Abraham, Martin, and Arthritis

 MY 90 MINUTE JOURNEY THROUGH TIME

by Phil Kaplan

I’m writing this at 12:33 on Sunday, January 14. 

I sat at my computer at 11 AM this morning to invite you to read my new blog about “Curing Arthritis,” one of those diseases stuffed into the category of “Things They  Say You Can’t Cure But You Can,” and I wound up in some nostalgic daze that I’m just now coming out of, and ironically, tomorrow (today by the time you’re reading this) is Martin Luther King Day.

I’m still going to direct you to the “Cure Arthritis” blog (a must read if you or anyone you know struggles with any level of arthritic pain) but I feel compelled to share my unexpected emotional journey over the past 90 minutes.

Allow me.  Bear with me.  It’s simply a bit of Sunday morning catharsis.

Of course, if you haven’t the least bit of interest in my private thoughts, you can jump right the  Arthritis Article.

READ THE ARTHRITIS BLOG POST

For those with a bit of interest, intrigue, or compassion, here goes . . .

PARALLEL UNIVERSES, ABRAHAM, MARTIN, AND JOHN

It started when I opened my laptop and saw a clip from the debate between Nikki Haley and Ron DeSantis last week.  I hadn’t seen it until now.

I just shook my head.  It was like watching some verbal UFC match with no sense of patriotism, no emergent leader showing any signs of promise (please don’t email me expecting a political argument, I don’t go there).

The thoughts took me momentarily out of YouTube to a place deep inside my own head.

I remembered growing up in a world of leaders, from my Little League coaches to Mr. Contrada, my middle school assistant principal (who taught me the word integrity after I set the back wall of the classroom on fire, but that’s another story for another day).

I grew up in a world that saw my hero Joe Namath win the Super Bowl the same year Martin Luther King was taken from us.  Some heroes reigned and some heroes died. 

I had trouble understanding why.

Elementary school was a place of friendship, but also a place of education. 

We learned.  We discussed MLK at length throughout the weeks echoing his assassination, and we didn’t only discuss “current events,” we also learned about days past. 

We called it history whether it was history of the decade or the history of the world (it’s a sad commentary when I meet recent college grads who know little or nothing about 9-11, but I digress . . . )

We learned about Abraham Lincoln, and we learned about John Kennedy who was elected President the year I was born.  Heroism and tragedy.  While clearly some heroes did in fact reign, it was hard to understand why it seemed so many died.

I vividly remember the lessons about Martin Luther King.  Even at 9 years old I understood, he was a leader, an emissary of freedom, and at the same time, he was a man of peace. 

I don’t have any false illusions of the time period.  There w chaos, turmoil, and conflict.  We saw the deaths of Janice, Jimi, and Jim, but we also saw leaders.  And we saw some of them lose their lives.

Here’s where it gets a little crazy.

We all know our phones and devices listen to what we say, but do they listen to our thoughts?  (imagine weird Twilight Zone music playing as we move forward)

As my mind took me back to P.S. 169 (Bayside NY) and I.S. 25 (Flushing), back to the Beatles singing Let It Be and The Mets winning the World Series, my eyes refocused on my computer, YouTube open before me.

I zeroed in on a video featured under the Haley-DeSantis debate clip. 

It was Dion (of Dion and the Belmonts) from 1969 performing his timeless hit, Abraham, Martin, and John on the Smothers Brothers Show (only some of you will recognize the references).  It’s a song about Martin (Luther King) and John (Kennedy).

Wait a minute . . .

Was it listening to my thoughts or just wild coincidence?  Either way . . .

As I sat at my computer on January 14, 2024, I hit play on the Dion YouTube video. 

And suddenly I was 9 years old.

 Fuck, I was on some kind of weird “trip” moving through either parallel universes, segments in time, or simply just experiencing a wild recall, a resurfacing of my own memories.  The back-and-forth past-to-present time-wobble created some deep emotion, one I can only describe as hope and despair, or maybe loss and opportunity, the co-existence of “what a wonderful world” and the question, “why does fucked-up shit happen?”

As I traveled sitting in my chair, as Dion’s Abraham, Martin, and John played as a backdrop, I landed momentarily in 1994, South Florida.  Boca to be exact.

That’s when I met him.

I met Dion at a bar/restaurant named Crock’s (Croc’s?).  I don’t think it’s there any longer.   He sat next to me, and we started talking about “working out.”  Then the conversation changed.  I realized he was the guy who sang “The Wanderer” and “Runaround Sue.”

Dion and I became fast friends, recalling clubs in NYC.  He shared stories of and reverence for singers and performers from a previous era, many before my time, and suddenly it was like sitting with an old friend I’d never met before, one who’d witnessed a significant bit of history.

So, sitting here at my computer just an hour ago, as my brain ran a myriad of concurrent programs all at once, after the first “play” of the Abraham, Martin, and John video, I connected to Bluetooth, cranked the volume up, and listened to the original version of the song.

“He freed lots of people, it seems the good they die young.  I just looked around.  He’s gone.”

YouTube made ongoing suggestions, and I wandered around the app and the time sphere moving from Ray Charles to Marvin Gaye, from Bob Dylan to John Bon Jovi, all doing versions of the iconic Dion song.  And that mixed emotion flooded through me.

BACK TO THE FUTURE

About three minutes ago I snapped out of it.  Came back to the present moment, and returned to my intention, to invite you to read my new Blog post about Curing Arthritis (you forgot that’s how we got here, didn’t you?).

I’m here.  I’m present.  But what stays with me is the thought “it was a different world.”

Thankfully I had no need for “the medical field” when Joe Namath was throwing touchdown passes, but I do know antibiotics weren’t a part of my childhood.  I didn’t have any friends with peanut allergies.  We didn’t know families who had children “on the spectrum.”  Our family doctor made house calls and despite the fact that our family was healthy, knew us by name.

My “doctors” were an Optometrist, Dr. Weinstein, my dentist, Dr. Abrams, and for a couple of years, Dr. Merritt, the orthodontist.  It was a different world.

Today, at Infinite Impact, Moms bring their kids to discuss their Crohn’s disease, their “need” for Adderall, and their autoimmune conditions.  The Moms are on Synthroid, the Dads are on Metformin, and those who are willing to admit it are scrambling to get Ozempic.

Everyone’s on statins, HRT, Lexapro, and Nexium.  And they just aren’t well.

So what does all of this have to do with Arthritis?

Nothing.  At least not directly.

It does, however, speak to why I wrote a lengthy piece on the subject that will be released as an ebook and perhaps published in hard copy in the next few weeks.

There’s a need. 

When I, my fitness staff, and my medical team do “intakes” with new clients and patients, Rheumatoid Arthritis and Osteoarthritis seem to be accepted as inevitable elements of aging.

“Yeah, I have arthritis in my hips but Doc said it’s nothing to worry about.  I’m 48.”

“My main problem is the weight but it’s hard to exercise because of my elbows and wrists.”

“The shoulder’s shot, but I’m not going to be playing baseball anymore.  I just want to golf.”

As we peel away at each new member’s medical history we find a mix of NSAID’s, pain meds, cortisone, and prescription meds are popped, swallowed, and injected with little recognition of consequence.

Here’s the kicker.

They’re all told their Arthritis isn’t curable.

EEEEEAUGH!

They’re told it, they believe it, and they recycle the belief through their subconscious belief systems to eradicate any sense of hope.

Until they meet us.  We restore hope, and function, and health.

That’s why I wrote the lengthy article (I didn’t expect to write this one. Blame Dion DiMucci, aka King of the New York Streets).

You’ll forgive me if I use the words “I Have a Dream.”  A Dream of Betterment.  A Dream of Happy Healthy People.  A Dream of playing at least a small role in restoring our nation to one of freedom, including health freedom, power, including the power over our own bodies and lives.

Read the Blog Article, “Is Arthritic Curable.”

Share it with everyone you know who has joint pain or has been diagnosed with any “phase” or any “type” of Arthritis.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts, understanding your needs, and bringing you to a new level of excellence if you could use a bit of direction, a body reconditioning, or a bit of biohacking.

READ “CAN ARTHRITIS BE CURED”

Back in 2024,

Phil Kaplan

P.S.  Yes, I used the “f-word.”  Sorry, Mom.

P.P.S.  If you want a bit of music for MLK Day:

Dion on the Smothers Brothers  Show

Ray Charles Version

You can find versions by Jon Bon Jovi, Bob Dylan, Sammy Davis Junio, and Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Aaron Neville, and Emmylou  Harris, but the most raw heartfelt version I watched was Moms Mabley performing live on TV shortly after Bobby Kennedy was assassinated

Moms Mabley – They Were Just Going Home

P.P.P.S.  In case you’re interested, here’s Dion’s King of the New York Streets:

King of the New York Streets