Fruit stand vibes. Jamaican artist in the house. Used to be dancehall, now roots. I was never a fan of dancehall. One or two songs but I much preferred roots, ska, rock steady. Basically everything before dancehall. Typical me, behind the times.

My reggae story is convoluted somewhat. I knew who Bob Marley was, and had the Legend greatest hits collection when it came out. My sister had the Rastaman Vibration album. The Legend collection came out after Bob died.

Bob passed in 1981, the greatest hits came out in 1984. I remember one night walking from Summit Avenue in Hackensack to my parents home in Lodi. I am uncertain if my mother was still alive. I think she was. No Woman No Cry is remembered as I walked past what used to be the Tuscan Milk machine.

A few years after that, I had gone to see Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers with the Neville Brothers opening up. I went with Damian Uva, an old friend of Julio’s. Something resonated with me that night, and I was smitten with reggae.

I always liked the herb as you know. Soon I was working at Skyline Studios, where there were Rastas outside on the sidewalks in the area, peddling their herb. They liked me, I liked them and soon I was hanging out in Brooklyn with Rastas from Guyana and Suriname.

My good friend Miriam was also into reggae and the dreads certainly liked Miriam. One time it was bitter cold outside and I invited Marcus and Poncho inside to sit in the lobby to warm up, knowing a few kind buds would make their way into my pockets.

Unfortunately 2 guys name John who invented a dial a song phone line didn’t like that and complained to the management who reprimanded me but did not throw out Marcus or Poncho.

The 2 guys named John were friends of my brother Frank who had them on his radio show a few times. They got famous in the 1990s with their quirky, twee ditties. Now they seem to be regulated to the sidelines once again.

I became friends with Marcus’ brothers as well. Clarence, Kenneth and Jamal. I know Marcus had a real name of Reginald Bowens but Marcus was his name of choice and I can only guess Clarence, Kenneth and Jamal’s names might not have been on their birth certificates.

Poncho passed away in 1999. He was a good man, looked out for me a few times in a commanding voice that stopped me dead in my tracks when I was about to get in trouble or do something stupid or a combination of the two.

Clarence was somewhat religious, Kenneth was a roughneck and Jamal was just a smiling, laughing dude. Somehow, I understood them and spoke to them, mirroring their patois. Things happen, people pass away, move on to other jobs in other locations.

Marcus had his finger in many pots, always hustling and sometimes getting arrested. After a few years of that, I believe he was deported back to Guyana. I have no idea what happened to Clarence, Kenneth or Jamal. I will tell you about another Rasta, Jesse, some other time.