Dateline Tuesday January 19th, 2016 This WEEK CNN Reporters Share with Readers and Viewers The Persons Who Changed Their Lives. Link provided below ... BUREAU Editor Joshua TRILIEGI Chimes In. THE PERSON WHO CHANGED MY LIFE
By BUREAU Editor Joshua A. TRILIEGI CNN Reporters are currently sharing 'feel good' stories about how their lives were changed by a person of import. Do We Really need to know who changed the lives of privileged reporters ? If so, here's a little story that changed my life.
From the time I was 6 months old, till the day he left the planet, my father, Richard Joseph Flynn, was always there for me. He raised me, my sister, my brother. We bought a modest home and, like most Americans, we enjoyed a middle-ish class lifestyle. My parents worked hard to keep us together, to get us through school and they sent me to college. Both my parents were, culturally speaking, ahead of their time. Sometimes, that was a challenge and other times, it was a very beautiful experience. We were introduced to an extremely wide range of cultures, diverse lifestyles and cutting edge art, music, fashion and the like. My dad had the heart of a lion, the charm of any movie star, the diligence of any father and he had the luck of the Irish. He was born in 1945, exactly twenty years before me. He experienced an incredible time in America, the invention of Rock & Roll, the rise of a powerful youth culture and the tragedies of politics, with the killing of John F. Kennedy. An event that, to this day, neither he, nor I, nor anyone, has truly understood, recovered from or accepted. But, we went on, because, we had to. Something was indeed stolen from America that day, and yet, we learned something too, about loss, about power, about politics and about reporting the truth. I wish I could say that the person who changed my life was my father. Unfortunately, it was his brothers Dennis and David Flynn who did that, the day they stoled our family home from us.
As stated earlier, my father, lived the life of his generation, no holds barred. That lifestyle, took it's toll and like many, the years on this planet were decidedly about quality, not quantity. The day he died, I received a phone call from his brother Dave, who informed me that my father had died, that he had asked for me late into the night, that he had been dropped off at the hospital and without accompaniment, without notification of me, my mother or my siblings, he had died, alone. "I think I made a mistake by dropping him off at the hospital," I was told by what sounded like a guilt ridden brother, asking for forgiveness, asking for support, asking for a partner, in me. Then I was told that my father had expressed that I was to be an heir to his property. This was no surprise. My father, whom had worked so hard to own a piece of America, had, like many fathers, stated the now cliche' phrase, "Someday, this will all be yours," and my consistent and steadfast response, " I don't want to think about that right now." Who wants to ever imagine the loss of a father? I couldn't fathom living on a planet without my dad and I sure as hell didn't want to think about or visualize the day when his property would become my property. In the months to follow, the lawyers and liars changed my life forever. They gutted the house, they threw away the valuables, the photos, the artworks, the books, the memories of MY life. A home we purchased as a family, for some 40,000 dollars was sold to total strangers for some 500,000 dollars. Talk about an American success story, looking at the numbers, clearly my father had made decisions that were spot on: I had to admire him as I looked back on his investment. When word got out that David Flynn and Dennis Flynn had stolen the home and neglected my father's dying request, our neighbors, our childhood friends, our witnesses were aghast. People came forward, volunteering to make official statements, on the record on our behalf. I was devastated, blindsided, and down for the count. Unprepared for this type of loss, I called some old friends in the real estate business, to no avail. The houses were sold, the brothers disappeared and the city of Los Angeles accepted half of the 500,000 dollars as my fathers casual will and last dying testament was ignored.
Don't bust out the violins too soon here, the story gets even worse. Around this same time, I delivered by registered mail, a work of Art, that was my most valuable creation to date: A 100 foot long Artwork which was a tribute to Jack Kerouac's Novel, "On The Road," to one of the world's most powerful and influential Art Gallery owners in the world. Within a few days, I received a letter, stating that the gallery was not currently accepting submissions. There was no mention of the artwork. When I called the gallery with shipping and billing instructions to return the work, I was given the run around. When I called the Art Publications and Newspapers of record explaining the incident, I was met with total silence. Why would the worlds most powerful art media advertiser's side with an unknown artist and lose millions of dollars of advertising from the worlds most powerful art dealer, to support me ? The answer is, they wouldn't, and, they didn't. I don't need to name name's here, I'm not the type of guy. The fact of the matter is, this happened. This was long before I officially stepped into the publishing game and it's one of the reason why I did establish the current Arts publication that has millions of readers around the world reading interviews and viewing photographic essays, reviews and a fresh dissertation on the arts in America and the world. I learned that if I wanted a voice in my community, I would have to create my own platform and that is what I did. It should be noted the publication did not seek revenge on those who stole, those who oppressed, those who lied, those who ignored, those who watched, as an individual artist rose from the ashes and somehow, with the help of family, friends and philanthropist's, helped to transform a silly little blog into a free, glossy, paper edition magazine, that I personally hand delivered to thousands and thousands of residents throughout California and eventually, an electronic edition that is currently being read by millions of people around the entire world. This might be a good time to thank those who helped and those who opposed, those who participated and those who watched from the sidelines, as far as I am concerned, everything and everyone has had an effect and I thank you all.
Again, hold off on the violins, theres more. Also around this same time, I was given a film grant by the Actor Ben Stiller for five thousand dollars to create a film program at a local Los Angeles Film Festival, where I was the director of Development, having worked my way up over a seven year period, from a volunteer at the festivals premiere, to the creative producer of a film series based on the letters of artists of note. The film became a creative hit for the community and a group of New Directors, each with a bold and original style. That year, I personally raised fifty - thousand dollars worth of in-kind trades, created the feature film with the help of fifteen tenacious and talented directors and producers and generated an immense interest in the project via local radio, newspapers and my prior supporters through the years. Paramount Pictures presented the film to a packed house and double screening, MTV, David Geffen and Dreamworks were taking my calls and, I would like to thank them for being so open to the rough diamond that I was. Loss is a powerful entity. It makes for good drama, it is the kernel of all great comedy, it is the only guarantee in life and if you can survive, it makes for some very interesting and empathetic energy that no amount of money or success or worldly accolades can provide. I regret nothing of this journey. Unfortunately, due to conditions beyond my control, the film festival did not survive. But I did.
No violins just yet, this gets even more absurd when my grandfather leaves the planet. Now I'm totally gone. The powerful and mythological shadow that I had spent years studying and documenting, visiting and researching, speculating and honoring, was now gone, and so was I. The party was over. My dad, our home, the artwork, the festival, my grandfather, no longer existed. I missed a day of work the day my father died, at a new job with a film company, during my
first thirty days, and was let go. Now you can bust out the violins. Since then, things have changed. With donations, I completely reproduced the 100 foot artwork. I accepted the losses, I forgave those in power, who abused it, I became, according to my peers and the public at large, a writer, with an original voice. I accept that compliment and again, I thank our readers and those who contributed to the end result. So who is the person who changed my life ? My dad ? His brother ? My Grandfather ? Ben Stiller ? The Gallery Owner ? The Festival Founder ? Or the only person who stood by me, every single step of the way back up ? I will leave that for you to decide, or guess. The point is this, if there is a point at all. When you lose like I did, life becomes too important to play games, too valuable to depreciate, too beautiful to make ugly, too incredible to belittle and too damn important to bother with the millions and millions of people, who have not figured this out yet. So, if I didn't notice the game you played, or the ugly thing you said, or the belittling thing you did, or the fact that you still own a house, have a dad, a job, and or are currently abusing your power: at least you now know Why.
http://www.cnn.com/specials/living/person-who-changed-my-life
