Diamond in the Rough

 

 

A Diamond In The Rough

In 1902, construction on The Home For Friendless Children was completed in the Highbridge neighborhood of the Bronx. The American Female Guardian Society erected this huge and beautiful Beaux-Arts styled building to house and care for abandoned and abused children. This facility was one of the, if not the, most advanced residences built specifically for children in need in America. Woodycrest accommodated 120 children with five dormitories, a hospital, a kindergarten, a chapel, a dining room, a gymnasium, an indoor swimming pool, and a quarantine ward for new arrivals. 

 

Architect William B. Tuthill skillfully designed the structure to appear to be a mansion and not an institution. Mr. Tuthill was a renowned and often sought-after architect. He designed the world-famous Carnegie Hall so his work commanded high fees. In spite of the cost, the American Female Guardian Society insisted children in need grow up in a beautiful and safe environment. Sadly, many orphanages were in decline and unsafe as the bigger and older kids preyed on younger and smaller children. The mortality rates in these institutions were not much better than on the streets. Woodycrest was a safe environment to learn and build a new life for ones’ self. It was a true diamond in the rough!

 

I've written about the following drama before in my book "Three Dog Nightmare" and again in a story on my blog entitled "Twins Forever" ; however, as I find myself closer to the end than the beginning of my blessed and magical life, more has been revealed. I'm now able to contribute some context to this tired old tale with some new relevant information on the most devastating time in my life. 

 

Alone

Normally, my day began awakening to an empty apartment. We lived in 4F at 1051 Sherman Avenue in the Bronx. My mother had already left for work and my twin sister, Nancy, was off to school. People were banging on the radiator with hammers and other objects in hopes of waking the super (superintendent of the building.) Others were yelling, “Put some coal on the fire you lazy bum!”

 

Cereal was usually available for breakfast; however, having on a few occasions eaten cockroaches living in the Raisin Bran, I left for school without eating anything. My mother always left me lunch money.

 

By the age of six, I stopped attending school to avoid the gut-wrenching anxiety, fear, and shame I endured attending class. It had become unbearable to continue being the stupid kid, the joke, the victim. At the time, I didn't understand why I was confused simply trying to tie my shoes and why I couldn't read like my sister, Nancy, and other classmates. I couldn't spell but a few words and barely understood math. Everything seemed upside down, inside out, and backwards.

 

A teacher is someone you respect and desire their approval. One day, in hopes of achieving that goal, I excitedly approached Mrs. Kraft’s desk at PS 90 Elementary School to inform her that I had won a medal at the school track meet. I was not prepared for what followed for it was the first time I was knowingly discarded and unwanted by someone. An adult, a teacher nonetheless, had given up on a six-year-old child seeing no worth in me. She looked down on me smiling with an indifference, with a meanness I couldn't understand, and said, "Well, at least you can do something Charles."

 

The day I decided I could no longer handle the stress of the third grade came after I misspelled a word in a class spelling bee causing my group to be eliminated. Thankfully, it was time for recess and fun in the schoolyard. One of the boys in my class had a handicap. He had one arm bent and shorter than the other. Two boys began making fun of him and I automatically reacted and stopped them. After they left, I asked him if he was alright. Instead of replying to me, he turned to his friend and stated, "This is the kid I told you can't even spell yes." Shame and hurt rushed through me followed by anger and the desire to hurt that boy. Instead, I left the school and didn't return for the better part of two years.

 

Being alone suited me. I thrived on the solitude and anonymity on the streets. The sounds of the city were like music to me and I was comforted by its rhythm. I wandered in and out of different neighborhoods inhabited by people of all colors, nationalities, and speaking many different languages. I sometimes walked for hours stopping to watch older boys and grownups playing handball, cards, craps, or bocce ball. What really lit me up was watching the fierce competition on the basketball court and baseball fields, not to mention the magical sound of Doo Wop echoing through the allies, hallways, subway stations, and street corners of this fantastic borough of New York. I truly can't remember ever being stopped by the police or even any adults asking what I was doing alone on the street and not in school. 

