You have heard of the Dream Team?  Yesterday I ate the Dream Meal.  I dream about it often. This is the third year my dear wife, Carrie, and I have paid a visit to a place called The Berkshires in Western Massachusetts.  Each time we have paid a visit to the Olde Forge in Lanesborough.  A short drive to this place is filled with  the anticipation of a kid going to bed on Christmas Eve.  I meant that.

I just go in from a long walk.  According to my ipod, I walked 4.75 miles and stepped just short of 10000 in doing so.  The walk ended with a climb up a hill that resembles Mt. Everest without all the snow.  If it were winter time, this would be covered with snow.  My peak is .8 miles up from the main road. My walk would have actually been longer had I not thought as I was walking.  I looked around as I was walking down Route 43.  There was no one anywhere to be found.  A very few cars had gone past in either direction.  In front of me there a large mountain like hill folks ski down in the wintertime.  To my right there was a small patch of corn trying to grow in front of woods coming down from another incline. To my left a small stream and another bluff going up into a thick woods.  I looked around again.  I saw nothing.  No cars.  No people.  Nothing but me walking and listening to my ipod…ear buds firmly planted as I listened to music much louder than I probably ever should.  Then I had a thought. I thought about the photos I have seen on more than one occasion this past week in The Bershire Eagle newspaper.  The photos were those of black bears that have been spotted in the area.  One of those photos, I remember, said it was taken on Route 43 in Hancock.  Well, guess who was walking down Route 43 with no one around to care if I was being eaten by a bear?  I turned around and headed back for civilization…walking a little more swiftly.  I kept listening to my music.  If I was going to get attacked by a bear, I didn’t want to hear it!

I did not want to be dinner.  I was walking to eat dinner!

This dinner to be specific…

This is a bowl of Wild Mushroom Ravioli.

You have seen folks on TV talking about the best thing they have ever eaten.  I would bring a film crew to this place on Route 7 in Lanesborough.  This is the best bowl of vittles I have ever eaten and that is saying something.  No offense to my mother’s biscuits.  No offense to Carrie’s four-layer chocolate cake or the shrimp she lovingly fries for me in North Carolina, even though she does not eat them.

The Wild Mushroom Ravioli is in a class by its lonesome.  Creamy.  Pasta cooked to perfection.  The filling is smooth, rich, and creamy.  The ravioli is served in a sundried tomato and basil cream sauce.  I would swim in this stuff if I could.

Here is the real wonder of all this meal….I sat down to this table and declared it the greatest meal ever and I did not eat so much as a single shred or morsel of meat.  I love meat!  I am at my glory with a grill full of burgers and chicken or a smoker full of babybacks.  Not so with this meal.  No meat.  I call this the dream meal and there is no meat.  This coming from a guy who once committed an awful personal foul in a high school football game and am still glad I did.  That sounds like a carnivore to me.

That is what makes this meal remarkable.  No meat…and I love it.

For starters, Carrie and I took on the skillet mushrooms.  Served with garlic bread to soak up the skillet liquor like good old corn bread and pot liquor.  Awesome.

The folks at Olde Forge are nice too.  Always good service and a pleasant atmosphere.  And that too is saying something in the Northeast.  Some folks up here can’t talk softly…let alone whisper.  They think a southern accent is amazing and they are smart to think so.    Maybe up here they had to talk loudly over gunfire with the British and they never adapted after the cannons went quiet.  Just an observation.  They are still good people.

Guess where Carrie and I are heading for our last meal in The Berkshires?

Right.  Olde Forge.  Ravioli awaits.

Speaking the culinary rights.

Danny Johnson

On a desk or on a table or in a drawer or…hopefully somewhere…there sits a package with a cd full of music that I am looking forward to listening to.

On Sunday afternoon, June 12th, my dear wife, Carrie, and I were in Al Fresco’s recording studio in Louisville, KY.  There Barry King was putting some guitar on top of the rhythm tracks that were already recorded the week before.  Carrie and I sat there in the control amazed as Barry King put down some awesome licks to many of the songs on the new recordings.

Barry King went to Woodstock back in the day.  He played with The Charlie Daniels Band.  He is a gifted Knoxville boy and he was very kind with the treatment and the compliments he gave the songs I had written that he was working with.  Honestly, it was the most fun I have had in a recording studio in twelve years.  That was the last time I was in the control room with a guitar player extraordinaire.  That guy was Tim Krekel.  He was pretty good to…(wink).

Barry King used this classic Les Paul and a Gibson hollow acoustic to add  more light and shade to the songs.

Those songs are waiting on us in that package I spoke of in the first paragraph.  That music sits in New Hampshire.  We are heading over that way to visit with dear friends Bob and Michelle and family on Friday.  It will be good times.  And finally, I will get to hear those songs again.  I have not heard the latest incarnation of our work.  Know that there is still more too add…keyboard, a horn or two, and some more vocals.  But I was so excited the day Mr. King played guitar and now I can almost hear it mixed in for the first time.  Thanks to Jeff Carpenter for holding me at bay and not rushing a mix for me to take on the road.  I know he surely did a great job putting this together.  His ear is awesome and he knows what button to push and where to move the knobs!

Carrie and I found Carlinville, Indiana yesterday.

The Judge was a movie that came out in 2013…I think.  Starring Robert Downey, Jr. and Robert Duvall, this is one of few movies I have really enjoyed in the last ten years.  The movie was set in the fictional Carlinville, Indiana.  It is a good thing they filmed as low as they did.  There are hills boarding on being mountains around Shelburne Falls, MA that you won’t find anywhere in state of Indiana.

Editorial Note:  A brief scene of Indiana landscape from my native Jackson County does show up in the film for a fleeting moment and I knew it when I saw it.

About the size of Medora, Shelburne Falls is a peaceful, lovely place with the Deerfield River running through separating Shelburne Falls from Buckland on the other side.

There is a Bridge of Flowers…

Small town…

Above: This was The Flying Deer diner in the movie.  It sits next to the falls.  The water was not flowing freely while we were there.  Though I did find out that it does on occasion.

This is the bridge Downey Jr.’s character  reluctantly drove across heading back to his hometown for the first time in many years.

One more look at the Bridge of Flowers…

I can also report that you can find a great Roasted Turkey Pesto on Focaccia.

Carrie enjoyed a Veggie Chick Pea Falafel with broccoli salad.

Sorry…we don’t have a picture of that.

Speaking the Road Rights…

Danny Johnson

Koussevitzky Music Shed is on the Tanglewood campus that is the summer home of The Boston Symphony Orchestra.  Tanglewood is beautiful.  Someone knew what they were doing or got very fortunate when lightning struck the brain to form this wonderful place.  In addition to regularly scheduled Pops concerts, the venue also holds concerts by mainstream artists as well.

These photos were taken after a concert yesterday.  I have been to a few amphitheaters that are referred to as the “big barn circuit”.  This might have been the first.  The others did not come along until decades later. The first performance here took place in 1938.  The latest performance took place yesterday afternoon with a 2:30 PM performance by Brian Wilson.  Yes, that Brian Wilson. My dear wife, Carrie, and I were there to take it all in.  This is the 50th anniversary of The Beach Boys “Pet Sounds” album.  The one that inspired The Beatles to go the concept route the next year with “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”.

Brian Wilson played that album in its entirety along with 20 or so other Beach Boys classics.  Joining Wilson onstage was original Beach Boy Al Jardine and his son Matt who sang the Mike Love high end notes on some of their greatest tunes.  Additionally there were anywhere from 8 to 9 other performers on the platform playing a catalog of music that has help shape music as the world knows it today.

Surf City, California Girls, I Get Around, Fun, Fun, Fun, Help Me Rhonda, Wouldn’t it be Nice, God Only Knows, Barbara Ann, Surfin USA, Good Vibrations…and so many more.  Brian Wilson, the brainchild behind The Beach Boys block harmony sound was there on the stage singing these songs on the eve of his 74th birthday.  Sitting behind a piano he occasionally worked on, Brian Wilson is a champion to be on the stage at all.  Health problems have left him in need of assistance on and off stage.   Nonetheless, the music in his heart is alive and well.  What it must feel like to know the music of the youth of generations came from sitting at a piano humming bits and pieces and parts that eventually took life and changed what and how we heard and will continue to hear music.

