Kan Zaman: Judith Mansour’s memoir reflects on her grief, celebrates her Lebanese heritage

CHARLOTTE MORGAN |

“Kan Zaman” is an Arabic for “once upon a time,” or “in another era.” Judith Mansour's love of words, family, and food dominate the pages of her new book “Kan Zaman,” published recently by Crisis Chronicles Press.

Birthed after “a year of hell” following the loss of her niece, father, and brother, the memoir—told in poems and prose—was a labor of love and mourning, and as she describes it, “walks [in] the minefield of grief and nostalgia.”

Judith Mansour with National Beat Poet Laureate John Burroughs, the founding editor and publisher of Crisis Chronicles PressDuring a recent book launch hosted at Beaumont School in Cleveland Heights, where she works as the chief advancement officer, Mansour read passages from “Kan Saman”  before a packed audience in the school’s theater—taking them to a different time through stories about her Lebanese family and their journey to the United States, as well as their traditions.

Mansour has vast experience working in the corporate and non-profit sectors—raising funds for organizations that share her values. However, she also has credentials in the arts and literature worlds.

The former “FreshWater Cleveland” publisher earned her bachelor’s in psychology and English from Ohio Wesleyan University and her master’s in English from Cleveland State University. She was at first reluctant to step out with a collection of her own work because she says she worried how her family would react to personal recollections about growing up in Youngstown amid a large Lebanese family.

“FreshWater” writer Charlotte Morgan sat down with Mansour to learn more about her heritage, her family, her writing path, and, of course, her new book.

So, when did you get started as a writer?
I started writing really when I was just a little girl. I had my first haiku published in the Youngstown [“Vindicator”] Minipage when I was maybe six or seven years old. I studied psychology. Psychology really lent itself to helping me to do these kinds of psychoanalytic studies on the literature that I was reading. So, I did a double major in English and in psych—those two seemed to go hand in hand.

What did you do after college?
Although the first years of my career primarily were spent in mental health and social services, after burning out with that, I transitioned to writing and the arts and historically I've kind of flip-flopped back and forth.

I worked as the editor for the former “Northern Ohio Live Magazine” (an arts and entertainment magazine from 1980 to 2009). I was a writer and editor for the former arts publication “Angle Magazine.” I was hired as the executive director of the Poets and Writers League which we then rebranded into The Lit: Cleveland's Literary Center, which unfortunately closed in 2011 after the housing crisis and recession.

Who were some of your early writing influences?
Some I met in graduate school where I studied for my masters in the [CSU] English program. [Retired creative writing program director] Neal Chandler for sure, [the late creative writing teacher] Sheila Schwartz, and [English department chair] Jeff Karem. Somebody else who really had a deep influence on me as a writer was Ohio Wesleyan undergraduate professor Robert Flanagan.

You talked about a Lebanese writer, Joe Geha who coincidentally contributed the art for the cover of your book. Where did you learn about his work?
It was Flanagan who gave me a book called “Toledo Stories” by Joe Geha and I read those stories about this Lebanese family in Toledo. You know a big extended family where there was a lot of love and a lot of typical family drama. And it resonated so much with me. I was like wow, people actually read this and wanted to read it. It kind of gave me a permission of sorts to think that I could write about my experiences, culture and family. That was the impetus that got me writing some of these essays in workshops when I was in graduate school.

Did you read any other Lebanese or Middle Eastern writers?
My next exposure to anything about Lebanese or Syrian or any kind of Middle Eastern people came many years after graduation. I think it was again through Bob Flanagan who sent me a book called “Food for our Grandmothers.” The editor was Joanna Kadi. It was by Arab American women. There were stories, poetry, plays and essays. In reading those I saw myself for the first time. They were writing about the beauty and insecurity; hatred and bigotry and you know, sisterhood. Everything I had experienced growing up, but I had never really seen or read by other writers of Middle Eastern descent.

Let’s talk about your book. I know you refer to 2021 as a difficult year that it led you to write “Kan Zaman.”
The year of awful started with losing my dearly beloved niece and then several months later losing my dad to a freak accident. Then just a few weeks later, losing my brother to a stroke. Losing my dad was like the door slam shut on my childhood. I will always be a daughter, but I was no longer a daughter. Daddy dying was like all those other people that I talk about in the book had died all over again. I couldn't write long form about it, I could only write about images–short products, you know short feelings. And I could only manage to think in what I call postcards and those postcards are what led to the poems.

I have read your remarkable collection. I see how important your family’s history is to you. What can you say about this?
You know that slice of American history is really important, and this is my slice. Every one of these people is really important to me. Their struggles and their accomplishments and everything about them—what they did and who they were is remarkable. I don't want them to be forgotten. I cannot imagine coming to this country like my grandmother and grandfather did as teenagers, you know being in an arranged marriage. My grandmother never laid eyes on her family ever again. She didn't know if she'd ever eat again and didn't know anything about what would happen after she got here. Neither of them spoke the language.

What can you tell readers what they will get out of “Kan Zaman?”
I would hope that any reader who buys the book gets something out of it, and what that something is I don't know. If it makes them feel something, that's good enough. I think for me you know it’s that slice of my American history. You know somebody immigrated to America and they settled somewhere and then other people from their village or their town came and settled in that same place, and you all became a colony. And you upheld those traditions and you all stayed and lived together. So, take my hand and I'll take you back in time.

Mansour lives in Concord with her husband, Tom Suhadolnik, and her stepdaughter, Paige Suhadolnik. 

Charlotte Morgan is a long-time journalist and non-fiction writer who resides on the east side of Cleveland. In addition, she trains community journalists and is completing revisions on her debut memoir, "Glenville: My Side of Paradise."   

Reprinted from Freshwater Cleveland. 

Covid-19: I Saw A Gaping Hole in the Matrix

When the Covid-19 virus hit, thanks to an exorbitant cable bill, I had already left the Matrix. It was the kosmos that influenced what we think. The hatemongering tool kept the high, mighty; the minorities, oppressed; and the tethered, unaware. An ersatz environment made for you to trust because watching was not seeing nor listening nor learning. Indoctrination prevented you from truth, love, liberty, and happiness. I saw a gaping hole in the Matrix from my run-down house nestled in the urban pastoral, a confined place ravaged by crime and sustained systemic racial poverty, populated by taken-for-granted black voters, and yet prepared for such a time as this.

Last December in Glenville, before the quarantine, shelves inside the New East Side Market, which had opened in May, were already empty. 

Before all this, there was the death of Jeffrey Epstein, the billionaire financier and convicted pedophile. He knew most of Main Street, Wall Street, Hollywood, D.C., and even British Royalty. Epstein’s death meant a big-name pedophile had been silenced. Countless others were arrested but the media downplayed the stories since the POTUS had made a connection between the Swamp he promised to drain, globalists, and pedophilia. 

Next, was the Harvey Weinstein trial. The Oscar winner and Hillary fundraiser who knew the same globalist friends as Epstein, now convicted of sexual assault, needed a walker. With pursed lips, his victims scolded toxic men. Didactic tweets furthered confusion: Women were equal, but tweet sensitive? Tinseltown, home to make-believe, paid these women large sums of money, albeit less than men, to pretend. 

There were worldwide protests, beautiful images of the cinematic umbrella marches for Democracy in Hong Kong. Protestors waved U.S. flags and used Revolutionary War rhetoric. A million people took to the streets because they wanted the American Constitution’s rights. According to the Matrix, recognizing Slavery as part of our history nullified this country's greatness. Nationalism meant white supremacy. MAGA hats triggered white privilege violence that harkened back to the Jim Crow era when Negroes were beaten for their skin color and inferiority.

This aided a resistance movement. Blacks realized the insanity of certain traditional and obsolete beliefs. Sovereignty derived from black voters had elected legislators who used them as the face of unequal suffering that never ended. Blexit members remembered the Democratic Party was the party of slavery, the KKK and mass incarceration—it was the plantation. A last straw: No borders. No walls. Massive illegal immigration—a renewable supply of minorities promised jobs, education, driver’s licenses, voting rights, health insurance, welfare, housing, etc. The audacity of Blexit hope was met with mockery from Matrix overseers: panelists from “The View,” hip hop stars, black athletes, writers, Hollywood, talk show hosts, multicultural touting college professors, and cable news commentators.    

Observers saw that politicians who aged in office will not solve problems but instead used issues for re-election and wealth gain. A careerist congressman was exposed for the murder rate and rat infestation in his majority black district. Journalists cried the representative was untouchable because of his Civil Rights Era experience. Vindicated because he had seen 1960s racism and the president was a racist.  He voted against a border wall. He joined the chorus: Impeach, impeach.

The distraction: Impeachment for obstruction of justice and abuse of power. February 4, 2020, at the end of the State of the Union, the House Speaker, another wealthy politician, tore up the President’s speech. The denouement, those who listened heard him mention the coronavirus which would shut down his rallies, decrease his approval ratings, increase our taxes, tank economic gains, halt black employment growth and his hope of re-election. 

The virus closed the border and necessitated travel bans. The diversity party offered two rich elderly white men as presidential candidates. Nonessential celebrities told us from their mansions: “Stay home.” Newspapers died. Talk show hosts read from home. People hoarded supplies. Cable news ratings soared as the quarantined watched White House briefings to see the president parry with planted journalism operatives. Meanwhile, as unemployment numbers and the death toll rose, politicians blamed the president for killing people while they held up the 2.2 trillion-dollar relief bill until it was padded with pork. 

This I saw: Shelves bare, privileges pruned; the utopian life you promised precluded the civil liberties whiteness takes for granted—the ones I deserve. Everything you hated, I needed. Everything I loved; you took. Levelled, you lived like me. An election looms. The gap widens. As expected, an inordinate number of blacks are dying of coronavirus.  

Charlotte Morgan is a writer from Cleveland, Ohio who teaches at Cleveland State University. She uses reportage to tell her stories of the black experience in America. In addition, before the virus, she taught lively nonfiction workshops for Literary Cleveland. Her work will be featured in Literary Cleveland's upcoming anthology Cleveland Stories Vol. II.

Raul Williams: A Hero in the Land

The Land is a local news startup that reports on Cleveland’s neighborhoods and inner ring suburbs. We deliver in-depth stories that foster accountability, inform the community, and inspire people to take action. Dear readers,   In this issue we are thrilled to introduce you to Charlotte Morgan, a longtime journalist and instructor at Cleveland State University, and photographer Karin McKenna. Please take five minutes to read Charlotte's profile of Raul Williams, a frontline social service worker at the City Mission. Additionally, we've included a provocative op-ed by Mansfield Frazier about Mayor Frank Jackson's interview with The Appeal. After five newsletters, we are slowly building our stride, but have a long way to go. Please keep sharing feedback. We are listening.   — Lee Chilcote and Tammy Wise Raul Williams once sought help at the City Mission. Now he helps clients there break the cycle of addiction and homelessness.   By Charlotte Morgan Photo by Karin McKenna For over 100 years the City Mission at East 55th and Carnegie has helped people in crisis with shelter, food, and other services. Raul Williams, who has worked there as a social worker and case worker for nearly two years, once stayed here while battling addiction and homelessness. Now he helps people with problems that dogged him for years.   He teaches a class called “A Touch of Reality” in which clients are taught to avoid the types of behavior that can result in illegal activity. “I can smell the B.S. a mile away and I tell them,” he says. “Some men keep coming back because they do not change.”   Williams, who is 51, has been sober for nine years. The Covid-19 crisis has recently impacted his job. Volunteers are not allowed on campus and some programs, including assessments of people looking for help, have been impacted. Many staff members still work from home, and partner agencies are not on campus right now.   One thing that has not changed, though, is the number of men coming through intake. Williams’ day begins at 4 am. “I come in and we clean and sanitize the facility,” he says. “The men here must wear masks. Some of them go out to the gas station at 55th and Cedar, so we have to be careful.” They go over to get their cigarettes. However, they are not allowed to bring food on campus.  Photo by Karin McKenna According to the Northeast Ohio Coalition for the Homeless, on any given night in Cleveland, 4,000 to 4,300 people are without homes – or more than 22,000 annually. US Census data shows that Cleveland ranks second in the country for poverty, just behind Detroit.   According to the May issue of the science journal Nature, not only does the economic damage from Covid-19 threaten to increase the homeless population, but close living quarters and lack of testing are also leading to growing outbreaks. Homeless people are more likely to have underlying health conditions, making them more at risk from the virus.   In an April blog post, NEOCH calls for a number of changes from city and county agencies in order to reduce the likelihood of outbreaks among people experiencing homelessness, including converting hotel rooms into housing, increased testing, and offering free masks and public sanitizer stations.   “We have changed the floor plan to give the men more space,” Williams says of how City Mission has adapted its services. The City Mission houses 110 men at Crossroads Men’s Crisis Center and 60 or more women at Laura’s Home Women’s Crisis Center, which is located at 18120 Puritas Avenue.   Other plans include building a pavilion so that clients have a place to sit outdoors. The project is still in phase one because of COVID-19. Since there are not very many people in the building, the City Mission is using this time complete roof repairs.   “To date, we have only had one person who has tested positive,” says Williams. “We’ve had a few close calls, but we’ve only had one hospitalization.”   A long journey   Williams was raised on the east side, not far from where he now works. “I grew up in the Longwood Projects” at East 37th and Woodland, he says. “I went to Central Junior High and graduated from East Tech High School in 1986. The neighborhood was called Dodge City because there were a lot of bullets flying around.”   He recalls stumbling upon three dead bodies in the apartment next door. “I knew that smell as a kid.”   “I come from the ghetto, but my brother out in San Diego retired from the Navy,” he says. “We are five years apart. He made good choices and I made bad ones.” Photo by Karin McKenna Williams’ decisions to get involved with theft and other unlawful activities cost him. “I served 10 years and then 11 and a half years in prison,” he says. “I came from a family where there were drugs and alcohol. There was a time when I needed shelter.”    In 2001, Williams found himself at the City Mission. He can remember his time there and in particular, a social worker named Reggie Adams who still works there. “I've known Reggie for 30 years. We were in some of the same prisons. He was honest and forthcoming with me. He told me to address my hurts, hang-ups, and pain, and not to add drugs and alcohol on top of them or else my life would never get better.”   But Williams had not learned his lesson. “I got out of prison October 31st, 2010 and went to live in South Euclid with a woman I knew from my past,” he says. An Ohio Lottery scratch off game turned into a $10,000 windfall. “I bought her a washer and dryer and gave her $2,900. I kept $6,900 and moved out.”   “It was August 15, 2010, the day my favorite aunt Joyce Milan died,” he continues. “She was a pastor.” Raul remembers how his aunt wrote him encouraging letters while he was in prison. He took part of his money and got high. An unusual experience marked the turning point in his life.   “Let’s just say I felt my aunt came to me. On August 19, 2010, I checked myself into Windsor Laurelwood Center. I went into a dual diagnosis unit and that’s where I met Miss Juanita. She gave me an AA book. I went from Laurelwood to Matt Talbot for 90 days of rehab.”   From there, Raul went to Project Share, a sober transitional housing program run by the Salvation Army through the Harbor Light Complex at East 17th and Prospect. “Then, I ended up in Procop, which was at 4001 Trent Avenue on the westside,” he says. “You had to have five months of sobriety before you were admitted.”   This is where Williams’ long journey towards sobriety and self-sufficiency bore fruit. “I lived there and eventually worked my way to my own place,” he says.   Peace of mind   In January 2011, Raul furthered his rehabilitation plan by enrolling in Cuyahoga Community College. “I worked on my body, running to get peace of mind,” he says.   He posted videos on social media of himself drenching in sweat as he jogged across the Carnegie Lorain bridge. When it was cold, he ran in his sweat suit. On Sundays, he posted the healthy meals that he proudly prepared for himself.     His focus paid off as he earned his Associate Degree at Tri-C, then his Bachelor’s in Social Work (BSW) at Akron University.     He worked at Stella Maris in Cleveland, gaining experience in providing drug and alcohol recovery assistance. Then, in August of 2018, he found a place at the City Mission. Photo by Karin McKenna After arriving early, Williams begins waking the men up at 6:30 am for personal hygiene care and soon, breakfast at 7:30 am. Residents spend at least a half an hour receiving teaching from the bible because the City Mission’s approach is faith based. By 9 am, the men enjoy an hour where they can travel. The day is structured to give clients time to go on appointments, but also to gain skills like responsibility in order to succeed.    “I run the 12-step program from Alcoholics Anonymous” since Reggie has been off, says Williams. “I teach the men to stop listening to things they hear in their head and be willing to take directions from others.”   This means getting a sponsor or a support group and home group. “That’s just for the guys that are dealing with the drug and alcohol issues. We have people here who are dealing with mental health issues. Tell what you’re feeling and thinking. Take your meds and don’t add street drugs on top of it.” Raul says that when they do this, often these men wind up in jail or in institutions.   Case management involves helping people solve their problems by connecting them with the proper agency. Outside case management helps them with housing. All of it begins during intake. “When you come through the doors of the City Mission, you pee in a cup and that determines how you proceed in our program. If it comes back dirty, we connect them with recovery services. They get an assessment which now we do over the phone because of the virus.”    Raul knows that not all the stories have a happy ending. Some men have to deal their sex offender label. Others feel that living around men reminds them of prison. “We make everyone accountable. Those who don’t do well, we may send them to 2100 Lakeside. Sometimes they will send a case to us.”   In one memorable case, a former Cleveland Browns player came through the shelter. “He was a 6’5” Defensive End, who played on the team in the 1980s,” Williams says. He came through the shelter and he had suffered brain trauma. “He was not here long, he stayed for a few days and he moved to Kent. He left a voicemail thanking me for my class and for my honesty.”   However, no matter what Williams does for the community, some do not believe in his transformation nor commitment. “Some of my family members and I do not communicate with me because they believe that I will go back to my old ways.” But Williams says that he will not. He is thankful for his transformation including his marriage to his wife Simona in 2016. He has turned his life around and works to assist others.        Each Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, Raul can be found in the kitchen at St. Augustine’s Catholic Church kitchen serving those in need of a holiday hot meal and fellowship. He has been doing it for nine years. His tenth anniversary was disrupted by the coronavirus outbreak.     When asked why he volunteers, you get the same honest answer: “Because I ate in that kitchen.”

Tell Me That I'm Dreaming: Don Fagenson of Was (Not Was)

From right to left: David Weiss and Don Fagenson of Was (Not Was)
Photo courtesy: David Corio/Redferns/Getty Images 

"To me, (Don Was) is very much like working with Jimmy Miller, who's a producer but also a musician. To the Stones, it's a real extra plus to have a guy that knows how things are played, what's done.” – Keith Richards.

            I was sitting on the floor in my room eating my second box of Cracker Jacks and guzzling a can of Barq’s Root Beer when my new friend Don Fagenson, leader of the neo-funk and rock group Was (Not Was) called.  He was at singer-songwriter Carly Simon’s house in Martha’s Vineyard.  He was excited and I was honored that he thought enough of me to call.  Seems Don was there to work with Carly on her latest album.  The album would be called SPOILED GIRL.  He said they (Carly and Epic Records) called the “big guns” in for the project.  Luther Vandross, the background singer and vocal contractor, was coming by to work on the project.  This was Don’s big break and the bass player had to tell someone.

Musicians loved to talk to journalists.  The relationship between a musician and a writer is like that of a rock star and his priests.  We writers worship musicians, making idols out of them based on their talent.  And along the way musicians have learned that’s how their legacy is built—on the typewriters of icon worshiping journalists who want to be the first to discover a legend in the making. 

After several years in the business—entertaining singers and musicians over dinner after shows—I had earned an underground reputation.  I was considered funny and most importantly, I was considered psychic because I could tell the future.  I wanted to believe he called me because it was what I told him would happen—he would become one of the industry’s most important producers.  And he would produce many of his favorite artists.  This was just the beginning.

            I became acquainted with Don Fagenson right after the first Was (Not Was) album debuted in 1981.  I was still a music journalist in the early 80s.  I had my national gig with Rock and Soul Songs, but the industry had changed with the death of the vinyl album pending and the emergence of the new format for music—the compact disc—my days at Cleveland Scene Magazine were numbered.  No one wanted a writer who was so closely associated with dance music and self-contained R&B groups. The post-soul movement saw Hip Hop as its flagship genre, while arena rock, new wave and punk dominated the charts and radio airwaves.  And as a black writer I wasn’t allowed to write about those recording artists.  But that didn’t stop me from looking for the next big act.

Was (Not Was), the up-and-coming funk group out of Detroit, Michigan held a lot of promise.  I found myself up on Coventry at Record Revolution looking for their hard to find Euro-dance hit “Wheel Me Out” single and over at the drug store looking through Rolling Stone, Billboard, CREEM, Hit Parader, Circus, SPIN, GROOVES, Melody Maker and the Village Voice to find information about the band.  

            I read that Fagenson and his partner flutist David Weiss loved funk, R&B and rock music.  They were after all, Detroit white boys who grew up worshiping Iggy Pop, the Stooges, the MC5s and Parliament-Funkadelic.  One of my friends, Jeannette McGruder (Satori Shakoor) now a sought-after background vocalist, worked on the debut self-titled album which was released on the independent Ze label.  Jeannette was a hometown girl who left Luther Vandross’ group in New York to sing with P-Funk.  With the demise of George Clinton’s Motor City Empire, producers like Fagenson were scrambling to pick up unemployed funk musicians and vocalists. Landing some of Clinton’s talent was an attempt to mimic his chart success by laying funk on your tracks.  Fagenson’s formula for success was a sure one—funk, rock and R&B vocals over his satirical lyrics.  It worked.  Was (Not Was) were quietly the next big thing.  I wanted to find about more about this new music.

            In March of 1981, I ventured up to Detroit to see George Clinton’s emancipated (they left the organization to strike out on their own) Brides of Funkenstein perform their new wave set at Bookie’s 870 Club on West McNichols. We heard that Fagenson, who was among the musicians to play at Detroit’s first punk nightclub, might be at the show.  We knew he had read the piece on the girls in the Detroit Free Press publicizing the March 18^th gig. 

There was a mixed crowd in the packed house—“It’s all kinds of freaks and geepies out there.  Some funk, punk, fags and hags is out there,” a Chicago funk groupie named Suzie Creamcheese said.  The Electrifying Mojo of Detroit’s WGPR 107.5 FM hyped up the show by playing a lot of Was (Not Was) and Brides music.  We looked for Fagenson, but no one spotted him.  I didn’t know what he looked like anyway.  I leaned insecurely against the wall in the corner of the filthy dressing room while the band held court with friends, fans and drug dealers.  The dingy walls were covered with expletive filled punk mantras written in black permanent marker.  This was definitely not Cleveland’s Agora Ballroom, an iconic venue where legends were birthed.  

            I met a guy from CREEM Magazine.  Don’s group appeared on the cover in 1981 with their name in small print on the hem of Pat Benatar’s skirt.  The writer leaning over me was the infamous Mark J. Norton.  Someone I didn’t know introduced him to me.  I was that black girl from Scene Magazine who handled publicity for the Brides.  Mark kissed me on the cheek, and I noted that he smelled like sour gin and weed.  But it was a friendly kiss.  He dragged me deeper into the dressing room because, “We music journalists need to be up close to record what was going on.”  After dropping out of the University of Michigan, Fagenson produced Mark’s band as one of his first projects. I knew he could point Don out to me.  But I felt safer staying in one place until the show started.

            I didn’t want to walk around.  We were scared (the Brides and I) that George was going to come and put a damper on the show by trying to take over.  See, George and the legendary Sly Stone were supposed to be at United Sound Studio working on the next Brides album but instead they were on an alleged prolonged cocaine freebasing binge.  The leader of Parliament-Funkadelic was likely to be found anywhere in Detroit where there was music, money, women and a spotlight.  He knew drugs weren’t far behind.  Neither George nor Sly appeared before the set began. 

             I went downstairs to watch.  The Brides’ revamped show—I suggested the girls drop some of the funk and perform songs by up and coming new artists like Grace Jones, Carolyn Maas and Lene Lovich—was electrifying.  From the reaction of the audience, they agreed.  By the finale of the show, George Clinton had climbed up on stage doing his Dr. Funkenstein stitch and he proceeded to call the girls “his bitches”.  He kept saying how proud he was of “his bitches”.  Oddly enough, each time he called them “bitches” the crowd got more excited. 

            I cried quietly as I watched him humiliate the girls.  In the excitement, someone pushed me off my stool and I almost landed face first onto the sticky floor.  I was okay. In the limo ride back to Henry Mayer’s house—he was the Brides’ manager and George Clinton’s supposed drug dealer—no one said anything.  They were all breathing heavy. I took out my toy compass to play with while they smoked a joint.  We all started laughing.  “George f**cks up everything don’t he,” Jeannette McGruder said.

            We never saw Fagenson at the show.  I eventually got his number from Ze Records head, Michael Zilkha.  His wife Cristina was a socialite and mutant disco singer whose deadpan vocals and great tracks courtesy of Don and Was (Not Was) and August Darnell of Kid Creole and the Coconuts fame, were hot.  I originally called Zilkha to get an interview with his wife.  Her single, “Things Fall Apart” on the Ze Christmas album featured lyrics about a wealthy socialite who gets beat up for the holidays.  I read about her on the pages of Andy Warhol’s trend-setting Interview Magazine.  If Glenn O’Brien wrote about it, I knew I should.

            But Zilkha throws me off when he reveals that Fagenson is frantically looking for the Brides because Was (Not Was) is going on tour.  So, I call Fagenson at the Sound Suite Recording Studios on McNichols where he was working.  I get his production coordinator, Garzelle McMurray.  She puts Don on the phone, and we hit it off immediately.  I tell him how much I love his work and he laughs.  He asks me about myself and what I do.  I explain my background and he asks me if I’ve written anything outside of music journalism.  Confident that he likes me, I then reveal I’d just completed a treatment for a film I wanted to do, called “Afro Beach Party”.  I tell him that I saw that the movie soundtrack would be bigger than the film in the future and that he’ll be doing soundtracks in the near future.  

            Now interested, he talks with me on a regular basis.  I hook up Dawn Silva and Lynn Mabry of the Brides of Funkenstein, with Don to tour as background vocalists.  They hit the road together in 1982 and take the music world by a quiet storm.  They are the darlings of the new wave and funk set.  They grace the pages of all the right magazines and Village Voice writer, Robert Christgau hails the Brides as the best girl group since Labelle.  I call Steve Mass and help book the girls a gig in New York at Soho’s legendary Mudd Club, home to everyone from Blondie, Klaus Nomi, Lydia Lunch, Talking Heads and the Ramones.  Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz of the Heads are at the show along with Christgau and legendary keyboardist, Bernie Worrell of Parliament-Funkadelic.  The hype after the show causes promoters to book larger venues for Was (Not Was).

            In one of our next conversations, I remind Don that he will be the industry’s next big producer.  And he returns the compliment by inviting me up to Detroit to visit while he produces Helen Terry.  Helen earned a name singing with Boy George and Culture Club on hits like “Church of the Poison Mind” and “Karma Chameleon”.  So naturally, I want to hang out and meet her.  Fagenson is also working on the “Electric Dreams” movie soundtrack that would feature Donna Summer producer, Giorgio Moroder, Culture Club and Human League front man, Phil Oakley.  This was an important job for Fagenson.  The soundtrack would eventually make more money than the film.  The Helen Terry album, BLUE NOTES would be released on Virgin Records.  Don uses most of the Was (Not Was) crew for the project.

            My friend, Raymond Jones who was making a name for himself as a sideman playing for everyone from Talking Heads to Nona Hendryx is on keyboards for the album.  I hook him up through Garzelle.  I arrive at my hotel in Southfield and call up Garzelle to find out when we can come to the studio.  Of course, Don is busy laying down tracks and can’t be disturbed.  So Garzelle suggests we go eat at a place called Chique-A-Freak, an African restaurant near the 20 Grand Lounge on West Warren.

            I enter the dingy restaurant remembering Garzelle’s claim that, “The raunchier the place, the better the food”.  I’ve heard this before, and I know it to be a lie.  Ray is there, Garzelle, Helen Terry, Sweet Pea Atkinson, Was (Not Was) lead vocalist, David McMurray, the band’s horn player, my friend Jeff Wright and me.  Frightened by the menu, we order something safe and familiar with chicken and greens.  I order an iced tea and Helen begins to tell stories about Boy George.

            She’s delightfully bawdy and loud as she tells us all George’s love life business including his attempt to go to bed with Luther Vandross.  Her plump cheeks turn redder with every probable lie.  Apparently, Luther doesn’t like big boys and George was rather chubby underneath all those androgynous clothes he wore.  She claims Luther regularly cruises Central Park in his limousine to pick up young boys.  But because he’s so big, he doesn’t get many takers.  Raymond takes the opportunity to tell the story of how Luther wasn’t asked to be a part of the disco group Chic because he didn’t fit their ‘look’.  It was so scandalous that you had to laugh. 

            Not to be left out, Sweet Pea tells us about Dawn and Lynn out on the road with Was (Not Was) and how they supposedly slept with all the band members except him.  He was talking so fast that I couldn’t keep up with his profanity laced tirade.  We sat in that restaurant for hours laughing and talking.  But one by one people excused themselves from the table and either went to the bathroom or outside.  We all had gas and diarrhea from the spicy food and so I stayed in my hotel room for the rest of the night.  I never made it to the studio.  I wasn’t worried, I knew we would meet, I saw our meeting like I saw his future success. 

            Just like I predicted, time ran out on Scene Magazine.  I was called back to cover major events like the Jacksons’ Victory Tour in 1984.  But it was over for funk, dance music and R&B.  So, I decided to put out my own magazine.  I began to publish an art deco styled underground fanzine featuring old Hollywood portraits on the cover and sarcastic headlines.  I named the rag Poor Elite Magazine. 

I used my industry contacts to build a customer database.  I realized people loved my sense of humor and take on events in the business.  I had readers all over the world as witnessed by the international letters that would arrive irregularly at my house.  People loved the profiles and found the prophetic utterances about the music and film world odd, but interesting.  Don was a regular reader of the magazine because he was on the mailing list.  Garzelle would read it before Don got a chance.  She invited me back up to Detroit to consult on publicity for the Sound Suite Studios where Michael Powell was working to finish the new Anita Baker album using a brand new Solid State Logic board (SSL).  This new mixing board was supposed to be on the cutting edge of new technology and would revolutionize the industry.  The studio paid for the weekend and I still didn’t catch up with Don. 

            Seems Don talked a lot about me and was impressed with my intellect or so she said.  We would talk over the years and I kept reminding him one day he would be recognized as a great producer, calling me from Carly Simon’s house was fitting.  But I still had never laid eyes on Don.  He worked on Carly’s album and it was hailed by critics as some of her worst work.  But I knew this was a mere setback. I was surprised that a major label would put an artist like Carly Simon known for her powerful lyrics, with an odd fellow like Don Fagenson considering his early records featured lyrics like, “Woodworks squeaks and out come the freaks.” 

                      Don Fagenson. Photo courtesy: Ron Baker (Creative Commons License)

            Don was more at home on his next big project.  He produced and played on the B52s COSMIC THING album.  The B52s, known as a great party band from Athens, Georgia shared Fagenson’s affinity for quirky lyrics.  Their collaboration would mark the band’s greatest commercial success with the single, “Love Shack” reaching as high as #3 on Billboard Magazine Single’s Chart.  Don would go on to produce the next couple of B52s albums but was never able to capture the success of COSMIC THING.  No matter, the singles, “Roam” and “Love Shack” kept the band touring for years.

            In the music industry, success means you get the high-profile jobs and the choice of passion projects.  By 1989, Don Fagenson had hit the big time.  That year, his work on Bonnie Raitt’s NICK OF TIME album earned the singer-songwriter a Grammy Award for Album of the Year.  Raitt’s career was jump-started and she’d gone from being a journeyman blues guitarist and singer to becoming one of the industry’s most respected musicians.  The bluesy pop sound they created resulted in classic songs like “Nick of Time” which is still being played on the radio today.  Their collaboration ended when Raitt decided she wanted to try different producers. 

Five years later he would win a Grammy for Producer of the Year, the pinnacle for any recording artist.  Early on, he was successful not only because he was talented, but also, he was easy to work with.  Don could enlist everyone from Iggy Pop, Mel Torme, Frank Sinatra, Leonard Cohen, actress Kim Basinger and Ozzy Osbourne to appear on his recordings.  By the way, he meets Basinger while producing Bob Dylan.  Kim in fact replaces the vocals of a newcomer named Madonna.  Fagenson learns Madonna felt slighted by the rejection, but he wasn’t impressed with her as a vocalist. A decade later when the band’s European label wants to do a remix of the track featuring the original vocals done by Madonna and Ozzy, she refuses, and actress Kim Basinger enters.

How a band as surreal as this could ever score a hit was beyond me.  Fagenson and Weiss prided themselves on putting whatever came into their consciousness into the music.  Consequently, the band was known for being more an underground act; however, somewhere along the way, they went mainstream with a hit record called, “Walk the Dinosaur”.  The single from their 1988 WHAT UP, DOG  album spawned a clever little music video that featured vocalist, Sweet Pea Atkins singing typical Was (Not Was) lyrics:  “Open the door, get on the floor, everybody kill the dinosaur”.  Unfortunately, the video made MTV heavy rotation and landed the band on a tour with the year’s hot acts.  David Weiss however, was not happy with his group’s commercial direction.  Don’s commercialized sensibilities dominated the creative process causing some critics to label subsequent recordings by the band as Don Fagenson solo projects.  But the band would stay together a few more years before breaking up.

            Before they would break up, they would reach their collective commercial peak as a band.  When the Club MTV Tour rolled into the Richfield Coliseum in 1989, Was (Not Was) had another hit, “Spy in The House of Love”, and it afforded me a chance to finally meet Fagenson and see the band perform.  On the bill was rapper, Tone-Loc, Was (Not Was), the Information Society, Paula Abdul and Milli Vanilli.  MTV’s Downtown Julie Brown was the host of the show.

            I finally got to put my arms around my pal.  He wasn’t tall as I expected but had an unexpected beautiful shank of curly dark brown hair.  He hid his eyes at first behind those trademark sunglasses, but he quickly removed them as if he knew I really wanted to see if he was all I predicted.  Looking in those dark brown eyes, I understood how he connected with people—he was quietly charismatic and exuded an air of confidence.  You knew he could do what he promised.  He was a hard working musician who could be trusted with your artistic vision. 

Yes, I was proud that he had a hit record and was gaining respect as a producer.  I bought everything he worked on and kept the vinyl records bearing his name and sound in a separate stack.  Don posed with me backstage holding a copy of my Poor Elite Magazine.  Everyone in the band knew about it because Garzelle made it her duty to circulate it.  Her husband, David McMurray with his saxophone slung around his neck, pulled me next to him so he could pose with the magazine as well.   Even Sweet Pea wanted to pose.  But the band had to get ready for their set, so I went out front to watch some of the show. 

I couldn’t wait to see Milli Vanilli.  Most music journalists hated them because they were blatant music automatons created by producer Frank Farian who was best known for creating the disco group, Boney M.  The gorgeous German duo of Rob Pilatus and Fab Morvan with their long braids and lean muscular bodies were usually outfitted in form-fitting biker shorts.  In other words, they were shamelessly styled for the growing female MTV viewership.  This demographic influenced record companies and changed the industry.

            The sellout audience consisted of by and large those young girls and the duo gave them their money’s worth.  Downtown Julie Brown stood like the queen mother in the wings watching.  I had made my way backstage because I couldn’t enjoy the show out front—too much screaming.  I watched Julie out of the corner of my eye.  She looked bored by Milli Vanilli’s set—I guess because she’d seen it so many times.  But other people backstage seemed impressed with how the duo managed to be so athletic and still have the wind to sing.  Well, as it turns out they weren’t singing.  They did their now patented leaps in the air and landed without opening their mouths.  Seems they were out of breath and couldn’t keep up with their DAT (digital audio tape) track.  I looked at my friend Jeff and he looked at me.  “Hey they weren’t singing”, he said.  He said it loud enough for people to hear.  I looked over at Julie and she looked at us with one eyebrow lifted up inquisitively.  The duo would be exposed for not singing to a tape but for not singing at all. 

            Meanwhile during the Was (Not Was) set, I felt embarrassed for Don and the boys.  They played their heart out and only received a warm reception from the crowd.  The audience was there to see Milli Vanilli, Paula Abdul and Tone-Loc.  They didn’t know how to respond to a real band, and I don’t blame them.  It was hard to peg the group’s sound.  They played jazz, funk, fusion, R&B and rock.  You couldn’t put a label on them.  Record buyers were already jaded.  When the British duo known as the Buggles sang, “video killed the radio star”, they didn’t know how true this would become.  In the early days of music video, it was all about the look and less about the music.  If your video looked good, then the song was deemed good and got radio airplay.  This meant it sold records which translated into touring dollars.  Nothing has changed today. 

            When Was (Not Was) dropped their “Tell Me That I’m Dreaming” single in the early 80s, there were still intellectual music buyers who were enchanted with the song’s funky dance grooves and sampled vocals from President Reagan’s State of The Union speech.  They made a statement with their music and you could dance to it.  Don (Was) Fagenson was a hip, cool musician who other musicians and singers wanted to work with.  But the band’s ability to sell records was questionable at best and they would pay for it by having to switch labels time and time again. 

When Don proved he could make commercial music when Was (Not Was) hit the Top Ten on Billboard’s Dance Chart with a remake of the Temptations “Papa Was A Rolling Stone”, I was surprised and pleased.  However, he earned his mantle in the business through production.  He proved that he could revitalize the career of any mainstream rock and pop act.  His reputation was such that everyone from Elton John, Bob Seeger, Paula Abdul, the Eagles’ Glenn Frey, Jackson Browne and the Rolling Stones hired him.  He reached the pinnacle of success in 1995 when he won Producer of the Year for his work on the Stones’ VODOO LOUNGE album.  His old school production philosophy was credited for the Stones comeback.  He resurrected the Stones’ sound and was rewarded with the Grammy for Best Rock Album.  When I read about Fagenson in France recording with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, all I could do was smile.  And today he still produces the Stones—the World’s Greatest Rock and Roll Band. 

            But I remember reading that for Fagenson, producing his idol Bob Dylan’s UNDER A BLOOD RED SKY was also a major coup for his career.  In January of 1990 he found himself at the Oceanway Studios in Hollywood recording with Dylan on piano, Jimmie Vaughn on guitar, and Kenny Aronoff on drums.  Dylan would record with everyone from David Crosby to Guns N’ Roses guitarist Slash, to pianists Bruce Hornsby and Elton John on the project.  Don would of course bring in Was (Not Was) members, David Weiss, David McMurray, and Harry Bowen to work on the legendary singer-songwriter’s tracks. 

            Now a successful producer based in Los Angeles, it was no surprise when he was spotted at the Academy Awards luncheon one year.  Don had embarked on a career in writing music for movie soundtracks. He’s worked on such films as “Hope Floats”, Tin Cup”, “The Rainmaker” and even lent his voice to “The Country Bears”.   After September 11, there was a special put on by big-name music and movie stars.  Of course, Fagenson was in the band performing behind such music giants as David Bowie, and Stevie Wonder to just name a few.  He was an elder statesman by this point in his career; and proved it by serving as the Keynote Speaker at a recent Motor City Music Conference. 

Don Fagenson. Photo courtesy: David Podosek (Flickr.com) 

            Here he was the legitimate favorite son of Detroit.  His subsequent partnership with Ford to work on a Lincoln Mercury ad was questioned by some critics who felt he was selling out again.  Fagenson wasn’t a sellout, he was versatile.  People loved what he could do in the studio—he could recapture an artist’s lost musical aesthetic and identity.  This was especially true for his work with the Stones, Bonnie Raitt and even Elton John.  Then he could easily switch gears and write music for Richard Dreyfuss’ “The Education of Max Bixford” series, direct documentaries like “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Time” a look at the life of Beach Boys’ leader Brian Wilson; as well as produce music for major ad campaigns.  Fagenson maintained his integrity throughout his career.  I mean, who else in the business could produce Elton John, Willie Nelson, the Stones, Bob Dylan and release music like that found on the surrealistic lyrical albums of Was (Not Was)? 

            I’ve followed Don’s career over the years and have been impressed with his every move.  He’s accomplished all that I foresaw and more . 

About the author

Charlotte Morgan is a writer who was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio where she has been fortunate to teach First-Year English at her Alma mater Cleveland State University. She has led Non-Fiction workshops around town in the hopes of helping others find their voice. As a writer, from time to time, her work investigates the black experience in the urban pastoral in the hopes of understanding not only why her ancestors were brought to the States but what was their destiny and purpose here. Her aim is to rob the graveyard of her insights, and ideas so that future generations have access. As a longtime journalist, her use of literary reportage has been influenced by the works of New Journalism writers like Tom Wolfe, Truman Capote, Joan Didion, Hunter S. Thompson and Cameron Crowe.  She seeks to skillfully capture images and dialogue which enlivens her prose.  

Excerpt from None of My Idols Were Worth Worship. Copyright 2020© MorganWorks.  

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