 

Street Craps

One day I stopped by a crowd of people watching several men playing what I found out later was street craps. Colorful language and loud aggressive voices seemed to endlessly bounce off the walls of the buildings. The shooter—the player rolling the dice—was aggressively shaking the dice in his hand and talking a lot, but I really didn't understand him.

 

When he finally bent over and rolled the dice, another die fell out of his pocket onto the ground. This initiated a frightening silence that lasted just seconds before an explosion of ugliness and violence began. This was the first time I witnessed a knife being pulled on someone. I ran away and didn't look back.

 

One morning during school hours, I noticed a friend’s mother across the street at a 

market. I was paranoid she had spotted me and would inform my mother. Now, the stress of being found out was becoming as stressful as attending school. Each day, the pressure mounted wondering if the school had contacted my mother again or if I'd been exposed by a neighbor. That's when I decided not to leave our apartment at all and remained there until school was let out at 3 PM.

 

The school periodically informed my mother of my truancy and she had to meet with the principal on a few occasions; however, she was more upset about missing work than my truancy and learning difficulties. It was confusing to me not being hit and yelled at, but my mother did possess the ability to wait before dispensing her justice—her form of psychological torture. The root causes of my truancy, my fear, and anxiety due to my learning disability were never addressed. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had already begun looking into a resolution to my truancy and a punishment—her retribution for disrupting her life. 

 

I was unaware of my ability to separate, compartmentalize, and move forward from one situation to another without carrying baggage from the previous circumstances, but it served me well. I was grateful to receive happiness wherever and whenever I found it. I believed, and always had faith, that a higher power watched after me—God!

 

I learned how to comfort myself with sports, neighborhood friends, and girls! 

 

My first validation came from a girl and I continued 

to enjoy the friendship of those who thought I was special. 

Girls are the best!

 

Most evenings around 6 PM my mother made the walk from the subway station to our apartment bringing her past the schoolyard I played in. She would yell out, “Charlie, be home in half an hour,” or, “Charlie, come home now!” It wouldn't be long now before I found out my fate. I might be verbally attacked, hit and told to get the belt, or nothing would be said if she hadn't been contacted. My mother rarely, if ever, spoke to us on an emotional level. If I was upset, scared, or hurt, I cried alone in the kitchen until my sister came to comfort me.

 

Some evenings, Nancy and I went to bed before mom got home, but it wasn't a big deal for we never had a children's book read to us before bed nor were we kissed goodnight. Going to bed alone was our normal. I wasn't aware that most parents spent time with their children at bedtime until some years later when we had a TV and I witnessed this special time between parents and their children on the television. I won't say we weren't loved, but somewhere in between.

 

One evening, my mother informed Nancy and I we were going out. It was exciting to have an excursion at night. No explanation or destination was given, but nevertheless, it was thrilling that all of us were going out together. Unbeknownst to me, my sister had been briefed and prepared well in advance for what was to follow concerning our destination and our future for the coming years. Nancy was told not to let me know and I wouldn't be made aware of this secret for decades. 

 

We left the apartment and walked a few blocks to the Grand Concourse, a main thoroughfare in the Bronx. We began running and laughing as we tried to wave down a taxicab. Little did I know that we were heading to Woodycrest.

 

 

 

Years later, when I did learn the facts of that memorable night, I asked Nancy if she could forgive me for putting her through that dreadful experience. Her reply was unexpected and comforting. Nancy told me she really liked it there. It was nice not being alone anymore and having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with the girls in her dorm. She felt safe at Woodycrest and informed me that, at times, she was scared being alone in our apartment at night when mom hadn't come home and I was still in the schoolyard playing ball.

 

Perception Is Reality 

Woodycrest was no longer the gem it was almost 50 years ago, but it remained one of the best facilities of its kind. Being only eight-years-old and 3' 9", this huge building with its dramatic entryway was frightening and overwhelming. At this point, I didn't know why we were even there. 