At times Brian Wilson’s voice was brilliant.  At times he struggled to hit a note here and there and his voice faded in and out on occasion…but it never left.  I doubt it ever will.

Brian Wilson is sharing the Pet Sounds album because he wants to.  I am glad he has chosen to do just that.  He doesn’t have to.  His legend would be intact if he stayed at home and worked on new music.  He released a new album last year.  I have no doubt he is still trying to find the next sound that needs to be put down.  I get that.  Aside from that philosophical stuff, I can tell you it was more fun than I can explain to have the chance to sing along with Brian Wilson as he sang “Surfin’ USA.  I am a blessed man.

It felt like we were in the Wrigley Field of music venues.

Happy Birthday, Brian…and thank you.

Speaking the Rights…

Danny Johnson

The day is ending in The Berkshires.

I took this photo a little while ago.

This morning,Carl was looking at the New York Daily News, The Boston Globe, and The Boston Herald.  He enjoyed all of those papers.

Carl seemed a bit bewildered about what he was reading about this guy called Donald Trump.  Carl asked me if I knew who he was and if Trump reminded me of anyone I know.

I told Carl that we are living in some strange times.  I told Carl that any kid in my school that went around the halls casting aspersions upon others the way Trump is expected to would be sent to the office.  His parents would be called if the problem persisted.  Then if it went on, he might find himself at the alternative school for a while or we might even have to call the prosecutor.

Carl said he understood that.  That was not his question.

I went on.  The excuse I hear from some relatively smart people is that Donald Trump is not afraid to speak his mind.  Well, that is all fine and good.  The problem is…when I hear him speak he sounds kind of mindless.  He likes to talk about guns.  The more problems we have with gun violence during this election process seems like ammo…pardon me…for Trump’s mindless rhetoric.  Trump talks about keeping people out of the country.  How did we get a country in the first place?  Trump talks about making deals.  Deals are made to be broken.  What we need are great decisions…not deals.  I have also heard Trump blow off and whine about something called the political “establishment”.  Hate to inform anyone here.  But that so called establishment has long been controlled by people with a great deal of money and power and influence.  Trump fits that description. He didn’t have enough influence apparently to make his way into the National Football League like Jerry Jones did…but Trump still fits that description.   It seems that folks that go along with Trump are righteous forward thinkers and ones that don’t go along with him are part of his mythical “establishment”.

Now I have, on occasion, made mention that this website’s namesake has nothing to do with politics.  I am making that reminder here.  Know that I am not happy.  I am sad.  At the courthouse in the county I live, there is a piece of paper that says I am a Republican.  Right now that embarrasses me.  I miss the party I once felt I could relate to.  I doubt that even the stalwart that was Alex P. Keaton could embrace the GOP like we both once did.

When all this Trump circus started I told my mother-in-law to fear not.  Her guy…or gal…will win if it comes down to them or Trump.  She told me she hoped I was right.  I told her I wish there was a better answer.  I really do.  The GOP has lost its way.  It should now be referred to as the COP.  Crappy Old Party.

While Carl was impressed with my political dissertation, he pressed further.  He asked again, does Trump remind me of anyone in a political sense.  Besides Morton Downey, Jr?  He turned his head sideways.  Then I told him that once upon a time before tweeters and instragrammers and the internet and 24 hour tv news that draws lines in the sand and picks one side over another, there was a guy that kind of came out of nowhere…though that would not be possible today.

Jimmy Carter took us all by storm in 1976.  He was not the normal politician.  He was a business man.  He was peanut farmer.  He was also the governor of Georgia.  He was also a Naval Officer.  He was/is a Sunday School teacher.  He stood up for what he believed in to the very end.  He did not spend time at the podium yelling at people and calling them liars.  Today Jimmy Carter looks smarter than ever.   But I suppose 1976 does too.

