Heart of A Landlord

This blog is made up of of many stories, It is about a city that I was born into in February 23, 1944. I work in this city as a landlord, manager, mechanic of many and master of none. These are stories of people on their path from somewhere and someplace and moving toward their dreams as we all want to do. Some are and were tenants, some are strangers, some a blur in time and some learning to be real in a real tough but dynamic city. Camden, NJ has held, twice, the distinction of being the poorest and highest crime city in the country. I heard that it has, for its size, more warrants for arrest than anywhere else. I even get them on occasion. It is in in some ways Joseph Conrade’s “Heart of Darkness”. It is also a city of comedy, heart evoking, mean and a sometime distrustful place with acts of murder, confusion, theft, lies and ignorance. Sounds like many places on this planet. Despite this horn of plenty, it is vibrant with love, hope, joy and expectations. Children, spirituality, wonder, nature…and always full of dreams and magic. And it is an opportunity to learn about cooperation with each other. Uncle Gus occasionally tells me that ‘man’ can do anything in this world except get along with his neighbor. Well Uncle Gus still lives in this city . Here I will recount some of the Camden Chronicles as they happened and happen. John A Gialuco

I understand that there has been 27 murders in and around South 4th street, where I work, in the last 5 years, Camden Waterfront South. As a matter of fact Sacred Heart church held memorial services for all of these people whose lives ‘could’ have been saved if the city would have installed a police sub-station in and around Camden Waterfront South. One of the neediest location would be in the recreational park and playground squished between the CCMUA sewage plant and S. 4th street which also borders Sacred Heart school and church. BTW the brand new jungle gym, slide and swing set at 4th and Jasper streets were burned down by local folks last weekend. Officially the police has labeled the fire starters as arsonists. But unofficially the ‘street’ word is that it was started by a group of kids between 8 and teens, living in close proximity to the park. If there is a psychologist reading this, perhaps you could comment on why kids are destroying their own source of playing. Well there goes $110,000 up in smoke. Not to mention lots of fun for those children that would have been playing on it. What would a police sub-station cost?

The latest victim here was Jenna Lord — a 23-year old mother from Delaware County who went to a family barbecue in Collingswood, New Jersey on the 4th of July and never made it back home. Jenna came from an Italian background and I guess that because I was raised by a wonderful Italian mother who was very loving and protected of me  I am being reminded of the many, many times I was confused by life and the actions of strangers that sometimes scared the shit out of me. And usually it was ‘mom’ who led me back to my own inner security and sanity…. with her words and hugs. There weren’t always hugs… sometimes I had to run like hell in the opposite direction from this now ‘mom’ turned Dragon-Lady trying to outpace her yelling or a soon to be hit Jr. with a flying object.

Unfortunately for Jenna’s 3 year old son, Ed Jr., he will not experience those little miracles that most of us were lucky enough to have while being raised by mothers which we will have in our memories for the rest of our lives assuming we were raised by a mother. As I have read in the news Jenna’s son has over 50 relatives so I think he is blessed in that respect. Can you sit down for a moment and try to think and Feel what it would be like to not have had your mother while you were a child? I can not, I am unable to conjure that image. I would ask that politicians and policemen try to sit down and remember your mothers. I would ask the politicians and comptrollers (The word comptroller is a corruption (15th century) of the word “controller” (A”ccount”ant, “count-roller”) – person who supervises the quality of accounting and financial reporting of an organization.) and Camden City Council to go home tonight and imagine and feel what it would be like for some relative or your mate to have to tell your child or children that mommy or daddy is not coming home any more.  When and if you get in touch with that emptiness maybe you could, perhaps say to yourself… ‘if I had voted, fought or screamed for a police sub-station to have been nearby, where my child may have been able to find safety’ then maybe your tears could have been tears of joy because your child was given, at least, another day of life. I don’t know if Jenna had been there for drugs or not. It is irrelevant to me since I see and hear a lot in South Camden. But my feeling right now is that eventually we will legitimize drugs and empty out the jails of folks who are not yet criminals and maybe we will  make some more politicians illegal.

Hug your child today – Mr. John

On Monday July 5, my wife, Amy and I boarded a bus to NYC. Her meditation teacher rented a bus so a small group of us could receive a HUG from Amma,  http://www.amma.org/, an extraordinary Indian Saint who has introduced the primal concept of giving people a simple hug with a unmeasurable amount of love energy to go from her to you. Amma probably gave hugs to 2000 people starting at 11 am until late into the night. The event was held at the Manhattan Center a few blocks from the royal Empire State Building which is once again the tallest building in NYC… for now. ‘Mother’ has hugged over 30 million people in the last 39 years, black, yellow, brown, white, young, old, sick and healthy. She has hugged for over 22 hours without a stop, without food or drink, an amazing feat for any human being. She makes claims to no religion, nor deity other the the Love of God, Goddess, All that Is.

After waiting around 3 hours for our turn Amy and I got  in line to meet Amma. Amy was so very  nervous and excited at the same time, she was even a little frightened. I am not sure what I felt since we continually had to move up towards Amma sequentially hopping from our seat to the seat in front of us and so on. As we were next in turn someone told me not to touch Amma but to grab the arm of her beautifully padded chair in which she sat all day. Someone gently took my small backpack that I had stuffed my sandals in alongside of some great Indian cookies I had bought downstairs in the make shift dining room. BTW the lunch and other Indian foods sold was some of the best tasting Indian food I’ve ever had. I was next surprisingly lifted and guided into the arms of Amma from her aides standing on either side of her. I tried to look into Amma‘s beautiful dark eyes which I had noticed earlier on the sidelines but I soon started to struggle for some air since my face was now crushed into her massive cleavage. In a moment’s time she lovingly pulled me into her and began to repeat a phrase which had a personal message but again I couldn’t quite hear her since my ears were now covered with her breasts and arms. Everything happened so slow and fast at the same time, I truly was bewildered. When I think and bring back the feelings I had at those moments I feel like crying from deep within my being. I can’t say exactly why except that I was given a gift of her energy and Darshan.

(Darśana (Darshan, Sanskrit: दर्शन) is a Sanskrit term meaning “sight” (in the sense of an instance of seeing or beholding; from a root dṛś “to see”), vision, apparition, or glimpse. It is most commonly used for “visions of the divine,” e.g., of a god or a very holy person or artifact. One could “receive darshana” of the deity in the temple, or from a great saintly person, such as a great guru.) For a glimpse of Darshan go to http://www.amma.org/tours/amma-tours/n_america.html.

It is an unspeakable thing to remember what we felt, what unconscious codes we were given when we were all hugged by our mothers or whoever gave us our first meaningful, loving hug in our lives. The Hug that conveyed our true sense of self hood, a knowing of unconditional love, acceptance and total safety. This is not a shock but a recognition of life, our life… for this one time in our existence we know we are eternal. But I digress.
Amy was in tears and a bit shaken as we were again helped up from Mother and gently guided to the side to then sit on the floor with others who had just received Darshan before us. From where we sat we could watch other people glide into the arms of this truly great woman who was born with the desire and choice to represent and disseminate Love through her simple, simple Hugging. For me seeing children of all ages hugged and kissed by Amma left the most touching impression.

I awoke that night at around 3 am and sat outside my patio in the 90 degree midnight heat just staring into the trees and sky, listening to the dark, knowing that for this short time all the bullshit we are inundated with day in and day out was suspended and that although we have come a long way as a species, we have never really been separated from our Source and Natures. I challenge every politician to run as fast as possible to get hugged by Amma and to remember what it is like to feel and believe in their humanity once again and to realize that we are all connected to and with each other and that we are all in this space-boat together!

Amma’s Dream

“Everyone in the world should be able to sleep without fear, at least for one night. Everyone should be able to eat to his fill, at least for one day. There should be at least one day when hospitals see no one admitted due to violence. By doing selfless service for at least one day, everyone should help the poor and needy. It is Amma’s prayer that at least this small dream be realised.” -Mata Amritanandamayi Devi.

Peace is Free, Mr. John

Sparrow was from a middle class family sometime in South Jersey who through her years grew tough and disillusioned. Her spirit bled in the streets of Camden and probably other cities whose invisible jungles always lurk with predators, lower astral entities and desperate lonely souls. Sparrow had a man, not her husband but he had children by her. He saw seven tours in Afghanistan, Desert Storm, Iraq and god knows where else. He was a tall well built man who if you saw him on the street you would feel safe enough to stay on the same side of the sidewalk with him. He introduced himself to me during the past summer and told me a little about his history, called me sir a few times and I didn’t feel comfortable with that word that day, and I told him so. I felt it kept us apart energetically. I always search for an energetic ”common ground’ with people I don’t know….to offer equality and ease of communication. I didn’t tell him that my parents decided to put me in a military academy when I was seven years old. He dismissed my explanation and continued the sir part anyway so we just talked with that all familiar military posture and respect that many men are inculcated with. I would usually see Sparrow and her man walking through the streets Camden, Sparrow always leading her man by a few feet, she firing curses and other verbal assaults at him, he sheepishly following behind her holding his head high as in a battlefield of love and affection for her.

One afternoon Sparrow came to me with her monthly rent, always on the 1st of the month, and in her somewhat slurred articulation asked me if I would have a home for rent in the near future, I did. but I was already leaning towards a no since she had no job, and was captured by the “world” (drug world) during the ‘nighttime.’ But then she began to sing words and sentences about her children and her dream to get them back again once approved by DYFS, an organization that is responsible for investigating allegations of child abuse and neglect and, if necessary, arranging for the child’s protection and the family’s treatment. I listened as she told me that she and her husband wanted a warm home and family life, something bigger than a room…the American dream. Women need a ‘home’!  She described to me what it felt like to need this strong dream for her life and her children. As Sparrow talked I became captured with her seeing the curtains on the windows, a child playing with some toys, that all too familiar smell of a soup or chicken on the stove that I often breathe in when I enter a tenant’s home. Kitchen smells, It’s one of the gifts a landlord gets to move through now and then. Her words were so pure and clear, very knowing.

In that moment I was the Landlord, a key to her next vision, her hope and expectations. I just felt it wasn’t going to happen…not  yet. When a person is living in a rented room, living with what could have ‘beens’, blaming their self for irretrievable decisions long faded into memory, their ‘dreams’ become powerfully strong, so alive that they are ready to burst into existence at the first open door of reality. Here comes my blessings.

I would not shame her ‘being,’ as probably many had, by saying no chance Sparrow. I instead shared her shame, for that moment, because I knew that this city was drowning people with shame and blame, I was no exception. We are so quick and ready to dismiss and poo poo each other’s dreams prematurely these days, Our dreams are often betrayed and distorted by TV, technology and a lack of common sense.

Two days ago Sparrow was strangled to death by her boyfriend, as determined by 2 Camden detectives, which is first degree murder. He left her unconscious in the screaming streets of Camden that night, to return home and sober up to the fear of his actions. We now know her man strangled Sparrow during a domestic dispute on the night of Feb. 9. He then allegedly staged the suicide scene in a nearby lot on 4th Street between Whitman and Jackson streets, where her body was found partially buried by new-fallen snow two days later, authorities said. The police think it was the bitter cold that marched her through this life and into the next. Where do we go when we die? The peaceful cold on this February 2010 night took her back to her wonderful dream. RIP Sparrow. Despite what the city of Camden breathes in and out, day after day, year after year it is truly one of the most Spiritual places on Earth. As Free Willy admonishes me at times “you just have to pay attention” Tomorrow is Valentines day…please show the Love to someone. Mr. John

UPDATE March 3, 2010: http://www.courierpostonline.com/article/20100305/NEWS01/3050334/1006/news01/-Suicide–found-to-be-homicide–man-held