 

This is where my penance came due, where the emotional and psychological corporal punishment would be disbursed. This punishment wouldn't be centered around traditional physical discipline, although that did happen for these wounds would be more permanent. Wounds and scars you couldn't see, but were always there, just below the surface inhibiting the ability to trust, to love, and to feel.

 

The modus operandi—the knockout punch—was, in fact, The Secret. Woodycrest would now be my home forever. It was the ruse that would break me, bringing me to my emotional knees, stripping away any remaining trust I had in people that I hung onto after my father left and didn't return. It changed who I could have been into who I would become. 

 

How is it possible for a parent to drop off their child at the 

front door of an orphanage without an explanation, 

a hug, kiss, or comforting word? How?

 

Having seen the confusion and terror on my face, how did my mother not waiver in her resolve? How could she not abandon her desire to punish me and decide to explain the circumstances truthfully? She didn't. I had to be taught a lesson. I had to pay for intruding in her life!

 

With her hand on my back, my mother urged me to go with the lady in charge, but I couldn't move. Mother firmly, but gently, moved me forward repeating for me to go with the lady. The women took my hand and softly explained everything would be fine as we walked towards a grand stairway. I turned back towards my mother, but she was already gone.

 

Spiritual Heads Up

During the process of writing this, I've been physically compromised due to my COPD. For the last month or so, I've been on heavy doses of steroids and antibiotics. More recently, I started nebulizer treatments several times a day. The latter isn't the core of what I want to share with you, but it is a catalyst. I'll explain what happened that guided me to the reality that it is time to stop allowing this part of my life, this resentment, to be responsible for more negative consequences to me and my life! 

 

While quietly sitting in my favorite chair, I experienced a visualization in my mind’s eye. The clarity of the message opened my mind and my heart.

 

You will never remove all the sickness 

from your body and mind until you forgive your mother. 

Forgiveness is the only avenue to your freedom.

 

Forgiveness is the answer to set me free, to unlock the cell I entered willingly by embracing my resentment and bitterness towards my mother. The key resides with my mother and to retrieve it I must forgive her. 

 

Acceptance can be daunting, even nonexistent, if you are lacking in faith and a healthy spiritual connection to a higher power. Accepting that my resentment, well-founded as it might be, has drastically skewed how I see others and how it has negatively affected my mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing are the first steps to surrender and forgiveness.

Dual Personality

 DUAL PERSONALITY,

or simply adapting to social and career environment?

 

My earliest memories of the necessity to adapt to my circumstances was at home with my twin sister, Nancy, and my mother, Elizabeth. Mother wanted calm and quiet for she worked up to three jobs to provide for us. Being thoughtful was a requirement! This was my first of many encounters adjusting to my surroundings to better fit in and thrive. 

 

The process of adapting can be more difficult as you mature, developing into who you ultimately will become and/or whom you perceive you are. That being said, it is not uncommon for introverts to become extroverts at their place of employment and other competitive settings, often without even realizing it! 

 

If you find yourself bored to tears, you might peruse through information regarding the most accepted model on personality and the five basic personality attributes that can define us as individuals. 

 

·      Openness

·      Conscientiousness

·      Extroversion

·      Agreeableness

·      Neuroticism

 

These “Big Five” traits all have a cluster of related traits that shape our emotions and behaviors in a wide variety of situations.

 

In 2014. Deloitte reported that 61% of employees do some form of “covering.” Though it has a negative effect on one's sense of self, it is seen as a necessary evil for career advancement. Employees don't want to hide who they really are, but feel they need to, due to pressures from leadership or company culture.

 

In an attempt to explore a personal belief, that I dramatically refer to as "THE PHENOMENON," I offer this somewhat crude and simplistic comparison of one facet of bipolar behavior as it relates to introversion and extroversion, specifically regarding the extreme differences between the highs and lows of bipolar disorder as well as the divergence of demeanor and conduct by introverts and extroverts.  