Carl asked if I was sure that Jimmy Carter reminded me of Donald Trump.  I studied that answer again.  No, I told Carl.  I suppose not.  Carter would have never made it to a primary today.  He didn’t rant and rave enough to capture the attention of any of the television news lemmings that know more than the guys watching the other network…take your pick.

But I did tell Carl I still believe my gut instincts.  Trump won’t be elected President.  Folks are crazier than I can remember…but not that crazy.  And that I sure miss the days of making fun of tree huggers when we could still count on the GOP.

These are tough times indeed.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie, and I…along with our friend Carl…are on the road for a few days.

Yesterday morning we pulled out of Fredonia, New York.  We spent the night at Brookside Manor Bed and Breakfast and that was truly a wise move.  There we met our hosts Dale and Andrea.  Here they are pictured with Carrie.

Our accommodations were first rate and the breakfast was out of this world good.  Fresh bread.  Fresh Fruit.  An omelet with feta cheese and spinach along side well cooked bacon.  Oh, and I could not forget the homemade sweet roll.  This was a refreshing stop.  We enjoyed every minute.  Our hosts were most gracious.

Our next stop was Niagra Falls, New  York.  That is where we are today.  Yesterday we took in Niagra Falls and took a trip on the iconic Maid of the Mist.  This little boat ride was everything and more than I ever expected.  Honestly, I was skeptical.  I had hear folks talk about it and they said good things.  Some said great things.  I had a hard time believing all of that stuff.

Wrong.  It was all of everything I had ever heard and more.  See for yourself…

A photo from the observation deck.  This is where you, after an elevator trip down, load up to ride the Maid of the Mist.

Carrie and I getting pelted my water and wind.  That is Niagara Falls behind us.

The falls from the boat.

This is a very friendly place.  The folks we have encountered here at Niagara Falls have been quite pleasant.  Folks are quick to say hello.  Folks hold doors open for one another.  This is not Atlantic City.

There is always an Indiana connection wherever we go.

There was another couple staying in at the bed and breakfast in Fredonia, NY.  The couple was from Brookville, Indiana.  They were quite nice.

As Carrie and I were walking through the Falls State Park today, a gentleman struck up a conversation with us.  He has a cousin in Jasper.  He talked about visiting him and going to eat at jasper’s Schnitzelbank  Restaurant in Jasper.  He also said his cousin was an extra in Huntingburg’s League Stadium when Hollywood was in town to film the movie “A League of Their Own”.  He said Tom Hanks and his wife asked if he could sit and eat lunch with him on the set.  His cousin said Hanks was down to earth.

We also ran into a lady today that had cooked for nuns and priests at St. Meinrad in Ferdinand.  She is moving to Indianapolis when she gets home.

Amazing, isn’t it.

This was this afternoon.

Those large buildings are in Canada, across the Niagara River.

Carrie kicked my butt in a game of connect four.

In the morning we are heading for the Berkshires.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

We made music this weekend…boy did we ever make music.

With Jeff Carpenter on the board, John Burgard on lead guitar, Jason Sturgill on bass, John Hayse on drums and myself playing rhythm guitar and singing the songs…we made some sweet sweet sounds.  I am so very proud of our efforts.  Thanks to all the guys for sounding like we have been playing together for ten years.  In truth, on Saturday, it was the first time this quartet of musicians ever played together and we caught lightning in a bottle.

Ten rhythm tracks recorded in less than four hours.  Amazing.  To those of you at home that means we recorded ten songs…complete songs…with the full compliment of the aforementioned musicians.  We recorded ten songs with ease.  It was amazing and it was thrilling.  The stuff just flowed out like it was looking for a place to call home.  Ten nice songs.  The guys were very complimentary of the tunes and I appreciated that.  I wrote them all.

I suppose my favorite we recorded Saturday is a song called, tentatively, “Why We’re Here”.  It is a tribute to Jeff Carpenter and his work as a great producer of music and the influence he has had on so many lives particularly in the Louisville market.  The man is awesome.

On Saturday we recorded a song call “The Last Bell”.  This tune is a tribute to senior classes that are graduating.  I wrote it in 2010 and sang it at the baccalaureate service at Medora High School every year after until 2015.  That was the last time I sang it at Medora where I worked.  This year I sang it at graduation practice at North Harrison where I am a guidance counselor.  I also graduated from the school thirty years ago.  That last bell rang a long long time ago.

Saturday was pure musical magic.  It was like our feet never hit the ground.

Then came Sunday.

Every thing Saturday was…Sunday was not.  And know that I blame myself and only me.

I have said it before and I say it freely.  I am blessed that I have the ability to sit down and write a song in twenty minutes and have a ball playing it fifteen years later.  That is twenty minutes of pure joy that can still find its way in the world so many years on.  What I am not…is a great musician.  My playing ability is limited and the ones I find myself in the studio playing with are virtuoso performers.    The first of 6 songs we recorded on Sunday came and went with a solid effort.  It did not feel great but I was not displeased.  I did think we were not going to get it better.  Then…a song came into play and it was a root canal.  I just could not get it right.  I could not get the feel.  I could not get some of the chord structure or the verse/chorus order straight.  The more this went on, the more frustrated I got.  And I felt bad for the other guys.  I was holding up progress.  We worked on one three and half minute song at least an hour and fifteen minutes.  It was painful.

My problem?  We were re-recording songs we recorded in 2012.  We wanted to make them sound better.  The problem was I have my mind set and fixed on the 2012 recording.  The other guys in the room did not have that point of reference.  I was not duplicating what I had in my head and I was not handling it well.  We gave it our best effort.  Eventually we did pick up steam and make more progress…but I was still stuck in the mud of that one song.

Another problem…time is money.  Recording is not a cheap proposition.  We don’t have an unlimited budget.  I don’t have a record contract.  I don’t have a label.  I am the label.  A cheap label.

We recorded six songs on Sunday.  I am not ashamed on any of them.  Only one I know for sure won’t see the light of day.  We did it right the first time in 2012 and I don’t have it in me to get it better.  It already is.  Neither do I expect the last song we recorded to see the light of day.  We did a version of The Moody Blues’ “Nights in White Satin”.  It was fun and I don’t think we did a bad job.  I liked it.

Saturday and Sunday were both good days.  Saturday, however, was great.  If you can get a ten song day under your belt, you have done something.  And we did.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

This afternoon I spent some time with an old friend.  His name is John Burgard.  His guitar knows many names…awesome, tearing it up, bender of strings, sheller of corn.  As great a guitar player as John is, he is just as great of a guy.

With the exception of my dear friend and engineer of music truth, Jeff Carpenter, John is the only other “player” that will contribute to our new recordings that I have shared the new songs with.

I know I wrote the songs.  I get that.  But what I do with them is what I feel I need to do to help them along.  As soon as I play them for someone I expect to get some help making them better, then they are suddenly not just “my” songs anymore.  They belong to the group assembled to make them better.  Me, the other musicians, Jeff Carpenter, and our instruments.  It will be a good time.

Mr. Burgard and I went over the tunes today in his music room at his home.  To hear another guitar, one much more competent and seasoned than mine and really going for it, rolling through tunes I have been playing plainly for months is exhilarating.

Stayed tuned.

Singing the rights.

Danny Johnson

Any graduation is a reason to celebrate.  By informal definition,  graduation means a goal has been achieved.  When I looked at the gym floor at North Harrison High School in Ramsey, Indiana yesterday, I saw a group of youngster graduating and they did indeed achieve a great deal.

I was fortunate enough to work with this lot this past school year.  They were very kind to their new guidance counselor…a guy that knew a scant fraction about the school compared to what these seasoned veterans of the building had figured out in their previous three years inside the place as students.

