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Guitar, Harmonica, Trumpet, Mandolin, Banjo and a raft of African Finger Pianos: Kalimba, Sansa, Mbuti, Mbira, Morimbula, and Rhumba Box.
 


Story Board


I HATE TO IRON

Some weird people love to iron. I hate to iron. I refused to even own an iron until my kids got into high school and didn’t care for the wrinkled look that the “no iron” fabrics left. They got an iron and an ironing board from a second hand store and asked me to show them how to iron. It figures.

I learned how to iron when I was nine or ten. I started on pillowcases and sheets (yes folks used to iron sheets)! I was chastised if there was as much as a crinkle. The tiniest fold was sponged or sprinkled with water and I was told to iron it again.

Then I graduated to my stepfather’s factory work uniforms. Did you know that people who worked in factories used to wear ironed uniforms? When I was sufficiently adept at work clothes I was graduated to white starched shirts. By Jr. High school I could have worked for a laundry.

In ninth grade when, all the girls were required to take Home Ec which taught us to sew and cook, both of which I was already as good at as I was at ironing. First we had to make a “Little House on the Prairie” type apron which had a bib in front like overalls do and wrapped half way around ones waist. I don’t think I ever wore it.

Our next project was a skirt and I figured I would make a gathered skirt because there was very little sewing and no fitting to do and the hardest thing would be the zipper.

We were warned to pre-shrink our fabric and iron it before we brought it to school. I picked a light blue denim and put it carefully in our washing machine even though my mother (a professional seamstress at the time) said it was silly to pre-shrink a pre-shrunk fabric. I explained that our teacher was a stickler for obeying her orders and if she said pre-shrink it, I was going to pre-shrink it. I took it out of the washing machine and meticulously ironed it dry being carefully not to make any “cat’s eyes” as those little folds in ironing were sometimes called. I folded up my material and took it to school the next day in the bag I had purchased it in so it would not get dirty or wrinkled.

I pulled the three yards of denim out of the bag and started to lay it out on the table so that I could cut off the waist band when Miss Miller grabbed my material from my hands and snarled, “I told you to pre-shrink that material!”

“I did!” I protested.

“Don’t lie to me!” she stormed. “I can tell that this material has never been washed and ironed!” Then she marched over to the sink and threw my material in and turned on the hot water.

I was in shock for about thirty seconds and then I ran from the room and fairly flew downtown to the store where my mother worked. I was blubbering so hard by the time I arrived that she could not even understand what I was trying to say at first. When she finally got the message, she excused herself from her job and took me back to the school to the principal’s office where she explained the situation.

The three of us went to the Home Ec room and confronted Miss Miller. My mother explained very politely that I had indeed washed that denim material, staying up late the night before to iron it dry. Miss Miller was obliged to apologize to me in front of the whole class.

I didn’t think that was sufficient. I thought SHE should have been the one who had to iron those three yards of material she had unnecessarily wrinkled and soaked in hot water, but I was the one who had to do it.

Even that incident, traumatic as it was, didn’t cure of me ironing. I was married and the mother of two adorable little girls and was still washing and ironing even though I worked full time and was going to school part time. Sometimes I got a little behind in the ironing and would pull clothes out of the clothes basket early in the morning, sprinkle them down and iron them for my little ones to wear to pre-school, my husband to wear to school and me to wear to work.

My aunt who lived in a different state had given us two matching dresses for our girls and they looked so adorable in them, but the dresses had ruffles upon ruffles and required every ounce of my expertise to iron. We went to visit the relatives one summer and I did not bring the dresses.

My aunt said, “Where are those pretty dresses I gave the girls?”

“At home,” I replied.

“I’ll bet they are balled up in your laundry basket unironed!” she sneered.

“You are correct,” I answered. “And if you ever want to see them in any clothes you give them, you had better make them wash and wear because when I get home, I am going to give my iron and my ironing board and every article of clothing that requires ironing to the Goodwill and I will never iron again!”

And I did, and I haven’t!


The Bayou Comes To Topanga

To: Lee Michaelson, Editor, The Topanga Messenger From: Adrian Wright Subject: The Louisiana Evacuee Restoration Tour

Topanga's creativity was bursting out all over on the perfect fall weekend of October 20th! Abuelitas hosted, not one, but three concerts throughout the weekend, TCEP's Pirate Extravaganza transformed the Top of Topanga Clubhouse into Caribbean paradise, and family World Music concert at the Theatricum Botanicum brought out droves of families in their summer hats. But the Louisiana Evacuee Restoration Tour, featuring my folks, David and Roselyn, during Sunday brunch on Abuelitas' patio, was truly unique. With silver vases filled with roses and lavender, candles flickering in the shade in honor of the voodoo queen, Marie Leveaux, and the plaintive wail of David's antique gold plated trumpet, you could almost hear the sounds of a New Orleans second line Krewe marching someone's soul on home.

David Leonard and Roselyn Lionhart, a New Orleans folk and blues duo, together since 1959, embarked on their "Louisiana Evacuee Restoration Tour" a year ago, after their home was badly damaged during Hurricane Katrina, to raise money for themselves and three charities they are contributing to. They knew they were going to be unable to live and work in New Orleans for many months (their house is still not livable), and needed to raise money to live and to fix up their home. "We knew there were people worse off than ourselves," said Roselyn, "so many New Orleans musicians never leave town, or even have the means to, and our government seems completely incapable of meeting the needs, so we decided to do our part by helping three charities that have a long history of helping local musicians." Lee Michaelson, the Topanga Messenger editor, said "it's important to keep attention on this. My folks live in Mississippi, and lost everything, so I can really empathize."

The music moved from the French Quarter, to the backwoods delta, from Depression era songs, to the civil rights songs of the '60s. Their music encompasses the sounds of folk, rhythm and blues, rock and roll, gospel and country, Cajun, Zydeco, Creole, jazz, gospel, and blues style rap! "It's New Orleans Style music" said Roselyn. "Its songs of protest, sadness, celebration, and survival! And we are going to survive! And New Orleans is going to survive, even if we have to do it by ourselves. Of course, we hope we won't have to. Make Levees, not war!" She then led the crowd in repeating a memory chant, urging everyone to write their political leaders and tell them "we want the levees 30 feet high, 30 feet deep, and 50 feet wide, and built by the Dutch!" to much applause.

Several Topangans in the crowd marveled at the musicians multiple instrumentalism. A companion of Elizabeth George's said "its unusual to find a guitarist who can play the trumpet so well," whereupon Elizabeth promptly retorted: "Fred Tackett!" Roselyn's big, soulful, gospel voice, and David's mellow, dustbowl drawl lent perfect harmonies to their instrumental duet of guitar and banjo or guitar and mandolin; David's horn and his wailing Lee Oskar Harmonicas (the ones he prefers), Roselyn's glistening steel Mandolin, and her raft of African Finger Pianos: Kalimba, Sansa, Mbuti, Mbira, Morimbula, and Jamaican Rhumba Box.

Both singers welcomed the audience in, engaging them with entreaty, croons, whispers, hollers, story songs, slow ballads and rousing, foot stomping songs of celebration. I was moved, as always, by my father's gentle rendition of the sweet ballad "Love Children" which he wrote for me in Detroit, when I was no more than 6, about children making do with whatever they have: "Love Children on a city street, street corner jungle gyms, fireplugs for rockets, alleys for playgrounds, fences for climbing, see them cut the corner, running down the street!"

David and Roselyn, who were featured in PBS' "River of Song" documentary and book, have circled the country a few times on their tour, and spent a month touring France last December. They have given 40% of their donations, and $5.00 for every $20. CD sale to three charities: the New Orleans Musicians Clinic (www.neworleansmusiciansclinic.org), Preservation Hall's Musicians' Hurricane Relief Fund (www.preservationhall.com), and Tipitina's Foundation (www.tipitinasfoundation.org), which provides free office services for musicians and is helping them get housing and replace instruments. Adam and Debra Silbar, the gracious owners of Abuelitas, generously provided their patio for the concert. "Adam and Debra are just wonderful. We played a gig here a few of years ago, and had a fantastic time, we told Adrian we couldn't wait to have some more of that yummy Mexican food!" said David.

They have raised several thousand dollars for each charity over the last year, and have made it possible to proceed with some of the cleanup work on their house. "Possible, but not probable," quipped David, "seeing as we're hardly in New Orleans to get anything done!" A couple of community groups helped with the cleanup of their home in the Upper 9th Ward last fall and this spring, and they have finally been able to get one of the overwhelmed local contractors to show up and write some bids!

With all of their travels this past year, they made sure to be home for this year's "survivor's" Mardi Gras, marching with their second line Krewe, Mo'Lasses, New Orleans' (mostly) Women's Brass Band. And, as is tradition, they performed with my sister, Arlee Leonard, a New York based, world traveling, jazz singer/songwriter, at a markedly different Jazz Fest, that saw an upsurge in big name talent, as stars and street performers alike sought to bring money, tourists, and spirit back to the Crescent City.

David and Roselyn lived in Topanga in the'70s, leaving for the south after their rented Fernwood house sold a few months after the birth of my brother, David Stormborn "Stormy" Leonard, born at the height of the '80 storm! In true Blues fashion, Roselyn frequently paused in the middle of a song or tuning, to tell a story: "if you are going to show up in the middle the night, during a 150 year storm, with the water out, all three roads out, and the electricity out, you're gonna' get the name Stormborn!" David added in "we had to leave California because every time we were in the state, we had more kids!"

My older sister and I were born in the Bay area when my dad attended Berkeley (looong ago), and the two youngest were born at home, in Topanga! Local Topangan, Gail McTune, a longtime friend of theirs, was present at both births. She rushed breathlessly into Abuelitas, just after the concert, fearful that she'd missed them altogether, and shared a long ramble and reminiscence with David and Roselyn, and Makita Groves, a friend from the duo's Detroit years, in the late '60s and early '70s! Makita lives in Woodland Hills, and said "I wouldn't have missed this for the world! It doesn't feel like Topanga, today, it feels just like the French Quarter."

~Adrian Wright is all that David and Roselyn left behind, when they left Topanga for New Orleans, although they tried to leave their dog, Dolt. For more information about David and Roselyn, please see their website at www.davidandroselyn.com.




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