• Bipolar disorder is a serious mental health problem that often goes undiagnosed, misdiagnosed and untreated. Untreated bipolar disorder can lead to social, emotional and financial problems as well as substance abuse and suicide! Symptoms include both extremely elevated moods called mania and episodes of depression. For more information, check this article from Healthgrades. 

• “Introversion and extroversion,” according to Dr. Juli Fraga, “are personality characteristics and often influenced by nature and nurture. Because they're widely discussed in business, social, and relationship circles, they're often misconstrued. Extroversion and introversion refer to where people receive energy from. Extroverts are energized by socializing in larger groups of people, having many friends, instead of a few intimate ones while introverts are energized by spending time alone or with a smaller group of friends." 

For my hypothesis, I'm looking at what scenario best fits my multi-tasking subjects, how they best thrive, and what gives them energy.

 

“THE PHENOMENON” previously referred to occurs to those who at some point make either a subliminal or conscious decision to assume dual personalities in order to accommodate the two distinctly different and separate lives they now find themselves living! During these episodes of persona alteration, the time will inevitably come when there are no longer any attempts for balance, nor adaptation from career to family life, for a new, more dynamic, charismatic you is coming to life! A you that is now unwilling to share the spotlight with even the other you!

 

There is usually an imposing "Yin to the Yang," a harsh downside to this social experiment of self-indulgence and deceit. I found it fascinating observing the point when push comes to shove and it’s time to decide what character best suits your family and business associates, for your dual role is beginning to crumble them both!

 

Even more fascinating—many choose the character that least fits them, even though it has kept them in harm’s way with their family and peers, especially if they no longer see the world through sober eyes!  It is my experience most choose “The Extrovert” vis-a-vis the high mania experienced with bipolar disorder.  

 

 

When someone is experiencing the manic highs of bipolar disorder, they feel overly excited and energized. They're unusually friendly, outgoing, and very productive. They generally report feeling incredibly good. During a manic phase, people feel on top of the world, as though they're unstoppable, invincible, and destined for greatness. Unfortunately, they also undergo compulsive behaviors such as binge shopping, excess use of alcohol or drugs, or promiscuous behavior to name a few. 

 

Extroverts exhibit similar behaviors being sociable, talkative, action-oriented, and enthusiastic, but can also be easily distracted unable to be alone, and attention-seeking. Ultimately, are we capable of discerning who we truly are along with what persona most accurately represents us and feels the most natural and comfortable for us to sustain? Or, will we find ourselves swept away with the allure of fantasy and excess? 

 

Possibly even more heart wrenching is having to assume an identity in order to fit in at a mundane, unfulfilling job or relationship.  What is the percentage of people who misrepresent how they think and feel, not only in their career, but in their most intimate relationships?     

 

I found myself searching for the answers to some of these questions once I became a member of Three Dog Night, one of the most prolific and successful bands in Rock & Roll in the late 1960s and throughout much of the 1970s. Even in today’s landscape of successful artists, our achievements more than hold up! 

 

·      60 million records sold

·      7 million-selling singles

·      10 platinum and 14 gold albums

·      18 Top 20 and 21 Top 40 hits in a row

 

You learn a great deal about people you travel with, live amongst, and depend on! In fact, you'll recognize the subtle, sometimes obvious, changes in them long before you're aware of the alterations to your own personality and moral compass. 

 

It was becoming obvious that we all were making subtle adjustments to our image, possibly unbeknownst to us, morphing from one character to another. Accents changed as we traveled from The North to The South and country to country. We were having fun taking in this new adventure—seven musicians, one road manager, and a roadie crisscrossing America! At first, we were in a small, old bus and then in a station wagon. 

 

It's unnatural to be adored, admired, respected, desired by people you have never met for they have no idea who you truly are! They definitely have their own idea of the magical person you are, someone you could never live up to! 

 

The person I was becoming while on the road didn't compliment my life at home. As we toured more, it took time for me to become comfortable again with the slower pace and predictable routine at home. When I began to understand why I was uncomfortable at home, I attempted to mentally prepare for this drastic change and enjoy the time off in between tours.

 

The majority of my life was now spent touring, recording, making TV appearances, and the cornucopia of events made available to successful artists. For the most part, I spent my life in fourth gear and was learning how difficult it would be for me to downshift only to be required to rev it back up whenever necessary. Going home had become a reprieve from my real life, from recording, and from being on the road. Each time, it was taking longer and longer for me to acclimate, slow down, and adjust to the different physical and emotional pace that my family adhered to when I was gone. 

 

As time passed, I realized many of my choices while touring had left me restless, irritable, and discontent when I was separated from them. It was becoming simpler, and preferable, to remain balls to the wall and the object of your affection! 

 

Now, I truly believe we all assume the most affable face we can and adjust to our circumstances when need be—It’s part of life! For the most part, people are kind, adaptable, and have the capacity to find their way through most of what life throws at them. The journey from quiet detachment to jubilance requires little more than a loving glance or thoughtful remark! We are blessed with the capacity to emote as many feelings and display as many personas as necessary for us to feel a part of something, to fulfill our rolls as partner, parent, lover, and business associate while still feeling good about ourselves. 

 

Embracing coveted fantasies of great wealth, celebrity, and romantic conquests on the surface may seem more compelling than Sunday dinner with family and friends, but more often than not, there is nothing more fulfilling and comforting then being loved, accepted, and permitted to be yourself with the most important people in your life…

 

 

…YOUR FAMILY!

 

Folk Law, Fiction, or Fact?

Folk Law, Fiction, or Fact?

Is this a tale, a fantasy concealed in reality, a yarn—not a fable of a family visually able to turn your head around without making a sound? Is this a gift, a curse, or even worse--a joke, a goof, a spoof, or just the truth?

So that you might better understand the nature of this potentially heartbreaking affliction my family has been encumbered with, I have assembled some actual photos of my Negron Family members who suffer this innate infirmity—The Negron Curse!

Top, left to right: Chuck Negron, Sr. (father); Chuck Negron, Jr.; Rene Negron (brother)

Bottom, left to right: Chuck Negron III (son); Conrad Negron (uncle); Ashton Negron (grandson, son of Chuck III)

“Acceptance is the answer to ALL my problems today.

When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation—

some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until

I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way

it is supposed to be at that moment.”*

The Negron family has learned to accept what for most would be seen as a blessing, not something that would encumber you. I might appear disingenuous and narcissistic to address this personal issue as a potential problem; however, The Negron Clan has at times experienced anguish and confusion when dealing with our dilemma… 

TERMINAL GOOD LOOKS!

My Teenage Odyssey

As a middle schooler, a beautiful high school co-ed approached me. She explained she was frightened walking to her apartment alone and asked if I would escort her. Upon arriving at her door, she engaged in conversation and began touching my hair. What kind of a person messes with a boy’s hair? Annoyed, and at a loss for words, I left.

An older boy in the neighborhood, who always hung out on the corner in front of the candy store, called me over and wanted to know how I was able to hook up with an older high school girl. I explained what had happened. He was completely baffled when he realized I was unable to assess the romantic potential of the situation. In fact, I couldn't relate to, nor accept, the concept of this popular girl possibly liking me!

At that point, the conversation got weird and awkward for me. I was a naive boy who was never comfortable with obscenities and vulgarity. In my apartment, you were hit if you used any kind of colorful language. I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment with my mother and twin sister. There was no male influence. My sister and I slept in the same room for 18 years and not once did I even see her in a bra. I was unfamiliar with sexual-related language, let alone actual participation.

He proceeded to say, “If I were you, I'd go home and choke the chicken!” I honestly had no idea what he meant for I had never choked a chicken! When I asked him what he was talking about, he replied. “Charlie, you know, clean your rifle, paint the ceiling, Jack in the beanstalk, and hold the sausage hostage.” I swear I had no idea what he was talking about!

I had to ask what he meant. Although I had heard the word masturbation before, I honestly didn't know its meaning. He explained all the guys were doing it, but the Catholic School boys feared going blind. He warned me it was a sin and might grow hair on my palms. Still, I borrowed a National Geographic Magazine along with a picture of a bra and headed home!

Making Out 101

My interaction with this lovely high school co-ed transformed, after being informed of the romantic possibilities. I still fondly remember our romantic rendezvous and her patient guidance in the hallway of her building on Sherman Avenue in The Bronx.  

I must admit in my teens, hallways became my choice for romantic trysts. I might have been a bit of a hallway slut.

A culture of sexually inquisitive boys and girls existed that I knew nothing about. In the 1950s, parents did not talk about sex with their children so an underbelly of normal and curious teenagers, myself included, had to find out on their own.

The Stud Farm

On September 14, 1972, Rolling Stone stated:

"Three Dog Night looks like an advertisement for a stud farm."

My partners were very flattered, but I felt the statement was meant to minimize our achievements. I resented what I saw as the writer negating our talent and the magnitude of the success we had achieved by focusing on our appearance. The cover story went on to further diminish our artistic excellence by creating the misconception that we were marionettes controlled by management who made all the decisions and had created this mega moneymaking machine of pretty boy toys.

I Digress!

I've always believed most boys and men are pigs concerning their attitude towards girls and women; however, my opinion broadened once I became a successful musician to include a new breed of liberated young ladies. With my first success, I contributed my newfound sexual appeal to the phenomenon of The Negron Curse, but soon came to realize I was just one of many Rock & Rollers being pursued by this brazen group. 

Some of these lovely ladies viewed us as sexual objects. Some wanted souvenirs in the form of plaster casts of our privates. To others, we were a name to add to their list of Rock & Roll conquests. Nevertheless, I loved seeing them at the concerts for they were a barometer of our status and success.

Just over 12 years ago, while cutting fruit, I sliced my finger severing a nerve and causing significant bleeding. At the Emergency Room, I noticed people who came in after me were being seen. When I finally inquired as to why, I was told the older patients and those needing urgent care were seen first. I explained no one talked to me concerning the seriousness of my injury when I checked in so you couldn't possibly be aware of my condition. 

He asked me my name. When I told him, he said we thought Mr. Negron had left when we didn't see him in the waiting room. I explained, “I'm Mr. Negron! I never left.” He sheepishly replied that he had seen me, but dismissed the thought I was the 65-year-old man he was looking for. The curse struck again! I was too svelte, well groomed, and a little too attractive to be cut and bleeding. The dreaded visual evaluation had put me at the end of the line!

I received 10 stitches and was told to stop taking aspirin to lessen the bleeding. I also had severe nerve damage which would need surgery. I never had the time nor inclination for surgery so all these years later, my finger still feels like pins and needles running through it, but I look better than ever! 

  

You Want to What!?!

If you travel by air, you are sadly aware of what a stressful and demanding experience it can be—requiring one surrender after another. You are a powerless lemming controlled by individuals, who at times are lacking in basic common sense! I'm certain these aficionados of security have strict guidelines and protocol they are required to follow, allowing them to only utilize linear thinking when dealing with the old, crippled, and impaired travelers. 

For those who do not know, I travel with oxygen for my COPD.

When I approach a TSA inspection area, I am wearing my oxygen simulator, cannula in nose, and am often in a wheelchair. Even so, the following ensued recently:

TSA: Sir, can you take off the oxygen?   

    

CN: Of course, it's ONLY a fashion statement!  

           

TSA: Will you be wearing it on the flight? 

CN: No! I only utilize it when I'm training for the Ironman Triathlon!

TSA: Can you take off your shoes? 

CN: NO! I can't even put them on! 

TSA: Sir, would you please take off your shoes? 

CN: I'm 77 years old and no longer required to remove my shoes per TSA regulations.  

TSA: You're what?

Ami: He is 77 years old, on oxygen, and in a wheelchair. What's wrong with you? 

TSA: Can I see some ID? (He carded me!)

The next agent was a young man who was seemingly nervous as he began his speech concerning what areas of my body he would be fondling. 

