We had a rooster. It was white.
Most of my background is white except for my first job working with grandma in the Salvation Army Store on Union Avenue. I hung clothes and pushed a broom across the wooden plank floors.
I was paid in comic books, marbles and hugs. I still have the marbles in a glass ball jar.
On sunny afternoons in fall, anticipating the World Series, I played a lot of “catch” with Eldon White too on 90th. I still remember his dad laughing when I went up to the family house and realized all of Eldon’s relatives were not white either. I hadn’t thought about that.
Grandma’s gardener Noel explained his pink palms to me also, but noted that it was insignificant as a topic. Nobody should care he offered wisely. So I didn’t.
Dad gave the rooster to a guy he knew who ran the pony rental on Rocky Butte. I rode one of his horses and hated it. Right before I got up on that dumb ass horse, dad’s friend had spit some tobacco out and part of it got on my shoe. I was aghast but dad’s friend laughed.
We came back two weeks later to visit my rooster but one of his damn horses had stomped it he said. I figured he ate it but what did I really know about roosters?
I met lots of the blues players in the way back. It was a heady time.
I was thinking about the time I sat with John Lee Hooker in a darkened room where we drank beer and talked.
I surfed the net a moment and found this. Great basic blues players when they were younger and lesser known but this retains the spirit. It gets there around 5:30 into the video: