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GULSHAN / It was the day before I would be paying the debt of my first brick yard family. Gulshan, with her daughters, Saba and Samra, were making 400-500 bricks a day, trapped in debt bondage. Gulshan had labored hard, eleven years, as good as widowed by her husband, who had fled the brick yard. I was pondering how much we’ve been given on ‘our’ side of the world, as I drove along. For the first time on this familiar stretch of lawless highway 70, in north St. Louis, I found myself going with the ‘flow’ of traffic; 15-20 mph OVER the 55 mph limit. Out of the corner of my left eye, there came erratic motions in the left lane, a man pounding on his steering wheel, and hollering, seemingly angry because he was boxed in and couldn’t pass. The family in the van was unaware of the temper tantrum, being had in a car, mere inches from their bumper. At 75 american miles an hour, our eyes met and I shrugged at him in a gesture, of “WHAT”S THE MATTER?” He jerked his finger, back and forth, hard at the van, pounding with his hand, mouthing his torment to me, that they would not move out of his way. I slowed down so he could swing around the family’s van, into my lane and speed his hasty life on. As he angrily gunned his engine, a large black puff of smoke spewed from his shining bright black car. It was Sunday morning, on my way to church, and here I was, sinning, gleeful that the man had just blown his motor. I muttered “I’m sorry” to the Lord, and thought back to Gulshan, and the brick yard furnaces of Pakistan, that spew a puff of the amount of smoke of a blown engine, in a split second. GU GULSHAN / It was the day before I would be paying the debt of my first brick yard family. Gulshan, with her daughters, Saba and Samra, were making 400-500 bricks a day, trapped in debt bondage. Gulshan had labored hard, eleven years, as good as widowed by her husband, who had fled the brick yard. I was pondering how much we’ve been given on ‘our’ side of the world, as I drove along. For the first time on this familiar stretch of lawless highway 70, in north St. Louis, I found myself going with the ‘flow’ of traffic; 15-20 mph OVER the 55 mph limit. Out of the corner of my left eye, there came erratic motions in the left lane, a man pounding on his steering wheel, and hollering, seemingly angry because he was boxed in and couldn’t pass. The family in the van was unaware of the temper tantrum, being had in a car, mere inches from their bumper. At 75 american miles an hour, our eyes met and I shrugged at him in a gesture, of “WHAT”S THE MATTER?” He jerked his finger, back and forth, hard at the van, pounding with his hand, mouthing his torment to me, that they would not move out of his way. I slowed down so he could swing around the family’s van, into my lane and speed his hasty life on. As he angrily gunned his engine, a large black puff of smoke spewed from his shining bright black car. It was Sunday morning, on my way to church, and here I was, sinning, gleeful that the man had just blown his motor. I muttered “I’m sorry” to the Lord, and thought back to Gulshan, and the brick yard furnaces of Pakistan, that spew a puff of the amount of smoke of a blown engine, in a split second. familiar stretch of lawless highway 70, in north St. Louis, I found myself going with the ‘flow’ of traffic; 15-20 mph OVER the 55 mph limit. Out of the corner of my left eye, there came erratic motions in the left lane, a man pounding on his steering wheel, and hollering, seemingly angry because he was boxed in and couldn’t pass. The family in the van was unaware of the temper tantrum, being had in a car, mere inches from their bumper. At 75 american miles an hour, our eyes met and I shrugged at him in a gesture, of “WHAT”S THE MATTER?” He jerked his finger, back and forth, hard at the van, pounding with his hand, mouthing his torment to me, that they would not move out of his way. I slowed down so he could swing around the family’s van, into my lane and speed his hasty life on. As he angrily gunned his engine, a large black puff of smoke spewed from his shining bright black car. It was Sunday morning, on my way to church, and here I was, sinning, gleeful that the man had just blown his motor. I muttered “I’m sorry” to the Lord, and thought back to Gulshan, and the brick yard furnaces of Pakistan, that spew a puff of the amount of smoke of a blown engine, in a split second.
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 Recently Ray Preston of KMOV, channel 4, did a story, which can still be viewed on line; “St Louis Proud: The Story Behind Merferd.” Ray spent an entire morning with my art and Arborculture Apprentices, Christopher Smith, Nehemiah Stone, and myself. THIS story begins with the DRIVE NICE sign on highway 70. One night a man in a tinted widow car road raged one of my daughters on the lawless strip of 70 between the Arch and our city of Ferguson. So I painted Merferd saying “DRIVE NICE!” This sign lasted for three years …  … until Merferd’s old enemies the LOW DOWNS, a graffiti gang, found a way up and tagged over him.  Two homeless friends got up on the roof and painted it white again. St Louis’ homeless love Merferd, and Merferd loves them.  My apprentices, 15 years old Nehemiah (from the south side), and 14 year old Christopher of Berkley, hung around with me for several days …  WHAT was Merferd going to say? He initially was going to say “Welcome to Missouri.”  After discussion with Alderman Bandon Frazier-Bosely, (who is sick at heart with all the crime and murder in north St. Louis), and consulting with a couple other friends … … He is presently saying “FATHER” along with “Malachi 4:6”.  The West side of the Billboard plugs a St Louis band of a friend of mine. 
Christopher Smith and Nehemiah Stone have been a huge help, wether it has been art, or arboriculture events or helping a homeless friend of ours move to another place. Bebe' McBride's belongings are in plastic bins, protected on all sides with a few remaining Merferds. 
To build a Homeless Treetoon friend a home.... North St Louis lumber, who donates Merferd making wood, also donated the lumber for the building of the teensy house for Bebe'.  Dave never would tell me his last name, or else you would know it. Dave and his gal Bonnie, (now deceased) were featured in the documentary film "Living in Tents" by film maker Paul Crane. I had met Dave at the St Louis International film festival where Josh Herum's "The Man Behind the Merferds" was shown alongside "Living in Tents". The days spent with Dave were full of laughter. I learned to be very careful about what I said or what I asked him, because he had an uncanny ability to roast me.  The pallet yard had come to an end, and Bebe's hood had become dangerous. It seemed a good fit to move her and the Merfs to safe camp on the edge of some woods in East St Louis. I hired homeless carpenter Dave, who moved in with his warm red tent.  The old cast iron fire pit burning day and night, cooking and smoking Bebe's camp cooking fare. On the days we did not do tree work, we spent carving and painting our art on a long sturdy work bench station.  During the stay at camp, Christopher, Bebe' and me created over thirty "Merfmass Trees". Our friends Don and Barb Moore sold them, without any consignment fee, from their shop on Cherokee St in St Louis, "RIVERSIDE ANTIQUES". Treetoons products will continue to be made available there.  We are a little weary playing musical Merferds. All loaded up with no where to go. Trees are calling for them, but our tree customers are calling for us to trim. So many Treetoons and so little time.
I visited with with Rob Gibson, the first and original 'founder of the camp. His cozy, tent was home sweet home to him. On the wall in the background a certificate of his baptism.Channel Four's Ray Preston and his Camera man Steve interviewed Rob the next morning.   The next thing I knew they were over by our truck. Rob asked them if they ever had heard about the Man behind the Merferds. Ray had been wanting to interview me some day and do a story.
He hasn't been released to do it yet. But he and Steve DID both get a drawing. Created at “Treetoon Town” and sold at Riverside Antiques on 'Antique Row' on Cherokee street ($50 )  Phil personally creates each unique Merferd climbing up to the star. Merferd can be easily removed from the star and placed on a larger Christmas tree as an ornament if so desired.
Pictured left to right, Christopher, my apprentice, (when not in school), Bebe’, pallett tree, star maker, and tree care helper and myself.. The photo is taken at “Treetoon Town”, part homeless camp. We are grateful to Riverside Antiques, who is not charging a consignment fee. We are also thankful that the mayor in East St Louis does not give orders to bulldozer camps to make the homeless go away, as in St Louis. 
How cool, that, (Sunday, Nov 4, 1:00 at the Zack theater,) out of the multitude of entries, for Josh Herum and I to be teamed up with "Living in Tents". I'm still so disappointed with mayors Krewson and Slay, having shut down our city's only 24 emergency homeless shelter, at the behest of a large political donor. Merferd art continues at a homeless camp, across the river, where the East St Louis' mayor visits. She has even cut the grass. On the St Louis side, the mayors send the bulldozers. Instead of the Forestry division saving trees, they are ordered to dismantle tents, and even cut down the trees that shade them.
-- Phil
  Phil needed a road crew! After having spent a long day preparing for the “Pickin on Picknic” fest in St Clair, Phil and Merferd arrived and slept in the bed of Phil's tree crane truck on a comfortable kick back lawn chair. The next day Phil was somewhat overwhelmed. He wondered "if it took so long to prepare and pull the Merferds out of their St Louis trees, how was I going to think I was going to be able to reinstall at the festival by dark?! It dawned on me that I needed a ROAD CREW."
When Tim stuck his head above that tailgate and asked if he could help if I hadn’t had a ride on his tricycle I would have thunk him an angel sent by God!
 Big Mike of the Merferd Road Crew “Big Mike” joins me and Piglet, and the Merferds are in the buddy rigging system now!
... then Phil went off to ride on a bicycle and listen to the music of The Mighty Pines.
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