Mugsy

Part 1 – My mother, Evelyn Gialuco, hired Whitey, a painter and his dog Mugsy, to paint our home because she wanted to sell it and move back to Camden with her sister Sistina. Whitey owned a large Winnebago and would often park and sleep in our driveway at night. Well Whitey had been painting for a month or so and mom would often cook and feed Whitey and Mugsy when he stayed over. So as time passed I noticed that she and Whitey were becoming an item. My father, her husband, had died the previous year and mom was feeling a bit lonely. How I knew they were getting more than chummy was because I would come home late on a Friday or Saturday night and Whitey’s Winnebago would be rocking and bouncing back forth just like in Cheech and Chong ‘s movie ‘Up in Smoke’ with their trailer scene……? Well anyway Whitey had this wonderful dog Mugsy. Mugsy was never trained, he was the smartest dog I ever knew, and he never had a bath except when he went swimming at the lake or the ocean. The only time I saw Mugsy get washed was right after he was sprayed by a skunk at 3 am in the morning. Mom and Whitey had to wash him with tomato juice for about an hour and everyone went back to bed. A year later Whitey died in my mother’s arms from cancer, let me add that my father also died in my mother’s arms as well. Subsequently whenever my mother wanted to give me a hug because I was going away for a few days I usually declined mom’s Hug. Well you understand. So a year later Mugsy became very ill and mom couldn’t watch him suffer any longer so she asked me to take him to the vet and put him to sleep.

Part 2 – When the vet called us a week later and asked us to pick up the ashes Mom admonished me to not bring Mugsy back into the house, she needed time to adjust to her loss, but I should bring him back into our shed which was in the rear of the property. As I left the house mom screamed “Do not leave his ashes in your car, put him in back…did you HEAR me?”…yes mom. So I pick Mugsy up at the vets and since I had never seen ashes from a cremation I opened the lid of this beautiful oriental embossed tin container which very much reminded me of a red picnic basket. Well the ashes were a pure white powder with small clumps of ash which looked like bits of hared salt. So I put Mugsy and his new home in back of the trunk of my1987 Volvo and that was it. When I walked into the house mom asked me if I had put Mugsy in the shed and of course I said I did. Not.

Part 3 – Some months later I was hosting a talk and video on how to learn about the unlawful aspects of the IRS with about 20 interested people. Since a friend was letting us use her apartment in Wes Philly I threw some material in the Volvo’s trunk for demonstration reasons. After carrying the last load up to Catherine’s apartment I apparently left the key in the trunk of the Volvo. So after a rocking good IRS party, 5 hours later, I left to go home and guess what? The Volvo had been stolen! It’s one of the worst feelings you will ever have when you finally admit that your car has been stolen after tortuous hours of crawling through every surrounding street looking for your car. It’s like your parents just revealed to you that you were actually adopted, at the very moment you are about to blow out your birthday candles celebrating your 21st birthday. When I finally got home and told my mother that the car was stolen in Philly, the first words out of her mouth was “WHERE”S MUGSY?? I distinctly remember the last thoughts I had as I was rapidly fleeing the back door of the house and being pursued by a well aimed broom, which my mother hurled at me with the accuracy of a South American forest head hunter’s blow gun. My mother had honed her throwing abilities through the fine art of cleaning and vacuuming for nearly 70 years. In her day she could have faced any Samurai with her well made corn broom and scorn and not show a bit of fear. I returned daze later to a calmer mom.

Part 4 – 43 days later I get a call from the Phila. police telling me that my car was found up in the Bronx, NYC. As I was leaving the house to take a train to NY my mother told me to make sure that Mugsy was to be the first thing coming through the garage door when I returned…Yes Mom. Upon arriving at Grand Central station I boarded a subway going uptown to the Bronx. Now riding from Midtown NY to the Bronx is a super lesson in paranoia. As the subway leaves upper Manhattan into Harlem, I notice that the folks who have laptops, jewelery and better clothes begin to leave the car at each stop. As you enter Harlem the hip hop, goths, mental escapees and such start boarding the subway to continue the ride uptown. Once we get into the lower Bronx near the Bronx Zoo those folks begin to get off the train and are now replaced with the hard core human beings. The Warlocks, Saurons, Melkors, Borg types and an occasional Gollum and Hannibal Lecter.

Part 5 – After 40 minutes of this amusement ride I come to find out that I took the wrong train. Instead of  getting on the East Bronx train I took the West Bronx train. So now I had to go back down to Grand Central and start all over again with that now familiar paranoia I had on the West side ride. On one stop in Harlem about 75 cops and security people boarded the cars and this made me feel much better and I relaxed my hand off the back of my ass which I was using to protect my wallet. As we climbed up into the Bronx small packs of cops disembarked at various stops along the way to go to work. Upon arriving at my stop, around 180th street, I had to walk some 10 blocks or so to a street that was lined up with junk yard after junk yard after junk yard. When I finally found my junk yard and entered the office I noticed that behind the long counter was a couple of shelves with hundreds of car radios which were for sale. I intuitively knew that my thoughtfully chosen and  expensive Volvo radio was up on their shelves to never been herd  again.

Final Part – So I found my car parked amongst 100′s of other stolen and junked vehicles and after clearing the front seat of at least 40 parking tickets which the Manhattan police kindly kept throwing into the unlocked car for the month or so I started the engine with no problem. I immediately checked the glove compartment for my stuff and saw that everything but a Norelco razor was still there. I quickly went back to the Volvo trunk and saw that everything was in place … EXCEPT…. Mugsy and his newly occupied red tin dog house. While driving back home for 90 miles I was thinking about my fears, my fears and pain of facing Mom as I told her that Mugsy was gone forever. I also realized that whoever stole my Volvo, and I figured that  it was probably a bunch of kids having some fun, and that they eventually found Mugsy in the trunk with his ashes and believed they had found a large stash of Cocaine. So as any upright carjackers would do they started snorting Mugsy. I am sure at the days end somewhere in NYC a group of young guys could be seen pissing on trees with one leg raised in the air so as to leave their marks while Howling at the full Moon. Mr John

http://www.youtube.com/user/andreaferich#p/u/6/JzIrZR-JY88

Loupop had been drawing cartoon characters for a few years now and once in a while he would mention Bettie Page, a model and dancer during the 40′s and 50′s. When Loupop would show me his latest scantily dressed Betty Boop drawings he would have this very sheepishly looking smile on his craggy face. I could see that he wanted approval for this risque moment. Some weeks later I brought him some nude photos I printed out of Betty Page and Marlyn Monroe. He quickly stuck them under his 1940 something coffee table in his living room. Loupop had a lot of beautiful living room furniture form those earlier years.

I had peaked his desire to enter the soft porn artistic realm and he became more free. He eventually migrated to hard core porn in months to come. Loupop‘s favorite subject was Betty Boop who for her time was a sexually titillating cartoon character. Betty Boop made her first appearance on August 9, 1930 in the cartoon Dizzy Dishes. One day I received in the mail a complete nude of Marilyn Monroe, later to be followed by other nudes and a Betty Boop in a sexual situation. Loupop was hitting home runs with his money shots. When my wife and I would visit Loupop he would respectfully wait until Amy left the room and then he would quickly pull out his latest naughty drawings and wait for my response, in which I was always encouraging him to do more of. He had a lot of fun with these heroines of his youth. He was finally able to express his sexual love and desires for this much repressed era. Our child within always needs acknowledgment throughout our lives. In time we would get a holiday card of Betty Boop or some other voluptuous blond in various tantric like positions. They always had a fun context and I found them to be very innocent as lovemaking usually is. Loupop and Uncle Gus are examples of how we can age gracefully in our modern time. They used their expression of sexual desire as a way of adornment and compliments to women’s bodies. In our society’s schizoid integration of sex and morality, it seems that we must wait until our senior years to reveal our natural desire of affection for each other. Loupop had started drawing around the age of 85, first starting with TV Guide images, cartoons, ads and later progressing to the Smithsonian and other more refined magazines. Loupop had no art training during his life. Only the desire to express life as best as he could. I would call him an Outside artist. Louis Dominic Colagreco died on September 22, 2009. RIP. Mr John

Well Happy New Year everyone! Good news! On the last week of 2009 the Camden Courier Post announced that the murder rate in Camden was down 40%. This is wonderful news.

However on January 2, 2010, I received a phone call from Shorty at 5 am that someone broke into High Voltage Al’s house and tried to beat him up. Well Voltage, who is 73 years young, was forced to defend himself, in his own home, by beating up the perpetrator, who I will call Puffer, with a channel lock pliers.

Mr. John’s tip #1 for the New Year is that you don’t need to have a a gun in your house but a well prepared tool box… a 14″ pipe wrench (preferably made of aluminum which is lighter for the ladies to swing), a 12 ounce claw hammer, a couple of long screw drivers (12″ for children and 20″ for adults) for those challenging dueling moments, a small first aid kit and a power stapler which should be plugged in at all times in your dining room. It’s a very accurate tool for those sprinters who are circling around the dining room table. Not to mention clipping the children’s drawings from school around the house. You  might also want to get a small tape recorder or mp3 player. And just to keep the police on their toes, an oven timer so as to show the cops, if and when they arrive, that they took a little to long coming to your rescue.

To continue. So someone had called the cops and fortunately for Voltage, who carries a small tape recorder in his pocket, and had recorded the whole tussle so that when the cops arrived, in a timely fashion, he just played the recording to the police. The police told Voltage that he legally defended his life and home and so the cops proceeded to take the Puffer to jail, where he presently is (now 7 am or so on Saturday). Puffer will have to pay Voltage back all the monies for the damages, a broken window, door damage, lock replacement and some furnishings inside. The funny thing is that Puffer was staying there. You see Voltage doesn’t tolerate anyone using drugs in his home and when Voltage found a crack pipe in Puffer‘s room he told Puffer to leave and Voltage changed the front door locks. This subsequently led to the break in and assault upon Voltage. Since I haven’t gone into Camden as of yet I will get a clearer story later on today. BTW thanks to Dizzzy, who Amy and I celebrated New Years day with a wonderful dinner in Chinatown, told me there was a money dispute between Voltage and Puffer brewing in the wind.

I have learned a lesson today and that is that we often get advanced notice of trouble in the air but we tend to dismiss it or not want to get involved, as I chose to do. But it came to me anyway. I didn’t feel it was my business to interfere and rightly or wrongly this event had its repercussions. I might have been able to mitigate Puffer‘s anger beforehand, he certainly expressed his anger to me earlier last week…who knows? Puffer, despite his present situation, has shown me that he is a very good mechanic ( he always wanted to learn something he didn’t understand), he can repair almost anything and he always returned anything he borrowed from me. Puffer can be very responsible and direct. We all become very complex as we grow older, a mixed bag for sure. Whatever you take from these stories be aware that most people, whatever their station in life, are willing to learn and make up for their wrong decisions. But it can be a tiresome process. Live long and Prosper in our new year. Mr. John

Anna Morini, a true matriarch, was born and raised in Camden of Italian immigrant parents Augusto Morini and Carmella Bongovanni. She dropped out of 5th grade to help the family during the depression. Anna was a welder during WWII but she also worked in a sewing factory making uniforms for the Army, often working  late into the morning hours. And after sending her sister Sistina to beautician school in Philadelphia, she opened a hair salon in South Camden called “Cele-Anns”. She worked in the beauty salon with her sister for over 25 years. Out of boredom and unwavering ambition, she became a business woman, entrepreneur and all around hustler. She sold illegal unstamped cartons of cigarettes for years to the locals delivering them to people’s homes all over Camden. When her brother-in-law (my father) catered with his mobile food truck to farm workers at 5 am during the picking season’s of South Jersey farmlands, she was selling unstamped wine and beer to the 100′s of sleepy eyed laborers.she baked cakes and cookies for them as well. She once told me that as a young girl looking for opportunities on the streets, she pried up a man hole cover and rolled it through the streets to a junk yard in return for cash. I hear it still goes on today. As I am a strong 215 pounds I can’t even pick up a man hole cover!

One of Anna‘s dreams was to retain and nurture the vitality of Camden. To keep the city alive and thriving with local residents especially in the declining years of Camden. So, she began buying Camden homes in the early 1950′s during her spare time, particularly in and around Camden Waterfront South. With the help of her brother, August Morini (Gus) and my Cousin Mark, she gave S. 4th Street homes special attention over many years along with other properties in the South Camden area. August and his wife Mary still reside on 4th street to this day as did Sistina and Evelyn Morini-Gialuco, Anna’s sisters now in their late 80′s. Anna, when possible, held on to strong beliefs in giving various kinds of work out to the those contractors who also lived in Camden rather than to contract with people who lived outside of the city. She many times could been seen working along with the men who were doing repairs and maintenance or she often provided drinking water or homemade spinach sandwiches in the hot summer heat. Always encouraging and instilling confidence and morale when she seen it was needed. Anna was truly a galvanizing personality for the many people throughout all of her life. At 5 foot 1 inch tall Aunt Ann accumulated 72 properties and 11 empty lots. Mighty tall!

There are not enough words to convey the support and love she had for her family. Aunt Ann was rarely afraid to express her emotions to anyone, even in court to judges. She was always a very curious person, sometimes to her detriment. AunT Ann intuitively knew the moving power and wisdom of her ‘words’. To be continued. Mr John

Uncle Gus is one of a kind. I think his maker truly said one is enough so He broke and threw away Gus‘s mold.  Gus, 89 years young, is currently rehabilitating a row house next to where he lives in Camden He has lived there all of his life with his wife Mary. He ran away from home at age 16 or so. His reason was to see the ‘world’ He has rode more box cars than I have probably seen. He has mastered 5 or 6 skills such as plasterer, welded for some 50 years, concrete finisher, brick layer, etc. He has more curiosity than a cat and probably gone through 8 of his 9 lives. To be continued. Mr. John

Willy Graham, AKA Free Willy. Willy had to get out of town fast some 20 years ago because the Po Po  (police, NJ state troopers  & bounty hunters) were out to capture Free Willy. Though Free had his own ideas about this new development in his shrinking life’s events. After 3 or 4 days of Frees hiding out during as days of rain and thunder storms, in various trucks and cars in as many of Camden’s junk yards, he had to figure out what to do. Free decided to take the Greyhound up on Cooper St. and make his getaway. Well when he saw all of the heat looking for him at the bus station he jumped into a Wig City on Broadway to become a woman. He bought or grabbed a red wig, put on a dress and some high heels,a little lip stick…a girls got to do what a girls got to DO, and so he waited for his bus. On his way to NY the bus had to pick up passengers at exit 4 on Rt. 73. Well when Free got to the stop for the NJ turnpike he saw that the state police were boarding all the buses in order to make Free an Un-Free Willy. Free was sitting next to a nice young lady so he leaned his red head on her shoulder so as to hide his newly discovered beauty from the boys in blue. When the cop walked by Free, or She, he tilted his head and said “hello ma’am”. I guess Free used a falsetto ‘hmm hmm’ and the cop moved on. Well when Free finally stuck his head out from his seat everyone on the bus was staring right at him and the young lady said, ‘I know your not a woman are you? and they are looking for you….What did you do back there? And so the next thing was that Free was onto becoming free again. And a new adventure. To be continued. Mr John.

Watch Video

WILL YOU  BE THERE-  by MICHAEL JACKSON   (FREE WILLY)