TSA: I'm going to rub your groin and your buttocks area with the backside of my hand, do you mind? 

CN: No, it's the only reason I fly.

TSA: Sir, would you rather do this in private?

CN: Can I trust you?

Ami and I were finally boarding the plane, but then, a Steward, or Air Host, assertively inquired:

Air Host: Does he really need to use the oxygen during the flight? If he does, we will need a prescription from your Doctor, paperwork acknowledging the Federal Aviation Administration approves the oxygen simulator you're using, paperwork from our airline approving the use of your machine on the flight, batteries for eight hours of travel, and I'll also need to be included in your Will!

Ami: The airline hasn't required paperwork for almost three years. We have a sufficient amount of batteries.

Air Host: We'll see about that!

That would be the last time we saw him for once he found out Ami knew more than he did concerning the rules, he managed to avoid us the entire flight. No apology, no assistance, just unprofessional indifference due to the underlying belief that attractive individuals don't need special consideration or assistance so they will NOT get any! Ami and I encounter many of these road blocks every time we fly!

What is more difficult, not getting what you want or accepting what you get?

Beware...Beauty Kills!

Truthfully, acceptance has become a blessing in my life. When I stop fighting everything and everyone, and come to terms with my extraordinary good looks, I immediately realize I have taken a positive step in accepting The Negron Curse! 

How about you? Life is often difficult, full of disappointment and loss. Embracing who we are and how we look is paramount. I learned that rest, exercise, and good diet exacerbate my condition. I found myself staying up for days, not eating, smoking, drinking, and doing drugs in hopes of arresting my condition to no avail! As the years passed. my condition worsened. By age 21, I was a 6'1", 180-pound boy toy, an easy score, and a harlot!

A respected doctor I knew recommended a therapist who might be of assistance to me on my emotional journey. Ultimately, her guidance aided me in understanding we don't always get what we want, but we learn to accept what we have. In time, with therapy, I accepted there was more to me than my good looks. I no longer needed to accommodate all females who made romantic overtures to me. 

My therapist explained that some people view the “Terminally Good Looking” as slow, shallow, and enjoying wonderful lives simply based on how they look. She also felt the correlation between a person’s appearance and how they are treated is detrimental to all concerned. It is possibly an inherent character flaw in many individuals who evaluate others based on appearance, for that often leads to inaccurate or judgmental characterizations of people we otherwise know nothing about. 

She also expanded my limited knowledge of romance by enlightening me on the Kama Sutraand the importance of flexibility. I was informed and she had left the therapeutic community (something about an American Counseling Code of Ethics infraction.) 

 A Cold & Foggy Night 

The National Association of Music Merchants (NAMM) Convention is a huge event held at the Anaheim Convention Center. NAMM is the global crossroads of music, sound, and event technology attended by people from all over the world. 

I agreed to perform on the Yamaha Grand Stage on closing night. Unfortunately, on the night of the concert, I was dealing with the last stages of antibiotics and steroids for my pneumonia. At that time, I wasn't comfortable having the industry and fans know I used oxygen so I didn't bring it to the show. It was a cold and foggy night for an outdoor concert so Ami and I were concerned about getting me on and off the stage and back inside as soon as possible.

To run a show with many established artists, such as Elton John and Stevie Wonder who have appeared at previous NAMM events, takes many people and dedicated volunteers to make it happen. The NAMM convention and concerts last three days. Each day, the glitches and mishaps of the previous day are addressed for an ongoing, problem solving process. 

One issue that I was unaware of was artists had been arriving at the Yamaha Grand Stage later than the production manager felt comfortable with so from that point on, all acts were brought down early. Not a problem on a beautiful California night, but a bad situation for me on a cold, damp, and foggy night. Ami explained our dilemma to an assistant in The Green Room. I needed to remain inside until shortly before I was to perform. When I spoke with her, she subtly implied I might be attempting to receive special treatment and possibly not be sick. She stated, “You look pretty good for someone with pneumonia!” I then said, “That’s because I’m good looking, but I’m still sick with pneumonia!”

When we were told it was time to leave. we were led to a cold tent directly behind the stage. Bill Chapman from Chicago and other artists were there including Floyd Sneed, my dear friend and band mate from Three Dog Night. Ami and I quickly learned our request to remain indoors as long as possible had been ignored. It would be 45 minutes before my stage call, which turned into over an hour in the cold. It was distressing and set in motion some unpleasant events. For the most part, I am a cordial man, but when my health is put in jeopardy, especially at an event in which I'm donating my time in support of the LA music scene and NAMM, I WILL let you know if I'm unhappy! 

It was too far to walk back to The Green Room. Leaving the event was the best option for my health, but I just couldn't do that to my fans so I was stuck! I was angry and fearful. Floyd Sneed kept me engaged as Ami did everything possible to help the situation. By the time I received my stage call, I felt fine and was looking forward to performing.

As I made my way onto the stage, someone grabbed my jacket stopping me in my tracks. A gentleman in his forties, who looked totally out of place, had his hand wrapped around the shoulder portion of my jacket holding it so I couldn't proceed. Even after I laughingly asked him to "Use your words," he just looked at me with my coat held tightly in his hand. My boyish good looks must have disguised a 6'1”, 200-pound, Bronx-trained man who might take issue with being handled! 

I later found out he was a dentist as well as the NAMM volunteer in charge of keeping everyone but artists off the stage. Again, the production manager had been upset by too many individuals not associated with the show being on the stage during previous performances and had sternly requested this volunteer stay on top of it. Instead of finding out what the next artist looked like—utilizing some initiative, common sense, and appropriate behavior, he instead chose to physically stop me from gaining access to the stage area. I must reiterate, it was The Negron Curse coming into play once again. 

The volunteer only knew that one of the members of Three Dog Night would be performing. When I entered the stage, he felt I was too young to have been in a band from the 60s and 70s. Flattering? No! At this point I couldn't care less about anything but getting to the microphone with enough time to catch my breath so this issue remained unresolved. The show went well. The crowd and the band were great. As far as I know, everyone had a good time.

After my performance, Ami and I proceeded to leave the stage area when the volunteer came into view. He wasn’t there to apologize or thank me for my participation at NAMM, but to further stimulate bad will. The reality of the situation is that I am an older gentleman, about 30 years older than this guy, who would hope to be treated appropriately. I am not dead and will not allow aggressive individuals to put their hands on me. 

There was a time when confrontation would have not just been warranted, but also an understandable behavior. Of course, that mentality is passé for now people shoot one another instead. Although I may appear to be posturing and my thinking somewhat archaic, the truth is I'm too old to fight, yet too young to lay down. I found myself walking towards him in hopes of working on his teeth, perhaps a good cleaning, when he mockingly smiled at me initiating the launching of a right cross towards him.

Unbeknownst to me, Ami had picked up on the silent, but aggressive language between us and was moving quickly to intervene. Amazingly, she appeared between us as I was throwing my right hand. Even more fortunate, Ami wasn't hurt as the blow bounced off her shoulder. She then physically moved me away from the altercation! 

I was frightened I had hurt her, but Ami was more upset that I would do something like that in front of my peers at a high-profile industry event. Ami was correct, and a total professional and caring partner. The actual act of fighting is ugly, dangerous, and in this particular instance, could have been harmful to Ami, the dentist, and me by resulting in jail or worse! I was wrong and I will never forget my outrageous behavior nor repeat it again...I'll go with the left hook next time!

Our basic instincts can aid us in a visceral sense when in jeopardy, but these instincts, or survival mechanisms, can be of little aid in a world of people with sharpened social skills to the point of sociopathic-like behavior. The willingness and ability of so many to change their appearance with plastic surgery, Botox, and a cornucopia of beautification procedures make it impossible to obtain an accurate read on many.

An obvious and simplistic fact, "You can't judge a book by its cover," should be adhered to. We need to delve deeper than just what we see for the essence of every human being lives within them!

*Borrowed from “Acceptance Was the Answer” in The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous