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Oooh, It Ain't My Fault!!!


It Ain't My Fault!!


   I first met Smokey Johnson when I was doing my work hours for my home in the Musicians Village. I didn't know who he was, but something told me that I had to get to know him. One of those cats who you know is real hip, but you don't know how hip they are until you talk to 'em. Even though he was in a wheelchair, he still had a certain vibrance, an energy that could only be given off by people who are happy with living. It's funny but interesting when I think about how he would hand people tools (he wanted to do something useful) and setup conversations with the volunteers. He would light up people's days with his jokes.


   In the village, we called him the sheriff. He would roll up and down the block, giving the local news and cracking dirty jokes. I used to love to sit and watch his interactions with Bob French thinking to myself, "that's what I wanna do when I get that age." LOL After Bob died, he would come down the street to holler at Mr. Red Morgan, who stayed on my block. Red didn't have a ramp at his house, so he have to holler Red's name from outside if nobody was around. All I'd hear was, "Reeeeddddd!!! Reeeeedddd!!" After I'd get my laugh, I would come outside and ring Red's doorbell for him. Red would come out and they would talk for hours. Sometimes I would go out and listen to them talk. Always take time to listen to the elders. They'll impart so much wisdom.


   Rest In Paradise Mr Smokey! Go head and join that sanctuary band! Lay that eternal groove elder!


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