I have often been asked what has been like to “go back home”, as it were, with my employment at the high school I graduated from thirty years ago.  My answers have been honest and politically correct.  In earnest, I did not come home.  I gave up on that place a long, long time ago.  I was looking for something better than the place I went to school.  I know. I know.  I get it.  The proximity and the familiar faces in  the area and the school colors are the same.  But I work in a different building than the one I went to school in.  I work with different people than the ones I went to school with.  I work in a building that is much more student-centric than the one I attended for sure.  I like that aspect of it.  For the most part, I found what I was looking for.  My higher-ups have been a joy to work with and I appreciate all of their support.   I also feel that I have been able  to do what I set out to do…help students be better people.

The guidance counselor I had thirty years ago was great with a pie-chart and a statistic.  What I could not have with this person was a decent conversation.  I could not relate to this person and this person did not seem interested in relating to me.  It just wasn’t their way.  I’m not saying they were a bad person.  I am saying I could probably get more out of an orange peel.

Don’t get me wrong.  You better know some of the teachers I had in high school had a most profound affect on me in the positive extremist.  They were good for me.  They were good for many of us.  I am indebted to them.  I can give you first hand accounts of that.  I have done so on the pages of speaktherights.com.

What has changed the most I suppose is me.  I am much more serious these days.  That is not always a bad thing.  I still like to have fun.  I still go around sounding off one-liners and funny sayings.  I just know it was part comical-part silliness-and part lack of institutional control that thirty years ago when I was announced to receive my diploma during commencement  Mick Rutherford declared me as “Daniel W. Johnson I”…as in Daniel W. Johnson…the first.  For a short while I had a habit of signing papers that way.  It was a phase that did not last.  It did make its way into the gym on May 18, 1986 that graduation day thirty years ago.  And yes, now and again, a friend or two will snicker and ask how Daniel W. Johnson I is?  I get it.  And I sure don’t regret it.

To the Class of 2016…I say thank you.  I regret that I do not know this bunch any better than I do.  Time was not on our side.  This group has great things ahead of them.  They are capable.  They will need to be patient.  In twenty years they will be cleaning up a great many messes that are ahead of us, thanks to a current place in time that is not as kind as they are.  I am counting on them to make things better.  I think they will.

The gym I graduated in?  I took this photo on May 18, 2016….30 years later.

The gym the Class of 2016 graduated in…

1986 diploma…

2016 diploma…

I think the next time I run into an old friend I haven’t seen in a while and I am asked that old question, ” How does it feel to be back home?”  I think I am going to tell them I did not come back home… but I am finding one.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

We are fortunate that we have what we refer to as “central-air” in our house.  I need it.  My lungs don’t always cooperate and the flow of fresh air is very good for them.  I wish it were not that way.  But I am not going to complain when I have fresh air at the push of a button on a gadget that it mounted to the wall in a hallway of our house.  I would say I am a very fortunate man.

Right now I am on the porch listening to the hum of an outside air conditioning “unit”.  That thing must be one of the toughest pieces of equipment ever made.  How many times that fan goes around….I will never know.  I am just thankful it is there.

In the house I spent the majority of my childhood within in Brownstown, Indiana, we did not have air-conditioning.  But don’t feel bad.  We had some marvelous shade trees.  And…know that we lived on the east side end of town.  The last proper street on the east end of town…Jackson Street.  204 S. Jackson Street to be specific.  The rest of the of town rose uphill from where we were.  Translation?  The sun set very early in our backyard.  On the west side of town, the sun hung up there and baked for a long while after we were already enjoying the cool afternoon/evening breezes of our shade trees.  It was a great place to be.

No…we didn’t have air-conditioning.  I really didn’t think that much of it.  We had the sounds that only a house full of open windows can bring forth.  They are sounds I cherish to this day.  Two blocks up the first hill was the town’s main street.  On it was the county seat of Jackson County and the courthouse.  There was…and still is a bell that rings at the top of the courthouse every hour on the hour.  We knew what time it was as we were playing baseball in the yard.   If my friend needed to be home at 4 and we just heard three CLANGS of the courthouse clock, we knew we had better make the most of the next hour.

On the really hottest of the hot days then, I remember walking into to icebox that was the JC Penney store in Seymour.  My folks did a bit of shopping there.  I don’t know if it is still in business out at the “Jackson Park Shopping Center” on the west side of Seymour, Indiana.  I suppose it is still there.  But oh how I remember it was so cold in that place on a hot summer day.  No-matter how hot it was, or how cold the JC Penney Store was, on the way home we would stop at the little ice cream stand near the east end of Seymour on 2nd or 3rd Street?  Kovener’s Korner.  I just looked it up.  It is on 2nd Street…and yes it is still in business.  You should go.

This ice cream establishment is where I acquired my affinity for chocolate chip ice cream.  I couldn’t tell you when and why I ordered it.  I do remember that is where I had my first scoop of chocolate chip ice cream and when my dear wife, Carrie, and I go to the Massachusetts, Vermont, or New Hampshire to a Friendly’s Ice Cream joint, I always order chocolate chip ice cream and I always think about Kovener’s Korner.

This place opened in 1949.

I may have been five when I ate that first chocolate chip cone…

I don’t know when Friendly’s opened…but I am glad it did.

A chocolate chip cone in Bennington, Vermont.

Stay cool this summer.  Eat some ice cream!

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie and I witnessed some extraordinary history this past weekend.  A drive to Dayton, Ohio was where we found inspiration, sadness, joy, awe, and thanksgiving.

On Friday night we attended a concert by American Rock and Roll icon John Fogerty.  Though I have been well acquainted with his work, and have admired it for some time, this was the first time time I have ever heard John Fogerty play live. He played at The Rose Music Center, an outdoor venue under cover that seats about 4200.  If you are not sure who John Fogerty is, he wrote and sang the hits for a band called Creedence Clearwater Revival in the late 60s and early 70s.  Fogerty was the backbone, as well as most of the other bones of the band.  His songs are timeless classics.

The photo above was the best we could do.  The lighting was terrible.  To his credit, the stage was a stripped down presentation.  A black curtain was behind them.  The lighting was modest. By the way, that is Kenny Arnoff playing drums.  It was all about rock and roll.  And the songs?

To name a few:

Proud Mary, Have You Ever Seen the Rain?,  Centerfield,  Lookin’ Out My Back Door, Fortunate Son, Down on the Corner, Who’ll Stop the Rain?,  I Heard it Through the Grapevine, Lodi, all the great songs that used to be on a commercial when I was kid…and more.  It was like listening to a wing of the best American Music Museum you could dream up.

Wile I have had Fogerty and Creedence on my music shelf for years, this was the first time I ever heard the man live.  Over Spring Break I read his autobiography, Fortunate Son, in between wistful stares at the Atlantic Ocean.

The best thing I can say about this show was that at age 71, John Fogerty sounds great and his guitar playing was a stunner.  I have never seen a player his age with as much vitality on stage.  He was all over the place.  It was loud.  It was fun.  He told stories.  He seemed to be glad to be there.  It was one of the best shows I have ever seen.  The simplicity of the show was certainly an exhibit of less is more.

On Saturday, at the behest of my Dad, Carrie and I visited the National Museum of the United States Air Force at Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton.  Carrie and I are both still talking about the sights and sounds and nuggets of history the rest of the world will never know about and should, with regard to so many of the brave men and women whose stories we learned of.  I want to go back.  I will share with you some photos from the museum.

This plane dropped an atomic bomb over Japan.

I had heard of The Flying Dutchman.  I read her story and the story of her crew.  It will haunt me for a very long time.  This is a piece of the aircraft.  It will haunt me for some time, I am sure.

Below is the picture that is referenced above…

The bust of Hitler’s head is next to the eagle.

Just an amazing display of birds.

A piece of the fallen Berlin Wall.

This museum is a destination I recommend to anyone.  There is no admission charge to visit.  It is here for us to learn from.  I certainly did.  My respect-a-meter for military personnel …already high…found a higher reading yet after visiting this place.  And we will be back.  We spent four hours looking and we did not see it all.  A new hanger is to open in June.  It will feature presidential planes and space travel.  So yes, we will be back.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson