A Song for Danny

In these days of state sponsored and induced paranoia, when a mentally ill person who tries to burn his shoe with a lighter on an airplane can cause people to willingly allow themselves to be basically strip-searched in public, or when over-protective parents fearing cuts and bruises on their unfortunately mundane, ununique children can cause playgrounds to be made out of rubber and plastic, all by threat of lawsuit,  Danny Boy Falla threw himself headlong and recklessly into adventure.   He rejected the sickness gripping our social order and paid the price.  He was clobbered by cops for protesting everything from illegal wars to the sacrilegious expansion of Highway 55.  He gave away or let get lost any material possession that came his way.  And he drank way too much because, for one thing, he couldn't stand the conformity, mediocrity, and unvalued creativity he saw from day to day.  He told me this.  He told me a lot of things.  Above all he wanted to be free which meant living and dying as he did, without compromise.  And he was free; he always will be. He traveled from coast to coast and all points in between by freight train, and that's how he died, on a train headed west.  He will be missed constantly.  His spirit and memory will always be alive.  There will be songs, stories, and poems.  Ending is always beginning.

Danny and dad
Danny at bridge
well car