Marin Independent-Journal, April 5, 1985 ~ author: Peter Anderson ~
The first way is with a groan. This is no doubt the reaction of most of us who have grown weary of the seemingly endless string of self-annointed saviors like the Rev. Jim Jones, Werner Erhard, the bearded dude in Oregon who likes Rolls Royces and lots of sex (and they say they're different from us peasants?) and now Da Free John, which is not, by the way, a public bathroom in the Bronx. But the other way is the one I prefer. I call it my Zen approach to rampaging cultism. Instead of laughing away the inherent absurdity of someone who declares himself a master who's the font of spiritual bliss like Da Free John, I steal what I can from his approach to life. It's like converting potentially negative energy into a regenerative life source. And, if you're still with me, it goes something like this:
The first thing is the name change. Da Free John has a lot more zing than his real name, which was Franklin Jones. If you're going to give up your wordly possessions, your virginity and most of your sanity to someone named Franklin Jones, then you really The name-change ritual is a simple formula that works to perfection in the NBA. Lew Alcindor was a very fine basketball player in the streets of New York; Kareem Abdul-Jabbar reached the heights of Olympus as a Buck and a Laker. Keith Wilkes was an unsung nice guy in Oakland with the Warriors; Jamaal Wilkes hit the zenith of carreer as a Laker in Los Angeles. Now, Da Free John is a little too squat and roly-poly to become a star in the NBA – actually, to quote Mike Cleary, he looks more like Glenn Dickey without the beard – so he had to settle for the next best thing, acquiring groupies without the glories of the hardwood. The second thing is the lifestyle, of course. The smartest thing about these holy men is how well they understand one of politics' most basic rules: Power is to be grabbed, not asked for. Forget all those cornball lessons you've learned about hard work and grim determination. How much farther in life do they get you than a wallet full of credit cards you can't afford and one or two mortgages that are driving you to an early grave? Accordingly, dis is how Da Free John is going to change my life. A hush will fall over my two little disciples, the earth will part with the power of my voice and a curtain of silence will zap them with a sudden realization that they are in the presence of greatness. "Da Peter", I will tell dem, "has no time for da dishes and da garbage. That is now your dominion, and while you're outside, you might stoop to get da paper for His Holiness". You see, for most of my adult years, I've been doing da dishes and emptying da garbage. No more. With one magical sweep of da hand, I'm changing both my name and my lifestyle. My children call me DaDa, which in the fast lane of bigtime gurus, sounds really dippy. If you let people call you DaDa then of course they're going to say things like "DaDa, it's time to do da dishes and empty da garbage". Now, though I can say "My name is no longer DaDa. Henceforth, you shall call me Da Peter, and you must know that Da Peter don't do da dishes and he certainly don't take out da garbage." They will bow deeply, and their little towheads will brush da ground beneath my feet. As for my lifestyle, well it goes without saying that whatever Da Peter wants, Da Peter gets, so the first thing to go will be my beat-up American sedan. It simply doesn't enhance the aura of a godlike personage like Da Peter to drive around Marin in a car more befitting of a couple of undercover vice squad cops. How will I raise da funds for my first Rolls? Dat's where you come in. If you want to know the secret to life, I have a special toll-free number. Simply call 1-800-DA PETER, leave your name, phone number, address, special request, and either your Visa or American Express number ($100 for the first question, $50 for each subsequent request), and I'll get back to you. The answer to all your problems will be, as they, in the mail.
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