I am a blues musician working out of Los Angeles. Like a lot of cats I am just trying to find a place to play and an audience when I get there. Here in Southern California, while there are many places to find a blues jam, it’s difficult for a professional to find steady work.

Even though I love L.A., Chicago fits me like a comfortable old jacket.

Chicago’s blues scene is vibrant and the Windy City is a continuing source of inspiration for me. It is, after all, my hometown.

It was on the Southside of Chicago, while sitting in the back seat of my dad’s Ford Galaxy, I first saw a hand bill nailed to a telephone pole, advertising an upcoming blues show. The exotic names of Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf which appeared on the small advertisements that were everywhere peaked my curiosity as to what these entertainers were all about. It wasn’t long before I started playing the blues myself. I was thirteen years old. By fourteen I had written my first song. Before I turned fifteen I was gone. Our family moved out of the city.

A few weeks ago I returned to my old stomping grounds. The neighborhood on Chicago’s Southside where I grew up is called Jeffery Manor.

A childhood friend of mine from that neighborhood also turned out to be a blues musician. His name is Jeff Stone. He is a righteous and much celebrated harmonica player working out of Dallas these days. We would tell our friends that our neighborhood was named after us. Jeffery Manor is an industrial working class enclave made up primarily of town homes and small duplexes that were originally built to house the workers who labored in the nearby steel mills. The neighborhood was also bordered by a large paint factory, Chicago’s garbage incinerator and the B&O Railroad coupling yard. I know several friends who died of cancer at a relatively young age as a result of this toxic environment. To the kids that grew up there in the 50s and 60s it was paradise! We were raised by all of the adults in the community. Every door was opened to us kids and when uninterrupted by things like school, it seemed like playing with our friends would never end. We felt safe and loved and if something sounded like fun, we did not hesitate to do it. Our parents were unaware of the environmentally dangerous stew in which we lived.

In the 1960’s, America and Chicago would be changed forever by the tragic events that took place during this tumultuous period in our nation’s history. In 1968 just two months before Robert Kennedy was shot and killed, Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated. Jeffery Manor was spared the violence that other neighborhoods in America experienced that spring but we lived very close to areas that were under siege by rioters. Later that summer, just a few miles away in downtown Chicago, national television cameras captured the bloody police riots at the Democratic National Convention. Non-violent, anti-Vietnam war protesters and innocent bystanders chanted, “The whole world is watching.” while being bludgeoned by Mayor Daly’s “finest”. Our neighborhood was undergoing a somewhat less dramatic yet no less profound trauma. Jeffery Manor was in flux. The very disturbing nearby violence tore at the hearts of all who lived in Jeffery Manor but there was something more sinister, lurking in hearts of some of the residents of my old neighborhood. Unscrupulous realtors began to scare some of the folks out of their homes with tales of plummeting real estate values. They preyed on ancient fears and ignorance. These “Block Busters” as they were called ended up carrying the day. The demographic shift that took place in neighborhoods across the country was simply referred to as “white flight”.

Just a few years earlier the first African- American family moved into our neighborhood. The Scott family was not always welcome in what had always been a very diverse neighborhood. We had Polish, Jewish and Irish immigrants and their families living and working in very close proximity to one another. There were Catholic and Protestant churches right alongside Jewish synagogues. Why a black family living in the neighborhood was cause for concern was something a young boy doesn’t understand.

I befriended one of the Scott children with whom I attended Luella Elementary School.. Tearched Scott III went on to became an author and playwright. He still resides in Jeffrey Manor. His family still owns the Great Scott Record Store on 95^th Street, the neighborhood’s main drag,

Through the bond we had with blues music, I remained in touch with Jeff Stone but I hadn’t spoken to Tearched for almost forty years. That changed last year when we reconnected through Facebook. Our suspended friendship continued in person when I stopped by Great Scott Records after a gig I was doing for a Chicago Bulls pre-game show at the United Center.

Tearched and I began a dialogue that included discussions of our own different perspectives on Jeffery Manor and the changes that have taken place there through the years. It was cathartic to discuss what growing up on different sides of the racial divide meant to us. We talked about the turbulent times that helped shape the neighborhood and how Jeffery Manor had turned into a shell of its more vibrant past. Many of the neighborhood’s landmarks are gone. The things that kept us kids busy, outdoors and active are no longer available to the children who live there now. Long gone are the Kiddyland/Fun Town complex that had trampolines and go karts. The bowling alley, the penny candy store and the neighborhood deli are also now just distant memories. These neighborhood institutions were replaced with abandoned, dilapidated buildings and vacant weed strewn lots. It wasn’t long before these enlightening discussions between myself and Tearched began to include Jeff Stone.

The three of us hit on an idea which was to stage an event that would unite former residents with current ones. We wanted to open up this dialogue to more folks and do something positive for the neighborhood.

The local pastor of a Baptist church was contacted as his sanctuary was a logical choice to stage a concert by myself and Jeff Stone. The show was going to be a fundraiser to help build a new community center. A community center meant giving kids in Jeffery Manor the chance to have a life where the neighborhood, both past and present, would represent a positive influence in their young lives.

We ran into one problem. The pastor would not let the sanctuary be used to stage a blues concert. He felt that a place of worship was no place to hear “the Devil's music”.When pointed out to him that the church staged a musical production where Rap music was played, he said that the music was a part of the play itself.

Enter one Tearched Scott III, playwright. He wrote a play entitled “Jeffery Manor: Bring it on Home” which fused the blues music of Jeff Stone and myself into a theatrical production.

The event was held on June 11, 2011. It was a successful first step in bridging a more than 40 year old gap. I could feel the power of hands outstretched in love and understanding.

My Chicago blues weekend however was just beginning. I was off to visit another old friend who also lives on the Southside, David “Honeyboy” Edwards. My friend and inspiration would be 96 years old in a little more than two weeks (June 28^th) and was scheduled to perform at this year’s Chicago Blues Festival. He had to cancel the gig due to health reasons but was kind enough to receive me anyway. We had a wide ranging conversation that evening. Honeyboy has been very supportive of my career. When he tells me he likes my songs or the way I play, I feel like I am beyond criticism. If he understands, then I’ve done something right. This same feeling had come over me before when I was a boy, playing with Lowell Fulson and Pee Wee Crayton.

While the Chicago Blues Festival was in full swing at Grant Park, Jeff Stone and I decided to visit the type of place that has a “blues fest” virtually every night. We checked out a Southside juke joint called, Lee’s Unleaded Blues Club. We ended up hanging out both Friday and Saturday nights. Jeff sat in with the band while I danced. We both had a great time.

Sunday night I sat in with Charlie Love and the Silky Smooth Band at the famous blues club, Kingston Mines. Charlie is a musical genius and stellar showman. The young crowd gave me hope for the future of the blues. Musicians like Honeyboy, Lowell and Pee Wee gave so much of themselves to so many people. They inspired guys like myself, Jeff and Charlie. Knowing these old timers helped pave the way and serve as an inspiration for us to keep playing. We hope that by doing what we do, today’s young people can hear, feel and maybe even play the blues themselves.

While I was on stage at Kingston’s Mines, I saw the big overflow crowd that just got done watching an entire day’s worth of blues at the festival. They couldn’t get enough of the great American music that can bring generations and races together. This diverse crowd was not made up of white and black people but just people having a good time. These folks danced and drank together. Music is a great reminder that our similarities far outweigh any perceived differences or misunderstandings we may have towards one another. The scene took me back to the gathering just a couple of nights before down in Jeffery Manor.

At the end of our show for the community center, Pastor Bradford asked us to make a big circle and hold hands. While he gave a brief benediction, I looked around and saw people joined together with a true sense of unity for their community. People of all ages, walks of life, faiths and ethnicities were pulling together and making one neighborhood a better place to be. It has often been said that blues is a healer. On this day, that was certainly true. It became clear to me we can beat back racial prejudice and class warfare through open discussion and the communal experience of live blues music. I felt honored to be able to help make a better home for some of my sweet home Chicago’s residents.

I’m at a point in my life where I can look back and count my blessings and also see a clearer path to the future. I’ve got to keep playing my music and doing what I do. If I can use my music to bring all kinds of people together to do right together than I know that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing.