To the casual observer, Nittell was a Rastafarian that sold second hand furniture and accessories out of the garage that sat beneath the flat he rented on Potomac Street, which was about half a block down from Duboce Park.  But to those in the neighborhood that knew him well, he was much more.  To them, Nittell was a highly regarded and sought after spiritual advisor who had chosen to work with furniture as his means of conveyance.  The following example might help to illustrate his unique ability.

Mike Lewis’ love life was in shambles after his sister Kathleen’s last visit to San Francisco.  She led a tedious life in Columbus, Ohio and was a divorcee and an elementary school teacher.  For the past five years she had been spending the month of August in the City by the Bay, using it as her little vacation get-away. Having no children from the marriage to otherwise distract her, she came to see Mike one summer, and to his chagrin made it an annual affair.  Prior to this year, Mike had always handled all of the lodging arrangements. He would typically find her a nice one month sublet way up in the North Beach-Russian Hill section of the city where she could satisfy her love for long winded discussions in quaint little cafes; while he was still safe and sound in the semi-hidden Duboce Triangle, several miles across away.

That arrangement changed this year after a seemingly innocent exchange of Christmas cards between Ruth Green, the elderly widow who lives at the end of Potomac boarding the park, and Kathleen. It escalated into Ruth offering Kathleen the use of her guest room and house for less then half of what Kathleen had previously been paying in the pricey NorthBeach area.  It seemed like a great deal.

Despite Mike’s almost constant efforts to dissuade her, she took Mrs. Green up on her offer, and thus began the decay of Mike Lewis’ once vibrant social life. As Kathleen settled into her new home, she was quick to make the rounds of all the caffeine joints.  By the end of the second day there wasn’t a java slinger within walking distance that didn’t have some cute little story from Mikey the Tykee’s tortured childhood.  The capper to Mike’s more than trying day came when he went into The Hurricane and reached for his mug in its usual prime position on The Hurricane’s “Wall of Fame”, and saw that the picture of him that was taken last St. Paddies Day, had been replaced with an indiscreet photo that Kathleen had posted from his early childhood; snapped while Grandma was attempting to toilet train the precarious lad.  It was then that the boys at the bar broke into a well rehearsed chorus of: “Mikey the Tykee, Little Mikey Tykee.”  Needless to say, Mike exploded and proceeded to go on a weekend long drunk-out at the Irish bars in the avenues, and finally crashed at Danny O’Sullivan’s place in inner Richmond. 

He awoke early that Monday morning and sobered up over a double latte at the Café Muse on 6^th and Fulton.  The caffeine set his imagination into gear, and he decided to admit defeat and run off to visit a friend of his who had a hip little cabin in Puget Sound, on Bainbridge Island.  Antoine was a good guy that occasionally crashed at Mike’s place when he was in San Francisco, and had often offered to reciprocate the favor.  Mike gave him a quick call, and although Antoine was somewhat groggy, he welcomed Mike to visit. He also regained consciousness enough to mention something about bringing an extra bottle of some single malted scotch for waking him up so early after he had also had a rather wild weekend.

As things were falling into place, Mike got a taxi and rode down to 2^nd and Mission where he worked in production for a graphic design firm.  Ed Murray, his supervisor, eyed him more then a little suspiciously as Mike sauntered in the door early for work, and looking just like he got thrown out of the last open beer joint.  However, having smelled coffee on his breath and not alcohol, Ed listened to Mike spill his story about his sister’s latest visit.  He was more then sympathetic, having an older sister himself, and let Mike take the two weeks vacation that he had on the books for a later date, today.  However, for the favor Ed extracted a promise from him to pull some double shifts upon his return, which Mike readily agreed to as it would keep him out of his beloved little neighborhood while his older sister was still in town and reaping havoc with his once thriving social life.

About one month later, as Mike gleefully escorted Kathleen onto the early morning airport shuttle bus outside of Ms. Green’s house, he made her promise that she would never stay in the Duboce Triangle again during her August visits.  She had reluctantly conceded his domain over the neighborhood after feeling more than a little guilty for spreading all the intimate and embarrassing details of a young Catholic boy’s painful adolescence.  With that vow as re-assurement, he sought to exorcise the rest of her personal demons by paying a visit to his neighbor Nittell, whom he heard had a special gift when it came to matters of this sort.

Now, Nittell is a mystic, and as a whole they tend not to be morning people, so when Mike knocked on his door at around eight o’clock it wasn’t the peaceful cosmic healer that responded; rather it was the lion that roared and might have consumed and eaten him for breakfast if only to discourage other would be morning intruders if he hadn’t recognized Mike, whom he had always liked and considered a good neighbor.  Nittell also always had has inner ear tuned to the neighborhood, and was well aware of the havoc that his sister had caused, and had been expecting him to drop by sometime, but certainly not this early in the morning.  Nittell listened for a couple of minutes as Mike started to explain his situation, but then firmly brought the initial consultation to a quick close by saying that he needed to think about the matter for a few days, and then he would be by to visit Mike in his apartment in order to get a better feel for what would be necessary to rectify the situation.

Not only is Mike a mystic, he is a Rastafarian and Rastafarians have a different perspective on time as compared with the white man’s take on the matter.  When a Rastafarian tells one of his cronies that he will think about a problem or situation for a couple of days, and then get back to his friend with his answer for the question poised, the emphasis is on getting back together once a greater understanding of the situation at hand has been attained.  The white man, on the other hand, just wants to see you in two days, so if nothing else he won’t feel lonely, and you can both wallow around in ignorance and curse the universe in two part harmony.

Mike did wait, as a couple of days stretched out past a week, and just about the time that he had almost resigned himself to live the rest of his life as a horny hermit, he heard a knock on his door, and there was Nittell, looking like he had just returned from another world.  Nittell was in a trancelike state as he wasted no words or energy on pleasant salutations and began slowly walking around Mike’s flat with glazed over eyes.

This went on for about an hour as Nittell seemed to be fixated on a separate reality, one which flowed above and beyond the ordinary affairs of mankind. He sought not only to understand how the current pattern of energy that was impacting Mike’s mental state, but what could be done to transform it into a much more beneficial flow.  Occasionally he would emerge from his trance and ask Mike a question or two such as, “Does the fireplace work?” or “Does the landlord allow pets?”.  After receiving the answer, he went back into his meditative state, until he looked at Mike and grinned and shook his long dreadlocks wildly and said, “What’s your budget for this man?  You know that we Rastafarians know how to work on the cheap, but if you had say a couple of hundred dollars to spend, Nittell could get you all fixed up and ready to roost.”

At this point Mike would have paid just about anything to be cured of Kathleen’s curse, so he gladly went into his bedroom and reemerged with two hundred dollars in cash, which he handed over to Nittell.  Obviously pleased that he had found a client that valued his services enough to pay cash in advance, Nittell pocketed the money and then drew Mike near and whispered into his ear, “I’ll be back in a few days, when I find the right ingredients to set things right.  Now in the meantime, man, lie low, ‘cause there are some crazy Spirits roaming around your place. Don’t you worry though; Nittell the Lion will tame them.”

Initially Mike heeded Nittell’s advice, and just stopped off at Loonie’s Market on the way home from work in order to pick up something easy to fix for dinner, and of course a six pack of Guinness to help pass the evening.  Finding himself bored after a couple of beers, he decided to compliment Nittell’s spiritual cleansing of the apartment, by doing a material cleansing and getting rid of some of the stuff that had accumulated over the last seven years that he had been in his cozy little flat. 

His first mission was his closet, and by the time that he had tried on his once favorite pair of jeans, which must have shrunk because he couldn’t fit into them, and that sweater which Kathleen gave him last Christmas, he had accumulated three shopping bags of clothes, which he brought down to the Runaway Youth Center on Haight and Jerry Garcia Lane when he ventured out that Saturday afternoon.  It just so happened that he ran into Henrietta Newsome who does some volunteer work there on the weekends teaching the basics of Photoshop to the young kids who were looking to get some employable skills. She knew that Mike worked in the printing industry and wanted to see if he would stop by her class one Saturday in the future and tell some war stories about how he broke into the trade, and what type of computer skills were required or desirable.  He readily agreed and they exchanged numbers for a future get together over drinks at The Hurricane. 

Things were looking up for Mike and he was starting to feel good as he was heading home from the youth center later that afternoon; when he ran across Little Bear, who sells used books on the corner of Steiner and Waller on the weekends.  Mike had developed a deep love for some of the authors that Little Bear had turned him on to, and when he heard from him that he had run into some tough luck of late, Mike insisted that he come over to his flat and help him weed out his book collection, with Little Bear keeping all the extra books, most of which he had sold him. Time just flew by as the two of them had a grandold time at Mike’s drinking beer, sifting through piles of books and talking trash about Joyce, Kerouac and Huxley. Just when they were about to break out the tequila and start in on Bukowski, Mike remembered Nittell’s warning about lying low and begged off for the night, and wished Little Bear well with his new stash of books.

Five minutes later Nittell shows up all wild eyed knocking on his door with a couple of packages in his arms.  It seems that he ran across Little Bear on his way up to Mike’s flat.  Now, Rastafarians in general have the highest respect for the American Indian culture and their earth centric religious beliefs, which echo the foundation of their own sediments; however, having spent almost a year living adjacent to a Hopi reservation in Arizona, Nittell was very wary when his Indian comrades smelt of alcohol.

As Mike was opening the door, Nittell started in on him in a very harsh tone, “Man, I tell you to lie low and let the Spirits sleep, and next thing I know Little Bear comes roaring out of your crib, ripped and ready to go on the war path.  This is serious business, Mike; there are forces out there that could crush you without even lifting their little finger.  Now if you are to continue working with Nittell, you must start to follow my instructions to the T, man. To the T.” he said as he handed Mike the packages and a couple of sheets of paper that he pulled out from his back pocket.

This time Mike did follow Nittell’s directions right down to the letter, even if they were a little bizarre at times.  Since he was off on Sunday, Nittell had mapped out the day for Mike with a detailed agenda. His day began with a sunrise ceremony in which he lit some Egyptian incense and prepared a pot of potent licorice tea, both of which Nittell had provided.  After about an hour of positive meditation, he took a long walk around the neighborhood and then returned to his flat where he put on the CD Babylon Bus by Bob Marley and the Wailers, also provided. He then began the nitty gritty job of washing down all the walls in his flat with a special cleansing solution that Nittell claimed was so repugnant to evil minded spirits that they would not only leave, but tell all their friends to avoid the place like the plague.

He finished this task around noon, and then broke for a light lunch of what Nittell had labeled as Jamaican power mix that Mike thought resembled the trail mix at Loonies Market with some dried apricots and a little Cajun spice tossed in, and then back to work as Nittell had stipulated that the front living area had to be stripped down and vacuumed and the fireplace thoroughly cleaned and ready for use even though it had been a relatively warm September and the nights were still nice and pleasant. 

About mid afternoon Nittell showed up, and was obviously pleased with Mike’s progress as he walked from room to room like a cat on the prowl for a rumored mouse. But, it wasn’t mice that he was looking for, as he explained to Mike, “I have scoured the placed from top to bottom and you have done well; the evil Spirits have all abandoned the place. However, the battle is only half over for now we must attract the powerful and good Spirits, and entice them into hanging out here for a while, and blessing us with their presence.”

With that said, he walked over to the CD player and put in a Jimmy Cliff CD and handed Mike another page of detailed instructions, and said, “The good Spirits just love the sound of this man’s voice.  They get drunk on the pure beauty and soul that radiates from his voice and will hang out in your place for a while and hopefully will look favorably upon you and your troubled social standing in the neighborhood.  Believe me, if it is their will, you will see a change that will just amaze you.” 

Suddenly Nittell got very serious, and drew Mike near, as if he didn’t want any one to overhear what he was going to say, “Now even though these are good Spirits, and usually friendly, we must be sure to appease them in the right manner. I will have a friend of mine drop off half a cord of wood later on in the afternoon. Starting tonight and for the rest of the week, I want you to build a big fire at sunset and keep it blazing until you retire for the night.  Also, when you finish cleaning the front room, come over to my place. I have a beautiful old Persian rug which will fit nicely into that room. It will add a touch of antiquity to your place, and the Spirits will become enticed with the rugs’ intricate woven patterns. I also have a chair for this room, but it is of utmost importance that no person ever sits in it. The unoccupied chair will serve as an open invitation to any good and powerful Spirits that might be in your area.  If the seat is occupied, they will take that as a sign that they are no longer welcome and pass you by for another resting spot.”

At the end of the day as he was finishing up, things did indeed start to change for the better as Sadie Kwon, who moved in across the street about five months ago, and had never really given him more then a courteous hello prior to this, out of the blue brings over a dish of her homemade beef stew. She said that she had seen Mike working feverishly all day, and thought that he might like a little dinner.  Truth is she was more then a little curious at what was going on at his apartment with all the coming and goings, and used the beef stew as an excuse to come over and check it out in person.  When Mike walked with her into the living room and she saw the blazing fire that he had just lit, she all but invited herself over to dinner next Saturday so she could test out a new recipe for Korean Barbeque that had to be done over a large open blazing fire such as the one he had going now.

On Tuesday night Nittell showed up at the flat for what Mike initially thought was another impromptu inspection, until he heard a little meowcome from underneath Nittell’s jacket, and then the cutest little black kitten poked out his head.  As Nittell took the kitten out and gently handed him to Mike, it took a playful swing at Mike with one of his little paws. Nittell laughed and said, “Just a couple of weeks old, and already he’s a little tiger!  He should be, though, because he comes from good stock.  His mother is a beautiful cat that lives in a good Rastafarian home right off Fillmore and Haight, and from the looks of him, I bet his daddy is that big old black cat that sometimes hangs around Duboce Park at night. Now, man I took the liberty of naming him for you, just so you will always remember what he symbolizes,” Nittell said as he reached over and lovingly patted the kitten on the head. “I named him Domino, because he is going to knock everyone in the neighborhood over with his charm, and very soon after, old Mike will have reclaimed his mojo.  The Rastafarian’s job is over, man; the rest is up to nature.” 

Nittell was right as Mike made the rounds of all the local java joints with Domino in tow, and soon all the rehashed tales about Mikey the Tyke were replaced with cute snippets of Dominos newest adventure as the kitten became an instant neighborhood celebrity.  And Domino even became the first four legged creature to get his picture and mug (milk pan) on The Hurricane’s wall of fame.  Needless to say, Mike rode his coattails and once again stepped back in the limelight of the Duboce Triangle.

Two months later, Nittell was moving some of his furniture collection from the garage out into his driveway as he was apt to do on a sunny weekend day, especially towards the end of the month as he struggled to piece together the rent money.  Just as he had finished moving a large art deco vanity out to the front sidewalk, Officers Kersey and Harrington rolled by in their patrol car on their way to make their rounds of Duboce Park, and when they saw Nittell moving the vanity, they stopped the car, and Officer Kersey got out with his ticket book in hand.

“I warned you last week Nittell about selling furniture in your driveway.  In this city, you now need a permit to do that.  I’m going to write you up this time.  There will be a two hundred dollar fine that you must either pay by the court date, or appear in court in-person to defend, else a bench warrant will be issued for your arrest the same day,” Officer Jersey said as he finished writing the ticket and handed it to Nittell.

Nittell looked puzzled as he read the ticket and started to walk around the furniture that he had just set out in the driveway.  “Now Officer Kersey answer me this please, who be selling furniture?  I don’t see no price tags on these pieces; I don’t see any “For Sale” sign hung out over poor Nittell’s garage.  All I see is a hard working Rastafarian who places his furniture out where it can soak in the healing rays of the sun.  Now you may wonder why this crazy Rastafarian is putting these things in the loving sunshine.  Well Mr. Police Officer, I use this furniture in my line of work. By the gift of Jah, I am a spiritual consultant.  My pieces of furniture act as a conduit with the spiritual realm; they soak in its knowledge and pass it on to my clients when these items are placed in their homes.  But, these pieces of furniture are like batteries, man; they need to be charged in order to work. The sun is the key; it gives these pieces of furniture the power to communicate with the spiritual realm.  So, what you see is no yard sale; no what you see is a Rastafarian putting his tools of the trade back in good working order.”

The two of them went on like that for almost an hour until Nittell threw up his hands up in disgust, and went up the stairs that led to his flat.  When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned back towards Kersey and said quite eloquently, “I will see you in court, Officer Kersey.” 

The next day Nittell was seen walking around the neighborhood lost deeply in thought, obviously preoccupied with the threat that this recent turn of events poised to his continued ability to pay the monthly rent.  Although Nittell was a very resourceful man and usually had several different revenue streams trickling in, for the most part he depended upon the used furniture trade as his main way of appeasing his landlord.  If Kersey was to effectively shut down his little trade, Nittell would never be able to afford to live in his beloved neighborhood.

This would continue for the next two weeks as Nittell lived in two different spheres. His higher consciousness floated in the realm of possible solutions to his legal problem, while his sense of awareness struggled with trying to complete each day’s tasks.  Kermit, the long time day clerk at Loonies, spent a half hour arguing with him about when his grocery store stopped making tuna sandwiches; when, as Kermit reminded Nittell repeatedly during their conversation, Nittell got cans of tuna at their store and tuna fish sandwiches across the street at the little deli, Love to Haight.  Soon after that Nittell was seen reprimanding Bill Terry and his partner Kenny Warner, for not picking up that large inlaid mahogany bureau and settling their bill with him. Almost everyone in the neighborhood saw the two men struggling to move it home last weekend with Nittell smiling and wishing them luck, flush with case. 

It wasn’t until Nittell walked into the Vaporized Sphere-the neighborhood legal medical marijuana dispensary- and tried to pay his gas and power bill that his friends in the ‘hood decided that they had seen enough.  Kerry, the ever caring proprietor of the dispensary, walked Nittell home to Nittell’s apartment around the corner.  She then sat down with him and started to make some calls on her cell phone triggering a thundering response of emails, calls and IMs from their digitally connected chums.  And before Kerry was telling Nittell good bye 45 minutes later, a Sunday get-together was planned for the neighborhood, designed to bring everyone out to show support for their beloved friend.  The details were in motion for a pot luck brunch to be held in Nittell’s driveway this Sunday afternoon and all were asked to give proper thought of how they could help Nittell through this difficult time. As things began to get settled, the last message sent out was; “2:00 pm, Bring your own chair.”

Nittell, who had previously seemed oblivious to all the electronic and voice messaging, suddenly snapped out of it when he heard that phrase.  As he escorted Kerry to the door, she could sense that he had gained a perspective on the situation when he gave her a very warm hug and whispered in her ear, “Remember to bring your own chair. Thanks for everything.  I’ll see you in a couple of days, on Sunday.  I’ll be fine until then.  It’s good to know how kind and caring all the neighbors are to me.  Just a poor old Rastafarian...”  He gently coaxed her out the door as the first signs of a couple of tears made their way down his time-weathered cheeks.

As 2:00 rolled around on Sunday, the space outside his house was hopping as 30 or so people congregated in front of Nittell’s place.  Mike Lewis had set up a grill and was already flipping burgers and starting the chicken wings for the carnivores while Kerry set up the tables to hold the assortment of cultural culinary delights that reflected the wide varied nature of their cooks.  The smell of exotic Afghan chutneys mingled with Spanish tapas and the distinctive smell of ham hocks gave testimony that this was going to be a multicultural affair.

As his neighbor’s arranged their seats into groups, exchanged chit chat and got all the prep ready for the buffet, everyone was asking about Nittell, who was no where to be found.  As the mystery intensified, Mike Lewis handed off the chef chores to his new girlfriend, Sadie Kwon, and headed up Nittell’s front steps with a large banner that he had stashed in his cooking supplies.  Nittell, dressed splendidly for the occasion, sporting his ceremonial headwear featuring the conquering lion ablaze in Rastafarian colors, stuck his head out the window and motioned for Mike to unfurl the banner and toss one end to him.  

“Welcome to the Church of the Ascendant Chair” the banner read as the two stretched it out taught across Nittell’s front window.  Mike turned towards his seated neighbors and motioned with his hands for them to be quiet as Nittell made his way onto the front porch of his flat.  He wore a beautiful Rastafarian ceremonial robe and the distant look in his eyes had been replaced by the warm healing eyes his neighbors had come to trust.

“My dear friends, never have I been so touched, so moved, by my neighbors who have come to share their love and wisdom with a foolish old Rastafarian like myself.”  Nittell stopped for a second and motioned to Mike to start his little camcorder and then continued. “Now you might be wondering why is Nittell making a movie.  This is no movie. This is a documentary of the start of our new neighborhood church, The Church of the Ascendant Chair.   It is wonderful to look out and see such a beautiful mix of cultures, each so different, yet respectful of the other.  Now you combine that with the positive energy that you are bringing with you and you have a magic that we can harvest to help each of us individually get through those rough times.  That is the real meaning of community.  Now you must be thinking that Nittell is into his really good medical marijuana when I start talking about harvesting magic, but it’s true.

Now each of you brought a chair, and what we are going to do is sit around in groups and mingle, and eat and drink and tell stories about your kids and lies about your sex lives, but you have to keep changing chairs now and then.  The chairs will pickup on all the good vibrations as we share a beautiful day in the neighborhood with all our friends.  Now when you go home, put your chair in a special little place where no one will sit in it.  This chair will become your private little repository of the magic of this event whenever the man’s world has got you by the throat.  All you have to do is believe.  Let the neighborhood celebration begin.”

With that Mike cautioned the crowd that the video was to have two versions: one for the neighborhood archives and a second for Nittell’s upcoming trial where an edited version was to be shown to the judge (along with his framed certificate authenticating that The Church of the Ascendant Chair at 39 Potomac Street is the San Francisco branch of the Greater Love Movement; HQ in Kingston, Jamaica).  Mike was emphatic that if you had parole officer issues, were wanted on warrants or the like to be sure and let him know so that the edited version is clean.

Two weeks later, the trial went like a charm for Nittell as the judge, Marty Bourke, was so moved by the video and Nittell’s persuasive manner that he was soon to become a regular at the monthly get-togethers.  In fact, Marty keeps his own chair in his private chamber where it offers him solace during a difficult case.  The strangest thing about the whole string of incidents might be that Nittell and Marty actually hit it off quite well as he and Nittell meet for dinner every couple weeks down at the International Café to sit around talking in the back garden patio for hours like the elders of the older tribes did in an age long since past.