At the  Autrey Museum

Packing up and gettin' ready ...
Tomorrow morning we leave for Los Angeles and the Autrey Museum where the National Women's History Project will hold their celebration on Sunday at three. We're leaving a day early in order to visit the Getty Art Museum while there -- I've never seen it and hear it's stunning.

Will fly home on Monday afternoon and then leave at 5:50 a.m. from the Oakland airport for Baltimore/Washington, D.C., and the festivities to be held at the Hay Adams on Pennsylvania Avenue across the street from the White House. How cool it that?

Because this is all so much larger than life and so once-in-a-lifetime in scope -- I've cashed in the family jewels to take granddaughter, "Miss Hermione Ginglehopper" along to share the honors and enjoy her first visit to the Capitol.

at the Hay Adams Hotel in D.C.

David, Kokee, and Rhico (his older kids) will drive to L.A. for the celebration there on Sunday.

Not sure when I'll get to read my messages or post to my blog -- these days are surreal -- but given this unbelievable agenda, it may take days to get myself back into my pumpkin again.

Will try to remember to take pictures and will post them in CBreaux's Annex when there's time.

Meanwhile, I'm off to see the wizard -- see Betty on the Yellow Brick Road!

Today's the day ...

and it's 8:58 by the clock on my computer. At eleven o'clock this morning my friend, Barbara Cottman Becnel, will announce her candidacy for governor from the west steps of the state capitol. Been sitting on this one for weeks -- waiting until she would go public. All of the signatures have been gathered and verified -- and this brilliant passionate capable African American woman will enter the race.

I have no idea how this will be viewed by the political parties since Barbara will be entering from the Left for the purpose of broadening the debate to include a higher minimum wage, higher taxes on the rich, and -- abolition of the death penalty. All three of the major candidates have declared that they will continue to support the death penalty and none will agree to a moratorium.

You may recall -- if you were paying attention -- that Barbara is the woman who managed to get San Quentin Death Row inmate Stanley Tookie Williams nominated 7 times for the Nobel Peace and Literature prizes over the past years. She published his 9 prize-winning books and served as his editor. She was portrayed by Lynn Whitfield in the film, "Redemption," for which Jamie Fox was nominated for the Oscar.

When we met at the Point Richmond StarBucks some days ago, she asked if I'd do some writing for her. Not sure I could do her justice. One day Barbara will be viewed as the Rosa Parks of the Movement to Abolish the Death Penalty.

But we'll talk more about that in days to come.

An exhausting sleepless night ... the promise of today's celebratory afternoon at the college ...

and the feeling that I've been revisited by all of the significant people in my life -- now deceased -- for the purpose of reminding me that I'm a conglomerate; the sum total of them all -- and that I'd damn well better not forget it!

In the Rem sleep state I clearly recall myself -- as if at the Oscars after a long walk down the red carpet in a flowing gown fashioned by my dressmaker cousin, the late Annabelle LeBeouf Therence -- tripping on my train while receiving my statuette and doing one of those endless rambling speeches that had to be cut off by the orchestra starting up and growing louder as I tearfully struggled on -- trying to squeeze in all of my children, grandchildren, a fair number of craftsmen, bright and charming gay cousins, painters,drunken uncles, college presidents, at least one managing editor, many writers, department heads, educators, red caps and porters, maids and garbage men, bricklayers and engineers, postal clerks and musicians and artists -- just to be fair. Couldn't leave anybody out; nope. The orchestra, by the way, was playing not one of those Conductor John Williams specials, but Duke Ellington playing "Take the A Train". Whatta night! And there was mom's cousin, Wellman Breaux sitting there blowing his trumpet as he did as a sideman in Ellington's early days.

At one point I thought of Leontine Breaux Allen (Mammá), my slave ancestor who was born in 1846 and died at the age of 102 in 1948; when I was 27 years-old. I remembered the stories about how it was she who acted as the resident intern for the little community that was identifed only as Welcome Post Office, St. James Parish, Louisiana. From her little cabin beside the levee of the Mississippi, she gave birth to her own 15 children and mothered another 5-10 more of her grandchildren who shared her home; my mother among them.

During one wide awake period I thought about the story of how she was the midwife who brought the little community's babies into the world, but who in addition, supported (white) Dr. Hymel in his medical practice as the circuit rider physician who came through about every 3 months. It was Mammá who rode her horse or walked through the countryside placing a white towel on the gate posts where someone needed medical attention. It was Mammá who tended them after Dr. Hymel left the area -- and all this in addition to the raising of her own family (as the widow of a Civil War veteran) and the planting and tending of the fields that supported her brood.

Then -- at somewhere around six this morning I dropped off to sleep; feeling quieted.

Today at Contra Costa College I'll be honored along with other worthy women of the community -- but as a special honoree due to having been name nationally. It's been a sobering experience to be so singled out.

...sleep came when I realized that what may best describe my life would be that I, too, have traveled through time symbolically draping white towels on the gateposts where problems were evident, and doing my damndest to make things better by healing where possible. In my various civic roles, and as a black business woman, as a field rep to two members of the state assembly (my "Dr. Hymels"), and now -- in these advanced years -- using that legacy in my work with the National Park Service. What a powerful insight is that!

Later today I'll dress in my black crepe power suit, around my neck I'll wear the pearls Mel gave me on our wedding day in May of 1942; add to that the Lady Hamilton wristwatch that has 4 tiny diamonds (one for each child) added on a later anniversary. I'll add to that a thin gold band that married me to Bill in the Seventies. Inside my black bag will be a small beautiful beaded drawstring silk bag with a Paris label that Great Uncle Dr. Raleigh Coker gave to Great Aunt Emily on their 35th wedding anniversary (in the Twenties), presented by Aunt Emily ("Nanny") to mother's younger sister, Aunt Vivian (the trickster) when she graduated from Xavier years later; who gave it to me a few years before she died. I'll slip my grandfather Louis Charbonnet's (died in 1924) business card into my wallet beside my credit cards. On my ear lobes the tiny pearl and silver earrings and silver rosebud necklace that Tom gave me last Christmas will be added to the mix and I'll be ready. Just how many lifetimes do you suppose all that represents? Sequential lifetimes, of course, bracketed by slavery at one end and the information age at the other.

No one will ever guess that there is a huge invisible crowd there in the shadows of that stage -- all there feeling redeemed from whatever life presented in their time -- redeemed through our shared DNA -- and by what they've each invested in the living of my lifetime.

This is just the beginning. Next week I'll fly to Los Angeles for the ceremonies and then a day after returning, to Washington, D.C. for another.

I do hope they'll all stay with me until all of this is over ... .

Photo: Taken during National Women's History Project ceremonies at the historic Hay Adams Hotel in Washington, D.C. on March 22nd. Aunt Emily's lovely beaded bag is shown in my left hand as the representative of Rep. George Miller is making his presentation of a glowing letter that I will frame soon. To my right is Executive Director of NWHP, Molly Murphy MacGregor.

Another extraordinary day in the extraordinary ordinary life of one woman ...

Today I met with 50 young (and not so young) teachers from a program called "Expeditionary Learning." They came from all over the country to experience the park, the memorial, and the collections. It was our time to show off a bit, and share our work.

I was their just-before-lunch speaker and was joined by four other "Rosies" of the period of World War II who shared their experiences informally during lunch. We each have done this before and are beginning to get more and more effective at doing so.

I opened with, "I have nothing prepared (true) so will simply talk until truth runs out." That lasted about 20 minutes, I believe, and was just about right for the setting. Their questions were on target and allowed for an expansion of the themes raised. I'm really beginning to enjoy these outings and becoming really comfortable in making these presentations.

I've learned to invite listeners into exploring those "...lost conversations and untold stories" with me, and relying heavily on the differing realities experienced by my war generation. Find myself wondering if war makes any more sense to those youngsters fighting and working now than it did for those of us who were involved in those years?

I recall saying today that I was so confused at 20 and as an African American young woman that I wasn't all that sure who the enemy was ... strange thing to say. I didn't know that I'd felt that until the words slipped through my lips. It was true. I need to give that more thought before I leave for the NWHP ceremonies in Los Angeles and in Washington, D.C. next week. My words will be weighted differently. The setting will be formal and the occasion sobering. I'll be asked to say a few words of acceptance for being honored, possibly, and I must give some serious thought to just what those words should be.

...but how does one encapsulate a lifetime into a phrase or two?

Maybe it will take no more than to recognize the importance of those wise words of the Monk, David Rendl Nast, "...there are two simplicities; one that comes before and the one that comes after -- complexity." I've lived long enough to understand and appreciate the second of those, and -- to not lose the strength and purity of the first while growing into that understanding.

Those cannot be the words uttered, but reminding myself of the importance they hold in my understanding of the world will help the right words to express themselves -- if I stay centered and just let the life flow through.

... but that won't make sense to anyone but me, I think.

The trick will be to live the moment and not try to prepare for it -- as I did today.

It was a good day well shared.

Photo: Speaking at Saluté Ristorante on the Richmond marina. Only a small portion of the group can be seen, but the room was full and the audience receptive and easy to interact with.

About the Act of Honoring ... .

Been thinking about the role these rites and ceremonies play in our lives. Thinking about a letter received recently from a very successful member of my community -- one who is paid thousands of dollars to advise and counsel in financial circles all over the country but who told me with obvious pain how little he feels valued at home.

I thought about any number of local young people's sports teams that have placed at the top of their field in arenas, fields, and courts across the country but were unknown and undervalued where they live and have to fight for the subsidies that are so essential to their continuance.

Except for a perfunctory ritual played out on occasion at city council meetings where little plaques are presented and bows mechanically taken, little heed is paid to all those who bring glory to their community; and there are so many who are so worthy.

Learned recently that former Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders, whose family originally hailed from Arkansas, is the child of World War II homefront defense workers and grew up in North Richmond -- having attended elementary and high schools here in this city. I learned it by sheer accident when going over some vintage photos with a member of a Richmond African American pioneer family who had them in her collection. How could this city not have made some notice of this? Should her picture not be prominently displayed on the wall of Peres Elementary School for every student to see and be inspired by?

This is the city where great bluesmen Lightnin' Hopkins, Jimmy McCracklin, T-Bone Walker and blueswoman Big Mamma Thornton made their big break and elevated the status of this important American music to the top of a cultural revolution in music that had its birth here in this community during the war years. Yet there is no marker to celebrate those contributions. Not a blues club in sight nor in any future plans that I know of.

And, most of all, there is the giant of industry, Henry J. Kaiser, whose innovations in ship-building re-shaped the Bay Area and quite possibly won the war -- yet it took an act of congress to mark this as the place where it all happened and to begin the historic preservation process that is now the Rosie the Riveter/Home Front National Historial Park under development. The city, itself, made little attempt at claiming its rightful role in one of the epochal events of the 20th Century. The structures that now make up the park have lain rusting away for 60 years, awaiting demolition when we could get around to it. They only remained through benign neglect until Congress acted to preserve them for the telling of the story of World War II for the nation.

We're racing against time and the redevelopment agency to preserve those structures still-existing -- before the bulldozers of progress and the giant claw machines begin to replace them with more "rooftops," more "units," cover more ground with concrete parking lots, in the ongoing ritual of covering the past with the unknown future and losing the lessons we so sorely need to learn in the process of city-building.

The practice of taking on only those projects than can pencil out and find completion within the tenure of any current city elected official works against the best interest of the communities they represent. Master Plans that span decades demand a commission (not yet created) charged with long-range planning -- kind of like a mini-supreme court with members appointed with unlimited terms of service. It just might take such a strategy to get Richmond past its life of always hovering on the brink of disaster. Maybe it's the ghost of those 24-hour days when folks slept and worked in 3 shifts and rented out their beds that never cooled. Maybe it's the carryover from having completed 747 ships over a 4 year period. Maybe we can pause now and see where we are -- honor those who brought us this far, and celebrate the new leaders among us. I think, sometimes, of returning to Berkeley where I always had such a strong feeling of the future and the possible. Here in Richmond the struggle to preserve and grow from the past is burdened by the constant sacrifice to short-term gains -- a legacy from the war years when time was such an overwhelming force? Could it be that it's worked its way into our civic DNA?

Wondering now why all this comes up for me today? It surely has to do with feelings of being overlooked, maybe? Though it doesn't appear to me unexpected. It's the norm, I think. There are bigger questions here than bruised feelings; of that I'm sure. Over time I've enjoyed much appreciation for my work and am blessed with an enviable reputation for service. I've been affirmed in so many ways, and it continues. No, it's not for want of praise or appreciation. Then what?

Maybe it's because when I look around I see lack of fulfillment expressed in so many ways. So many good people doing such good work -- and going without recognition and unable to ask for it because that's so awkward to do. So much emotional energy is wasted when we don't take the time to acknowledge one another; energy that provides the strength and the will to do the work of community-building that is so vital to the quality of life in any human enterprise. I see the frustration expressed by those stalwart passionate ordinary citizens who attend city council meetings; doing their best to call attention to civic problems, support the work of city staff when warranted, chastise offending members of city council, but (if you look closely) are almost always speaking for others whom they believe have been overlooked or unappreciated.

I'll think of this as justification for the ceremonies of appreciation and recognition that I'll participate in soon. It gives me a context in which to function. And -- it may be one of those truths that women have always known... .

Photo: Left to right: Starr King School for the Ministry President Rebecca Parker, honoree Dorothy Patterson; me, making the presentation; and President Arliss Ungar of the Board of Trustees. Dorothy is receiving her honorary doctorate after a lifetime of service with the UU-Service Committee, worldwide. This is on the occasion of the Starr King commencement ceremonies at the San Francisco Unitarian-Universalist Church.

A dash of reality -- and "a prophet in her own home town ..."

After days on end of trying to feel humble in this spate of such unanticipated acclaim, I've come face-to-face with just how fragile all that is, and how transitory at best.

After receiving the materials from the National Women's History Project (banners, posters, booklets, bookmarks, balloons, placemats) all proclaiming the importance of the ten of us being honored, I tried to figure out just what to do with them.

• First took a poster to Reid's (our store in Berkeley) where my family immediately taped it proudly to the front door for all of our customers to see as they entered.
• Then another went to the Berkeley Arts Magnet School with Alyana (10) and Tamaya (8), my proud granddaughters, to share with their 2nd and 4th grade classes. I plan to visit with them after all the hoopla is behind us.
  
• Slipped one onto park superintendent Martha Lee's desk surreptiously at the end of a work day.
• Presented the mayor's office with another (just down the hall where my friend and former co-worker from Loni Hancock's office now sits as the mayor's administrative aide.) There was no response from the mayor; a woman. I didn't notice at the time -- but today I thought of it.
  
• Presented one to my friend, Tom, which he has subsequently framed and hung for me to see the next time I'm there.
  
• Drove to the office of the Main Street Initiative where an excited Executive Director Ramona Braxton-Samuels received another and added it to the stack of NWHP catalogues I'd dropped off earlier.
• Stopped by the Richmond main library where I left catalogues for their Women's History Month display.
  

Now what to do? I'm thinking that a real celebrity would have called a press conference, right?

Oh yes, packed up a poster, bio-booklet on the honorees, and a catalogue and mailed them off to son, Bob, so that he wouldn't feel slighted -- though I had mixed feelings about doing so -- and I'm not at all sure what that's about. The self-promotional aspects bothered me and still does.

As the time draws near and there's need for decisions to make about travel arrangements, etc, I've become really nervous and having some problems about the worthiness of it all, I suppose. Tom would like to attend the event in Los Angeles on the 19th. He knows that I hate to fly and would like to have us take the train down on Friday, visit the Getty Art Museum on Saturday, and then the ceremony on Sunday at the Autrey. Martha (my boss) and her mother would like to attend since this all coincides with a family gathering at their home in Pasadena. My son, David and his family are considering traveling down as well. Not sure yet about Bob, but that's a possibility.

I've been offered the opportunity to be honored not only in Southern California, but to travel to Washington, D.C., for the festivities being held at the Hay Adams Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue on March 22nd, as well. Lifetime Television is picking up the tab for that event, and the National Park Service would surely benefit by the public relations aspects of it all.

See how huge it's gotten by now?

Well, relax.

Yesterday I decided to drive down the hill to the nearby campus of the Contra Costa Community College to present the last of my large lovely colorful posters to the college president (whom I know casually) along with some catalogs from NWHP. I called ahead to see if he was in his office and he was. I noticed some discomfort but couldn't attribute it to anything when he said, "...I didn't know, Betty. Would you be willing to come to our Women's History Month Celebration on Saturday, March 11th at 3:00?" I was so busy mumbling something about how I'd hesitated to bring this in before, but that I'd finally decided that it might be important for the young women at the college to know that important things sometimes happen to ordinary people ...", it was lame but true. I then heard him ask if I'd be willing to come and speak to some groups and I happily agreed.

Within an hour or so there was a call from him asking if I had a picture they could use in their publicity for the upcoming event (and again he apologized for not realizing that I was an honoree). If I didn't have one, would I be willing to come in to have their graphics department take one for their purposes? I agreed. This morning I did that -- though my photos now look more like my mother than like me - or so I imagine... .

It was only then that I realized (when someone mentioned that those posters were hanging all over the campus) and that no one had recognized me; the penalty for using a 20-year-old photo, maybe? (We'd been asked to submit a favorite picture.) But my name and birthdate were there under my picture. My picture is prominently placed on the posters, no one knew who I was and -- even if they did -- I was only important in the aggregate. It was the ten that mattered, not the one. And there's an appropriateness to that. No one had noticed that a local woman was being honored nationally, and that it was no small thing. Everyone is a little embarrassed, even me.

Today in the mail a letter arrived from the college president with all of the information about their Women's History Month celebration -- with a packet of tickets listing the names of the women being honored -- and an apology that my name was not among them. They didn't know. His letter in part says:

"...We are terribly sorry we did not realize you had been nationally recognized at the time we developed our invitations. Had we known, we would have included your name among the list of honorees. However, we would be honored and graced by your presence if you would attend our sixth annual Women's History Celebration program on Saturday, March 11, 2006. We have included you in our program and would like to present you with a special award..."

Sincerely yours,

McKinley Williams,
Interim President

There it is. The ego adjuster. I needn't have worried. Life does have its way of getting us into line when occasion demands.

For reasons unknown, I find his letter reassuring. I'm far more comfortable in the aggregate.

Photo: Speaking my "thank yous" before an audience at the Contra Costa Community College Sixth Annual Women's History Celebration. This was a week prior to the events in Los Angeles and Washington, D.C.

Hope I'm not just "making words," because this jambalaya of a life that I'm living at the moment defies description ...

Attended an economic development workshop at city hall on Friday. Every high roller in the region was in the room. The main event was State Treasurer Phil Angelides, my favorite gubernatorial candidate, who was here to introduce the city to his "Green Wave" program that promises to bring an economic boom to the state through energy-saving programs involving the introduction of new businesses designed to address our need to commit to a changing commerce to reflect concerns in re global warming. It all made sense. California is the sixth largest economy in the world. Change has historically sprung from what happens here and spreads to the rest of the country and the world. We must address global warming independent of what happens in Washington. Angelides spelled out a plan for starting that process. I'm convinced that he is the leader that I'd like to follow this November. The job now will be to move him from his position of defending capital punishment to one that will accept a moratorium.

On Friday afternoon I drove to Mendocino immediately after the workshop and on Saturday morning attended the Mendocino Democratic Club breakfast where, again, I heard Angelides speak. On Friday he spoke as the state treasurer. On Saturday morning I heard his campaign speech for the first time. There was almost no repetition. That was comforting. He has more complexity than might be expected from one honing his message for the Primary.

During the period of schmoozin' that followed his talk (during which he introduced his wife and daughter who were present), I was able to approach him for the few minutes that it took to say, "...hello, I'm Betty Reid Soskin. We met yesterday in Richmond. I'm also the former field rep for Assemblywomen Dion Aroner and Loni Hancock, and, I was a recent demonstrator at the gates of San Quentin in protest of the 3 recent executions. I'm aware that you're on record as supporting capital punishment. I want to know whether you're in support of the moratorium?" He was obviously not comfortable with my directness, but to give him credit, he held my eye-to-eye contact without flinching. He then broke his gaze -- looked down and said, "... I think that I need to tell you that I'm alone in my house -- my daughter believes in your cause." I knew now that I had a strong ally who was close to him and loved -- and that at some point this might not be a lost cause. I will work for his election and hope that his position will soften on this most critical issue. I don't have the power or the clout to bring that about, but I know enough others who are close enough to him to influence his position.

In addition to his staff, In Richmond he brought along CalPERS (the state retirement program) and CalSTRS (another) in combination with foundations and developers and financial advisors in a workshop designed to introduce that world of investors to this city that is poised on the brink of a period of renewal that will rival that of WWII, I think. There are opportunities everywhere one looks -- and entrepreneurs are arriving by every means possible. The room was crackling with the vibrations of opportunism and competition.

We three who represent the park staff gave no presentation -- it was not our time -- but I had a chance to renew old friendships with that world of financial enablers and it felt good. My head immediately turned to planning our next leadership tour to include that world -- I'd almost forgotten.

Noticed something else, too. There they were, Landon W. (San Francisco Foundation), Joe G. and James N. (forgotten the name of their multi-million dollar development enterprise); John T. (Sr. Director of Cushman & Wakefield); et al, all with warm greetings (kisses all around). I've never been in a position of needing to use any of their services so they are just Landon, Joe, James, and John; though they represent access to millions and millions of dollars in their professional roles. Do I need to think of them differently now that I'm hoping to help to expand the role of the new national park in this city? There's great need for historic preservation, restoration of historic sites, and youth programs around this history that gave the city its second birth -- and may provide the economic engine that will drive its third. This will be a new role for me. Wonder if I can make the transition?

Am waiting for one more announcement of a candidate who will enter the governor's race soon, but meanwhile -- will continue to think about how to relate to the candidacy of Phil Angelides. The 'til now undisclosed candidate is relatively unknown in the political world, but is one with a strong and vital message that resonates deeply for me. When she announces, I'll have some adjusting to do in my own thinking about just how much I'm willing to compromise.

You may be of the opinion that it hardly makes a difference about just how much power a single voter has in the process. Not so. I firmly believe that one can effect the shape of change in critical ways. We may not be totally responsible for that judge's decision to halt the last execution -- but I don't hesitate for one minute to take credit for it. If I've lived up to my own principles and acted on behalf of them -- then I claim the right to assume that I've been rewarded by fate. If I didn't believe that I couldn't get out of bed in the morning ... and then how on earth would "The World" manage?

Photo: State Treasurer Phil Angelides speaking informally with members after his talk at Mendocino Democratic Club breakfast.

So much to write about -- so little time ... .

First let me tell you that the film -- "Farallon Light" -- arrived yesterday -- two copies on DVD as promised. The images are clear but there's a red cast to the film. The narration is clear. No scratches are visible. The woman at the film library that processed it told me that they'd used a kind of gel that helped to mend the flaws created by time and overuse. I could hear every word. The music, however, sounds garbled and my voice is "trembly" and "wavy" with the lyrics almost impossible to understand. But -- all-in-all -- it's a beautiful documentary that I'm very proud to have been a part of. I know what I'm singing about -- and because I do -- I just fill in the inaudible and slushy parts for myself. What a wonderful thing to finally own... .

And, today I drove to Mare Island in Vallejo to serve on a panel with two others in a three-program, three-day observance of Black History Week for the U.S. Forest Service. It went extremely well, I think. I was second on the program, following a very informative presentation on the Buffalo Soldiers by a National Parks Ranger; and followed by Daphne Muse, poet and historian faculty member from U.C. Berkeley and Mills College, author of several books that includes a beautiful collection of poems for children written by black poets; She is also an authority on the late Ms. Rosa Parks who spent a week as a guest in her home in Oakland at one time. Wonderful stories ... told well.

Am becoming more comfortable with my role as a speaker at such events -- and also with my status as an elder with a history to share. As I grow older and wiser (yes), I'm finding that my story is fairly universal, and that others tend to recognize themselves in them.

Today was a very good day.

Tomorrow I'll attend a workshop on economic development opportunities opening up in Richmond. It will bring State Treasurer Phil Angelides, CalPERS investors, and his staff together with those seeking state funding for worthy projects. The Park will play a role in the historic preservation of some of the structures now dormant by partnering with local non-profits. That will end in the early afternoon and I will head immediately for Mendocino and a weekend of quiet and reflection. First, though, I will again see Angelides at a Saturday morning breakfast fundraiser in nearby Fort Bragg. We're in the beginning phases of the governor's race in the California Primary and Angelides is one of three prominent candidates (the others being present governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and former EBay executive Steve Westley). There's one more name -- not yet announced -- that I will support through the primary, but that news must wait until after the weekend. She will announce in the next few days. Suffices to say that we spent the afternoon -- after the Mare Island gig -- sipping tea at the Point Richmond Starbucks and talking strategy ... .

Stay tuned.

Photo: Speaking on the subject of African American Homefront workers during World War II -- before U.S. Forest Service employees as one of 3 panelists.

And they said we couldn't do it ... who's smilin' now?

After months and years of braving the cold and the jeers of the non-believers, word came last night after a 24-hour postponement that the anesthesiologists slated to assist in the execution by lethal injection had resisted the call in the final hours and refused to participate in the killing of another human being. There was not enough time to find replacements and the entire question of death by lethal injection is now up for re-examination. The next state execution cannot be carried out until May, at the earliest. The moratorium bills may have been heard by that time, and the debate is now fully on.

Strange that it was only yesterday -- after months and years of trying to form my thoughts into words -- that it all came together. I've always felt that I was rambling when a mike was pushed into my face and I was expected to deliver some rational defense of my position on the death penalty. I knew it was wrong -- and heaven knows there were enough generic cliché-riddled statements to borrow from, but I couldn't seem to find my own words and thoughts that were succinct and true for me. On Monday I did. I opened my mouth and they fell out as clear as a bell.

Newsman: "What about the families of the victims? Don't they have a right to closure? Wouldn't you want vengeance, too?"

Me: "Of course I would. I'm as human as they with the same wish to have the offender torn limb from limb in the event that a member of my family had been similarly brutally murdered. But I'd be fortunate if I lived in a society that would protect me from myself -- and my immediate demand for retribution which is little more than a permanent answer to a very emotional but temporary state of being. When sanity returned I'd know that nothing would bring my dear one back to me -- and that widening the field of violence would serve no one, but would only increase the hatred in the world and make us all less safe. Lock the offender away for life to protect us all from further harm. That would suffice. To participate in the killing serves no purpose save vengeance -- and we've surely evolved beyond that."

Tomorrow I'm one of the speakers at the Forest Service Black History Celebration at Mare Island. Will take along my little DVD and wing it -- as always -- depending upon the ability to pick up signals of interest and acceptance from the assembled group. It will be great to not be distracted by the death penalty question.

This evening I'll meet with Barbara Becnel to talk about the newly-discovered evidence that appears to support the innocence of the late Stanley "Tookie" Williams, executed by the state in December. We'll have dinner and catch up on events. She's been to Venezuela for a world conference since last we talked. I've not actually seen her for more than a year. Only since Stan's death have we again been in direct contact.

Now I'm off to pick up Dorian at NIAD and then back home to wash blue jeans and match socks or plan to stay in bed next week for want of clean clothing!

Photo: This is a typical press conference at the East Gate of San Quentin. These women are a part of the larger group just off camera. All of the networks, channels, radio stations are present and hoping for news -- someone being arrested in an act of civil disobedience. One of these women crossed the line and was taken away a few minutes after this photo was taken. The woman in the white coat is a local physician.

A time of contrasts ... One-Star Betty in the Five-Star Ritz Carleton Laguna San Niguel ... .

About ten days ago I received a call from the daughter of a dear friend announcing that her mother's 80th birthday was in the offing and would
I like to fly down for the big weekend family gathering as her guest? "Of course," says I, never dreaming of what was ahead. Travel arrangement arrived by email a few days later that had me scheduled to leave on Friday on the 2:50 pm Southwest Airlines plane due at John Wayne Airport in Orange County an hour and twenty minutes later. All went as scheduled.

About 45 minutes after a very surprised Charlotte (she didn't have a clue) arrived with Susan to pick me up and I found myself entering wonderland; the RitzCarleton San Niguel on the beach in Laguna Hills! The next two days were straight out of Paris Hilton country, with opulence and luxury of a kind this little ole lady hadn't witnessed except as shown from a movie screen in a movie starring the dazzling Charlize Theron. All that was missing was the proverbial red carpet. They probably keep that rolled up until Nicole Kidman's arrival is anticipated.

Fancy dinner in "The Grill" was followed later by "tapas" and desserts served on the fourth floor, only accessible for we who held keys that were slipped into a slot in the elevator floor indicator to be delivered -- with crystal chandelier even in the elevator -- to heaven where they keep chocolates and custards and toffee and, coffees and exotic teas, a fireplace to gather 'round, and flowers everywhere .

After several hours of playing "Dorothy" without Toto, after taking a shower and slipping into a luxurious white robe and slippers (hotel provided, of course); and falling into a bed (one of two) high enough to require a step stool then dropping into a down-covered mattress and drawing up an exquisite pure white down-filled douvet -- leaning against five (counted them!) five pillows of differing softness, we watched "Rent" on the large flat-screen television on the wall.

Read through the brochure supplied by the beauty salon on the first floor -- my hosts invited us to get a massage or a facial if we wished. The brochure listed the only facial that interested me ("immediate differences noted') at the cost of $200. Now that's decadent! Just reading the words was sobering enough to get me back in line. I suspect that this could cause a complete breakdown in one's value structure -- a week or so of such exposure to the good life and I might begin to see all this as an entitlements and begin to be concerned about "the little people."

But it wasn't to be. After the festivities with this wonderful family of warm and loving friends, I boarded my plane for the return to the Oakland Airport on Sunday -- miraculously remembered where I'd left my car parked in Economy Parking far from the terminal -- and drove home. (Almost fainted when the parking attendant presented the $48 parking tab!) After I reminded myself that I'd seen a brochure that gave the starting costs per room at the hotel as $892/rm/per day -- and this because it was off-season --, I figured I was about as lucky as anyone could be. It didn't take long to reach my modest little condo on the northern end of Richmond, and to remember that I'd promised to drive to San Quentin tomorrow for another round of protests against this third execution in as many months.

Read Nadine's email report on her trip to New Orleans with Downs Memorial Church group and was so proud of my young friend and the others who'd spent several weeks helping to de-construct homes no longer livable in an environment of death and decay. Everything fell into line again. Having contributed modestly to her travel expenses (only $2 more than my parking tab), this felt really good to me, as if I, too, had helped in some small way. It's all relative.

I'd had a weekend glimpse of another lifestyle. Spent some time learning about the exciting work being done by the young family whose guest I'd been -- unimaginably futuristic projects involving the design, engineering, and construction of towns -- quite literally. Experimental small cities situated in previously uninhabited areas where training scenarios, re-enactments, problem-solving laboratories for all kinds of enterprises are tested and carried out. It was a glimpse of tomorrow, and I was jealous of their ability to extend into time in ways no longer open to me. I could understand that the economic structure of their lives was far beyond what I have the ability to imagine. I was grateful for their having included me in their wonderland -- at least for a time.

But yesterday found me back at the Gates with the others; predominantly Unitarian-Universalists from social action groups -- and it felt right. Learned that my friend, Barbara Becnel was expected to join the demonstration later in the evening but I wouldn't wait for her. I'm just not capable of being that close to the actual execution in the cold dark night. Much prefer doing my protesting in the full light of day, when the helicopters aren't droning overhead in the blackness -- trying to drown out the speaker's bull horns. And when I won't have to hike the two or more miles on that desolate road to the East Gate. The prison places barriers along both sides of the road for that distance to make the trek as forbidding as possible -- no sidewalks and no street lighting -- only flashlights, if you remembered to bring one along. Then there's the awful walk back in the blackness, when you know that the awesome deed has been done and that none of your protests effected the killing ... .

No, it's far better at noontime when there are only the news trucks to contend with and the knowledge that, again, you may show up on the eleven o'clock news, an hour before another life will be taken in your name.