their kids and grandkids—all of whom I feel more connected with than ever before
Our feline family members–Bandit, the warrior-lover who greets us at the beginning of each day with morning kisses and who could live quite well own his own in the wilderness with his instinctual hunting prowess; Chocolate, our 19-year-old grand dame of the family who lived with me through the years when it was just me and her; Kaali, our pretty black girl who sleeps on Shonnie’s pillow; Ataabi, our noble (and somewhat skittish) male kitty who prefers to eat alone; and Desmond, our robust Appalachian Forest Cat named after Archbishop Tutu
Our home and place of sanctuary with artifacts that remind us of loved ones and who we are, that offers comfort, beauty and simplicity, that’s within a one- or two-mile radius of every place we normally travel
Asheville, the funky, progressive, spiritually-inclined little mountain city with its authentic and walkable downtown featuring lots of art and crafts, numerous vegetarian (and non-vegetarian) restaurants, plentiful coffee houses serving fair trade products, Malaprops Book Store, the Fine Arts Theater and the YMCA, as well as the outdoorsy, friendly, eclectic folks who live here. Asheville, NC, the place we’ve put down roots and plan to stay. Help keep Asheville weird!
Jubilee! Community, our spiritual home that’s inclusive, participatory and non-religious, as well as Howard Hanger, our minister of ritual, who brings sacredness, compassion, wisdom, wit, wackiness, ritual and song to each Sunday celebration
The Southern Appalachian Mountains, verdant and voluptuous, gentle and rugged, where we spend most Saturdays running up and down the mountain trails
My health, vitality and high energy that allow me to run the mountain trails, play handball and ride my bike as one of my primary modes of transportation
My mentors and heroes, including my great-grandmother Mae McCarthy with her earthy and wise ways, Brad Brown who first encouraged me to call myself a writer, Bandit who shows me how to be fully present in the moment, Nelson Mandela for his steadfastness and his willingness to forgive, Martin Luther King, Jr. for his compassion and his love of all humankind, John Hoover who has been a guiding light of wisdom and insight since the early ’80s, Martin Sheen for standing in as my fantasy president during the past seven years and for his willingness to go to jail for his beliefs
The More To Life Program for empowering me to release my resentments, discern the fiction my mind tells me from the truth, feel my feelings and become more compassionate and authentic
Coffee, my one remaining addiction, that dark, hot concoction that starts my day with a burst of energy (faux though it may be) and a movement of the bowels
Seinfeld episodes that exaggerate the human condition to the point that it becomes hilarious. “Serenity now! Serenity now! Serenity now!”
Wednesday, November 21st, 2007Friday cat blogging . . . on Saturday
Four of our five cats taking their afternoon siesta. Bandit (black and white) and Desmond on bed, Kaali in window seat and Ataabi in laundry basket. Chocolate, the 19-year-old grand dame of the bunch, was asleep in my office when this photo was taken.
Saturday, November 17th, 2007St. Bernard Project wrap-up
I’m back home nursing myself back to health from the nasty cold I picked up during my time in St.
Bernard Parish helping to rebuild houses damaged by Hurricane Katrina.
As I reflect on my time there, one of the things that stands out for me is the quality of the volunteers who made the trip from Asheville as well as those from other parts of the country. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at the compassion, generosity and willingness that these folks continually expressed; my guess is that these are some of the qualities possessed by those who step up to this kind of work.
I especially want to acknowledge Dale, our leader who first had the vision for the Jubilee! Service Team to take part in the St. Bernard Project. This was the third trip to Louisiana by Dale and several others in our group. By the way, Dale left a comment on one my earlier posts that I want to share in this post:
I found the quote by the local resident too moving to not add (in his words, with a nawlins’ accent):
“My father is 81 years old. We lost my mother in the hurricane. For the past two years my father has not smiled. Now that he realizes that he will be able to move back into his house he finally smiled. Not only have you given my father his house back, you have given him his life back. Thank you!”
In fact, we got expressions of gratitude from many local residents. Someone said, “If you never picked up a hammer, your presence here let’s us know that we haven’t been forgotten.”
Besides the satisfaction of knowing that we made a difference in the lives of our brothers and sisters in Louisiana, I’m really grateful for the connections I made within our group and beyond. I’d seen some of the folks regularly at Jubilee! Celebrations but really hadn’t taken the opportunity to spend time with them and know them. And so now when I look across the circle on Sunday morning and see Nan and Phyl on the front row, I’ll have a real sense of who they are and what they stand for in their lives. I’ll have shared something with them and the others in our group that has brought us closer together, that has given me greater faith in humankind, that has started me thinking about what’s next in my quest to share myself and my gifts with those who can most benefit from them.
I leave you with a Sanskrit blessing that captures the essence of our time together:
Namasté. I honor the place in you where spirit lives. I honor the place in you which is of love, of truth, of light, of peace. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, then we are one.
Note: The above photo of all the Jubilants at Camp Hope courtesy of Sandy. For more of her photos of our trip, click here. The other photo is of Lindsey, our most excellent site leader at the house on Uranus Avenue.
Click here to watch a short video of the work being done by the St. Bernard Project.
Wednesday, November 14th, 2007Last day in St. Bernard Parish
Our work in St. Bernard Parish is complete . . . at least for now. It’s been challenging and fulfilling. Challenging in that most of us (myself included) were not accustomed to such physically demanding work for five days. Fulfilling in that we’re here to do this work out of our desire to be of service to our fellow human beings.
We didn’t get a chance to meet the owner of the house we worked on. We’d hoped she’d be able to come by today, but it didn’t work out. We did thank Lindsey, our site supervisor, and her mate Tracy by taking them out to lunch at a local seafood joint. While we dined Lindsey shared about how some older men were unwilling to accept the leadership of a 23-year-old woman. Someone in our group said Asheville men were not like that. All I know is that I really appreciated the quality of Lindsey’s leadership–leading by example (She really works hard and maintains an extremely upbeat attitude) and modeling how to do the work with impeccability (John says that he considered the drywall finish we completed this week to be really high quality.) And I told her so before we all departed to finish our workday.
A contingent of Jubilants is going into New Orleans tonight to celebrate our successful week, but I think I may stay at Camp Hope and take care of myself since I’ve got a bit of a head cold.
Tomorrow the 10-or-so-hour drive back to Asheville. As much as I’ll be glad to be back home with Shonnie and the kitties, thinking about leaving is a bit bittersweet.
Friday, November 9th, 2007The sheetrock is finished at the house on Uranus Avenue!
We finished mudding and sanding the sheetrock at the house on Uranus Avenue today (Thursday). Wahoo! We got back to Camp Hope this afternoon in time for lukewarm water in the men’s showers at Camp Hope. (If you get here too late, the hot water is used up entirely.) Washed the sheetrock dust off, changed into clean clothes and am in the TV/computer room with CNN on in the background using one of the two computers available for volunteers. They also have wireless so laptops are an option too. This room and the computers have been in use at every hour I’ve passed by.
By the way, we sleep in rooms with bunk beds that accommodate up to 36 volunteers, though we’ve probably only got 14 in our room right now. Men sleep on one side of the converted school building and women on the other. The dining hall is in another building across the way.
Last night almost everyone from Jubilee! and a few others went out for dinner at a local eatery. While the dining hall at Camp Hope has offered tasty vegetarian options, the same can’t really be said for restaurants in this area. But the baked potato, corn and corn bread was OK and quite filling. It was good to do something as a group since we work in three different teams all day. I’m getting to know my team members well and I’m grateful for that. This experience is not exactly like going into battle together, but there is a definite opportunity to bond. We’ve left our normal lives behind, stepped out of our comfort zones and taken on a project that’s meaningful to all of us.
Again, I’m tired, hungry, satisfied and happy. I’m going to do what I can to handle the first two and to maintain the second two. Again, I’ll close with a quotation that seems to really fit tonight:
The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.
—Frederick Buechner
Update: I was just reminded by my friend John, who’s on my construction team, of a comment I made earlier today about the FEMA trailer camps. Let’s call them what they are–refugee camps right here in America, with folks living there whose homes have been destroyed by Katrina and who still have nowhere else to go. And now two years after the hurricane, FEMA has been presenting the trailer occupants with eviction notices while the state of Louisiana and insurance companies dole out the funds for rebuilding slowly or not at all. You have to see it to believe it.
Thursday, November 8th, 2007
