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.