So long, T.J. You finally received an all-star send-off.
Two weeks ago, the musical legacy of T.J. Tindall was celebrated in a musical jam in the City of Brotherly Love, most notably by Duke Williams and his life partner Annie. Perhaps now T.J.’s prolific spirit can reverberate across the universe.
While living in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, I covered the music scene for the Bucks County Herald. Until September 2014, I witnessed and reported on triumphs – tragedies, as well – including the Marshall Tucker Band’s headline appearance at the Stockton Inn and the all-star wake for Danny DeGennaro after his senseless murder in December 2011.
Introducing a Rising Star
Jessi Teich brought the crowded room at Jon and Peter’s to its feet.
One highlight during those years was covering T.J. Tindall’s February 2013 concert at Jon and Peter’s in New Hope. He crammed an all-star ensemble inside the historic nightspot and featured a breakout starring role for a chanteuse named Jessi Teich. Her sultry moves and rock-steady vocal solos highlighted the night’s blues repertoire, and raised an appreciative audience’s temperature to long-forgotten heights.
After hearing some of Teich’s cuts from a promotional CD, I learned she was far more than a great voice in a killer body; she is a master musician. Some of her chord changes were inventive and worked so well that I was astounded. No wonder T.J. used his long-awaited appearance to serve as a springboard for Teich’s career. After all, musicians cannot help realizing how timeless great music is.
T.J. left this overrated plane of existence on Jan. 26 after succumbing to a self-imposed, undisclosed ordeal with cancer. Friends and fellow musicians were stricken with grief, and their mournful plaints are understandable. The impresario/musician who entertained countless audiences has a long list of credits detailed on various websites.
Nevertheless, what needs to be said at this dark hour is how to honor T.J.’s passing without tears or gnashing of teeth. I emulate how blues and jazz musicians honor their compatriots in New Orleans.
My Way to Commemorate
I will celebrate T.J.’s musical ear by playing Jessi Teich’s music, because the universe is cyclical. To see what she has been up to, check out her website at www.jessiteich.com. I think T.J. would be pleased. Is it any wonder that the initials of her name – J.T. – reorganize T.J.’s?
With death comes birth, and it’s time to let him go to that parallel primordial ooze where all great musicians jam together. I hope to see him on the other side. Because of T.J. Tindall, a new generation of star-crossed musicians is making Planet Earth a far better place.
All photographs on this post, except for ones in which Alice appears, were taken by Alice McCormick. She’s a real talent, if I say so myself.
I once experienced serendipity in 2000 while driving from San Francisco to Ashland, Oregon. What a treat! Every town where I stopped was hosting its own music festival. That’s serendipitous.
My second encounter? Alice and I were chosen to participate in The Aphasia Network’s Couples Retreat weekend with 11 other couples on the Oregon Coast from March 4th through the 6th. But wait, when did I realize Alice’s 72nd birthday would coincide with the glorious finish of this pilot program?
At the Haven, a signpost leads the way to a beachgoer’s delight.
In a bona-fide camp environment, the roaring ocean only a few hundred yards away provided a healing sound experience.
What a concept.
On Sunday morning, Alice received a slice of birthday cake – only one candle atop representing a life brightly burning – and over 50 staff members and students, plus survivors of aphasia and their respective caregivers, sang out Alice’s praises in the time-honored “Happy Birthday to You” refrain.
The meaning of that emotion-packed morning brought tears to many students’ eyes, and I vowed then to salute The Aphasia Network with this website post for giving my dear one the greatest birthday gift of all: unqualified love.
A little history should add perspective to Alice’s birthday weekend. Immediately after Alice McCormick endured her stroke a year ago (March 11, 2015), one of her children wanted to fly out here and size up the situation. Alice feared such a visit could threaten her independence. And as Alice’s caregiver, I am duty-bound to defend her. She manages me very well, so her wishes become my commands.
Alice and Mason make a recognizable couple.
Many people consider the loss of instant coherent speech to be a sign of incompetency. That’s not true. Yes, aphasia affects the brain, but only the interior pathways. Mature, informed thoughts must blaze new trails to communicate themselves in speech or writing. That’s why Alice’s nonverbal command structure today uses gesture more than ever. Survivors of brain injury must skirt ill-informed behaviors of well-intentioned family members who can turn an agile mind into a vegetable garden.
It’s up to me to keep a protective shield around her. That’s my role as caregiver. (And if there should be any doubt as to how together Alice is, take a careful look at the photos gracing these words of mine. Her talent as a photographer is well on display, with the caveat that students at the Retreat took photos of the two of us together.)
Off to the Coast
After a frenzied bit of packing Friday afternoon, March 4th, I drove the Ford Escape affectionately known as Betsy toward Tillamuck and the rugged Coast beyond. After we turned onto the main Coast throughway, the pavement swept us through an Oregon fishing town perched next to a placid bay. Looking beyond the bay, we could make out ever-building waves of the ocean beyond.
We drove past an inviting lake and my GPS turned us onto an inlet-hugging quiet road toward Edwards Lodge, the assigned gateway where a team of dedicated Aphasia Network professionals welcomed us into a slice of heaven that I now call the Haven.
Tiffany Tu, Alice and Rachael Furtney (from l-r).
As soon as we walked inside, two charming students – Tiffany Tu (occupational) and Rachael Furtney (speech) – enthusiastically introduced themselves. These two bright motivated souls were to be our constant companions and seemingly cater to our every whim. Alice may have required a full-blown stroke to have such dedicated overseers, but never mind. These two women were shining beacons reigning over our newly opened lighthouse of life.
Our first evening was filled with introductions, and we oriented ourselves to the lay of the land. Tiffany and Rachael easily located our assigned sleeping bunks in the Herron House; then we gathered back into a nearby dining hall and met key staff officials.
Savel Sobol kept the audience in laughter with his self-effacing humor.
An entertainment program was led off by Savel Sobol, a student who doubles as a nightclub comedian, whose humor captured the audience’s breathless attention. We caroused some with Professor John White, Ph.D., who led the entire group into a rousing sing-along. As the evening wore on, we acknowledged our gratitude to Aphasia Network team leaders Suzanne Gardner and Lisa Bodry who share camp administrative responsibilities, while continuing to be feted by a potpourri of support personnel who kept the good vibes flowing. We were treated like VIPs.
Our trip to the Coast was accompanied by mostly cloudy skies, and an onimous weather forecast called for stormy conditions. To Alice and me, though, the sound of a confused sea with breakers rolling across the adjacent beach was a seething, soothing series of rolling sound. On my side of the bunk beds, I dropped off quickly.
Mason poses along the shoreline highlighting the true hue of azure.
A New Day Breaks
However, Alice did not fall asleep until late into the night, due to a barely-there mattress, and as daybreak unveiled itself, she was unable to rouse herself into consciousness. I meandered off to the Carrier Dining Hall for a sausage-and-pancake breakfast, confided in Tiffany and Rachael, who instantly, merrily concocted a wake-up invitation of steel-cut oatmeal and black coffee to gently prod Alice back to the land of the living.
To keep at ease, other staff members reassured me that Alice was happily regaining her steadfast form, and soon Tiffany and Rachael escorted a beamingly happy McCormick partner into my Saturday morning. Lo and behold, the sun was shining, and we sneaked off to the beach to view the glorious Coast in its active ebb and flow. We were elated to discover partly sunny skies. Could it be possible a beach bonfire was still on the afternoon menu?
Back at Edwards, Professor White led a frank, no-holds-barred discussion unveiling a myriad of tools and toys to reinvigorate sexual communion between couples. Hoo boy, the couple across from us appeared shocked, and subconsciously the power of erotica was building in my libido. I looked at Alice lasciviously.
Here’s what a hootenanny looks like.
After a back-to-the-basics macaroni-and-cheese lunch, guitars, percussive instruments and voices gave the beach a hootenanny effect, romantically accompanied by a modest bonfire on the beach with only a few nuisance sprinkles of rain to ignore. Yes, it’s true, more than a few random urges of forbidden pleasure were awakened by the female in my life.
Alice was busy making appetizers while other people with aphasia filled bowls with delight.
Everything that passed from then on seemed like a blur. I joined other caregivers in the Smith House to compare lifestyles while Alice was spirited off to join other aphasia sufferers whose task was to prepare appetizers for all to share. Wary of any needless weight gain, I sampled a few, but didn’t fill up.
Do images of the Greek god Hermes come to mind here?
That was wise, because we savored a sumptuous teriyaki chicken dinner at the Sherlock Lodge, while our companion music-makers kept the entire company enthralled.
A night of entertainment had professional quality written over it.
As I said earlier, romance was already in the air, and when we reached our bunk beds, it overflowed. Some mischievous, but sentimental, elves had strewn rose petals (a la the movie “American Beauty”) in and around our sleeping quarters along with a small bottle of champagne. Oh man, was love in the air.
Flower petals and champagne mean “ooo-la-la.”
But a practical look around the confined spaces of our bunk beds sobered up this surfeit of romanticism. If we could twist ourselves around in one particular position, I reasoned, we might be able to enjoy naked pleasures. But at what cost? How would we drive back home if my ardor put us in traction?
Cooler heads prevailed, thank goodness. But on Sunday morning, before we left this Haven, I confessed to all within earshot how susceptible I was to “elves” who inflicted the inspiration of unpracticed acrobatic moves in a noisy enough closed space that certainly would have disturbed other couples in Herron House.
Alice’s Birthday
Sunday morning breakfast did not disappoint. A full serving of bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns preceded Alice’s birthday cake celebration with enough get-well wishes to fill the entire Pacific Ocean. Tears seemed to be participants’ only defense against their earnest hearts.
A verdant forest leads to the beach.
We walked to the beach once again, and admired driftwood brought onshore during high tide. We took one good look before turning our backs on Oregon’s greatest charm to revel more on Alice’s big day.
The high tide after a stormy night litters the beach with driftwood.
Alice’s 72nd birthday proved to be something special we never could have created by ourselves. Our hearts were lifted – and so were our spirits – by a glorious weekend on the Coast, all made possible by the guiding geniuses at The Aphasia Network.
We love what they do, and how they support us. Our weekend was serendipity personified.
Over the last couple of weeks, I added two additional parts of Virgil’s story as chronicled by my mother, Thelma Johnston Loika.
The latest addition to the Loika family, brother Jonathan Virgil Loika, pictured above, would need less wintry gear in the new Florida climate.
Part VI was added two weeks ago; the latest, Part VII, earlier today.
Only one more part of my mom’s chronicle remains, and it ends with a final addition to the Loika family, Robert Christopher. Perhaps he will feel inspired afterward to add his own two cents worth.
On July 1, marijuana became a legal recreational substance in parts of Oregon, and the sky hasn’t fallen in Portland. The city is calm, and drug addicts are not running amuck.
That’s because none of the alarmists’ worries about legal weed drew more than a collective yawn from Portlanders. The only newsworthy observance took place at Portland’s Burnside Bridge as the clock struck midnight on July 1, mainly because the Oregonian newspaper encouraged a crowd of mostly well-behaved people to partake.
Portland is not the city of stoners that out-of-towners might assume it to be. Walking the hip streets at different hours allows plenty of opportunity for Alice and me to witness the sight or scent of wacky tobaccy. In over nine months here, we’ve seen nary a toking soul. Whatever pot use there is occurs in private.
Pot sales still are banned, too, at least for a few months. The only legal way to transfer wacky tobaccy from one person to another is via gift or trade. An enterprising event called Weed the People took advantage of a legal loophole Friday by charging an admission of $40. Once a ticket-holder had entered its small venue, the salivating stoner could walk up to tables and meet enterprising suppliers who gave away samples of their products.
A small area was set up outside to partake, where outsiders were blocked from view. There, fun-seekers sampled newly acquired goodies, easily exceeding a fair-market value of $100. The relatively bargain price of admission and publicity given this quasi-public event encouraged an estimated 2,000 people to jam a modest-sized venue in North Portland. A bond was struck there between sellers and purchasers.
Alice and I did not attend; instead, we were making our presence known inside the four-day Portland Blues Festival in downtown’s Tom McCall Waterfront Park. Blues fans were instructed not to bring marijuana into the park. Nevertheless, I expected to see or smell somebody’s newfound pot-smoking freedom.
But no, not one whiff. No passing around of joints. No smoke wafting from the peanut gallery.
Such a muted celebration typified the crowd response to Gregg Allman’s band on opening night: tepid. Only after a full moon rose through the two decks of the nearby Interstate-5 bridge over the Willamette River did the crowd begin to shed its apathy. Have Portlanders become jaded over the city’s reputed weirdness?
The newfound legalization finally was drummed home to spectators on Friday night. While adding a well-practiced rhythm and blues influence to New Orleans funk band Galactic, Macy Gray sought to wake up the beach-chair crowd with a new song, “Stoned.”
Gray inspired vocal approval, but only after urging members of the audience to raise their hand if they had a good experience from being stoned. About half the audience did so, giving Alice and me – finally – our first tangible evidence that Portlanders embraced the practice.
But Gray seemed annoyed. The folks in attendance had earned this legal freedom by living here. Why were they so blasé on Independence Day eve?
Gray ratified my own observation. Portlanders disdain partaking cannabis publicly. Smoking weed here is entirely a private ritual, and the old days of passing the joint seem destined to go into a time capsule as a throwback to the “good old days.”
Portland stands to benefit mightily from weed’s legalization. The Rose City is the first destination allowing legal marijuana where airline passengers are transported effortlessly between the airport and downtown without ever stepping foot in a rental car. The Max – light-rail transport – is the new-fangled futuristic vehicle to move newcomers around with some of the regular folk.
The only safe, yet legal, way for people visiting Portland who intend to partake in Oregon weed is to avoid driving. You can take the Max (also known as Tri-met) from the airport, but know the Uber scene is all the rage. You can let authorized operators of the economical ride-sharing service follow the rules of the road and give you hands-on treatment.
And know that somewhere, somehow, a group of musically adroit visiting celebrants will pass a joint around in this part of the USA to acknowledge that prosecuting pot smokers is no longer a priority. It goes beyond political correctness; it’s the right thing to do.
A friendly canine is curious about Jon, whom my father is holding. Mason is on their right.
Few photos of my father are in my possession, part of the sad legacy from a brilliant musician who took his life in 1959. I will share more on upcoming pages.
Part 2 of Virgil’s Story now appears on my website. You can read it by clicking on the link here.
The photo above was taken in the 1940s and shows my father, Virgil; brother, Jon (now deceased); mother, Thelma; and myself around a picnic table.
Website goes international
Google Analytics reveals far more people visit this website from Russia than in the United States. Whether it’s because of my surname or whether this site is typical of other blogs, I’m intrigued.
Since my father emigrated to America during World War I, we acknowledge the international acceptance of this website by publishing Thelma Johnston Loika’s (my late mother) account of “Virgil’s Story.”
