On New Years’ Eve heading into 1994, there was no way to foresee the awakening of the truth to be revealed to me in that year. (I would not wish that truth falling on any human being ever.) Calling the X Telling her on New Year’s Eve, I wanted a divorce, freed me up from over 7 months of deep depression and frustration of having to beg my wife Kelly to come back to Massachusetts, from California, with adored 2 year old daughter Jade, so I could give it my best shot. It was early enough New Year’s Eve, to be completely sober. My 7 months of begging her to come back from a 2 week vacation to Family in California was enough, it had broken me emotionally.
My friend Jerry from across the Hall of our Abbey Road Condo would tell me a number of times, “She has you in limbo doesn’t she.” From New Year’s Eve on the Wedding Certificate was only a piece of paper. From that day on started to come out of the fog that kept me mostly off the “Green Table Pool Alter” the last 6 months when the Bar crowd at Club 40’s, who helped me through would say, “We love to see you when you get off that Bar Stool Mike and play pool.”
[Drunken Sailors trip of summer of 2012, pointing to Abbey Road sign, taken by my new wife Marie visiting from Antwerpen Belgium. We got married July 7, 2012 at Leominster City Hall by Justice of the Peace, and boy was it funny when Marie could not pronounce one of the words and Justice did all she could to hold back her laughing, which Marie and me could not stop.]
It didn’t mean I gave up drinking, but my attitude of life grew more positive as the New England Winter went on. There were a few things that helped that attitude change. Getting a Lawyer to handle the 4 grand owed to me from Scott T, who owned Scott’s Billiards in town, from back rent was a mental release. Scott had made a 91-93 IBEW work trip to Washington to unbearable, the 2 years out on the west coast. (Hey, I knew he should have and could have paid the rent on time, but had had thoughts of a piece of the Pool Room.) Was in no way satisfied with the 50 bucks a month the Lawyer got from the Judge, but at least I would not have to bad mouth him to all, as was doing. It was smarter than paying the 2 Grand to break his left arm, which I sure felt like doing. IBEW wirenuts out of Boston who didn’t even know him and people around town who did were all saying, “He has the brass balls in his pants of a 16 year old, thinking only of pussy.” Guess a future Doctor was right about having some “Obsessive Compulsion Disorder” from there being too many morons trying to drive me insane.
It felt great about having my 1000 square foot 2 bed room, 1.5 baths, with a deck on on the courtyard side of the Abbey Road Condo. I had always found it cool to have gotten the down payment check from Local 588 on 8/8/88, for $8,000, for first floor court yard side of 3 story 3 building Laurel Green complex. It was unit 103, and in 1988 local 588 had been amalgamated into Boston local 103, over all of us Journey Men objections. I had not yet thought about what the Real Estate man had said when I gave him the $500 deposit on last remaining unit, “They named this Abbey Road with hopes of someone moving here who would change things. You are him.”
My best friend Joe O., who I was only a friend of, called me Saturday after New Year’s Day in the afternoon to teach me some more about my new 486 4 megs of ram (pretty good at that time.) 33 cycle Pc, with 14.4 modem, (Fast at the time but Joe knew Pentium was almost perfected but was great to play Chess Master on, and other games.) and to play some pool after surfing the BBS’s connecting the internet at that early stage. Whenever Joe dropped by, he had pot. I being an Arlonut could not help but play Guthrie’s Someday and Power of Love CDs from the 80s, which Arlo kept the dreams of the 60’s alive in his music. Somehow Joe never caught the dream of Arlo’s: “If it’s love you’re giving give it all you got until all over the world we are making the news for holding hands in all the cities of the world.” Not even sure how my best friend could not figure out how Steve Miller’s “Getting down to the swing-town was all about, for we all have been working so hard for far too long, for next to nothing.”
I schooled him well that day at Club 40’s at Black-ball. “Michael” Joe says, “You are surely a 1-2 inning 8 Ball Player, of which I will never have your talent, but will catch you late some drunken night, or early some morning after.” Joe was a lefty, and before my work trip west to Washington, I could run a rack left handed with my right handed $500 South West Pool Cue, that you can play 3-cushion billiards with.
Had had some good reasons for high hopes of playing well out on that west coast work trip: (Scott had turned sour.) as of then in in New England in 91, not too many players in New England, had ever beaten Mike Zugland (And that match is on tape somewhere.) on The New England 9 Ball Tour, in my best finish of 7-8th (Had finished 2rd in some low turnout ones, and won a few local As) with over 70 players. And hell, the week before had beaten Boston Manny, where nobody beats him for the cash at Bowling Alley Room down the street from my IBEW Hall #103 in Dorchester. Ya, Manny was just warming up, but being 60 bucks up for 20 a set, I was smart (Have rarely been accused of being smart.) enough to walk away, when he wanted to raise the bet to 50. He knew he had work to get the 60 bucks back, and told him after you get the 60 back it’s over. Manmy was all warmed up, and I knew then knew I had little chance.
It was cool that by end of January a Gypsy like Lady Charlotte asked me to play in a Scotch Doubles (Alternating shots.) 9-ball tournament at Break Away Billiards 8 miles away in Clinton. We made the local paper for finishing 2rd, for the 2 men combined was too much for a missed shot on open rack by Charlotte in the finals. Hey cool we got in the News Paper for finishing 2rd.
Since she had a baby sitter already, we headed to Abbey Road, where we made love like whoopee until my mind was blown, a few times as never before for me. She loved the videos coming out of the TV on CMT, “The best station on the dial” I always said. Found it interesting her descendants were also from Prince Edward Island as she was also Basque, as my middle name Cheverie is French Basque. We dated for some nice weeks, but I cut it off, when feeling like I could get any lady in Town. Do wish I had told her face to face it didn’t feel we were the right combination.
I called Barmaid Lisa a Cartoon. She was a dark haired beauty, who reminded me of Madonna in Dick Tracy, was always good for a laugh to drink down my shares of Cold Beers. She served them up as soon as I asked for one, while keeping us barflies laughing. Have heard she would sometimes lift her shirt to show off her bar-less breast, though never did witness that. She would always tell me, “Mike, I don’t know why 40 always gives you such a hard time.” “Well, he gives every male a hard time, and thinks I’m hustling his customers.” I had thought Saint Patty’s Day was on March 11th so had 2 Paddy’s days in 94. Her boy friend would let her out in public on the real one for she was gonna wear 4 leaf clovers over her nipples. .
I was drunken The Amateur Saint Patty’s Night, sitting against shelf near pool table playing my APA Black-ball Team Captain Mike. Little Carol walks into the fairly crowded bar, with her girlfriends and while they were standing by the side door near the Green Alters, she says “Mike.” Captain walks over to her, and hear Carol vaguely say, “Not you, him.” But I was too happily, numbed, drunkenly, to lift my head for that beauty to talk to me, in that condition.
(But that brought back memories of the fall, when Carol had been sitting at corner bar stool with her X Al, and Bruno. She raised her index finger in my direction nodding me to come near her from the Green Alter. All I could say, as leaning next to her was, “You know you can only beat your head up against a brick wall for so long.” Carol answers, “I know that Michael. But Al is my son’s Father.” By that time in the fall of 93 it had been clear to the Bar Folks, me and my future X were a done deal, even though she was the mother of daughter Jade.)
But right after my 2rd Saint Patrick’s Day of 94 it felt right at the time it felt right to clear my head of the Michelob’s for a few weeks. With having the confidence growing stronger inside of me since beginning of year, my self worth finally felt ready for Little Carol, with feelings stirring of service to Society. In no way did I understand what that service was about during that cold winter. Though, it was sure starting to look like it was going to be a lot of laughs with a hot little blonde chick as my companion.
One night after taking a break from the Cold Beers, Bruno told me at Club Fotry’s, “Don’t go anywhere Mike.” With him then going out to the pay-phone to make a call… Carol and her friends show up soon after. Sitting next to Bruno it amazed me what kind of lady Carol was, while she talked to Bruno about there being lots of ways for a lady to get out of having a child, as Bruno’s girlfriend had recently not done… Bruno says to me, “Mike” he whispered, “Just stay put and listen to her. This is for you” It blew my mind what an out of the world lady Carol was after I overhear clearly her saying to Bruno, “I have lots of film in my memory of men like Buno and my X Al going home with whoever was left in the Bars at last call. before I do “that” I am going to be sure” After about an hour of her standing next to Bruno, she gets up and heads towards the door, ball busting Bruno says to Carol, “You sure you don’t want to go see his palace?” “Think of the source Mike.” as she slips out of the front door. Guess the rumors of me cleaning up my pad (And it never was that dirty.) did get around from Jerry my neighbor, thinking it a bit weird one night when I was trashing each butt after a smoke, to keep the atmosphere clear on his recent visits, when I did want the Condo ready for a Lady to visit.
I was still in the process of working myself out of another IBEW Wirenut job. As one night I would tell the crowd, with Carol able to overhear, “I am working on the Fire Alarm, Security and Energy Management Systems of a Lord and Taylors, down in Framingham, an alright highway commute.” There in bar, 40’s Electrician Brain says, “He sounds like a keeper on that job.”
One morning pulled up to work in 94 Blue Thunder Bird, with 160,000 miles on it, with steam coming out of the radiator, caused a heater core to blow that had been shot for a year. While looking for tools in the trunk, I pulled out a Tackle Box of half a dozen great Pool Tips and a slick tool for replacing them out of the trunk. It opened up and out fell this Button with fish string attached. It came from Hawk, out at the Woodstock of 3-cushion Billiards in Medford Oregon, who sold them for a dollar a piece, or 2 for 3 bucks. I attached some ear plugs to it. Foreman at morning meeting says, “You need to hear things to be safe.” So threw the string out in the middle of us wirenuts, and pushed the button, with ear-plugs coming back to me through the air.
Hawk always played a trick on new players, of Elk’s Club week long round robin tournament going on since before JFK got shot, by putting a 50 dollar bill on the floor, and then snap it away to catch a wanna be thief. First time there won the Bs and got insulted by the 8 ball trophy I soon through in the trash. It was great to watch and party with some of the best players in America.
Might have been that morning, may have been another, said to wirenut of my age Bob, “I really heard the Boss Springsteen sing today, on the radio in Badlands, “Just looking for one face that ain’t looking through me. I want to spit in the face of these badlands.” Bob took a double take at me. “It’s taken this long Mike? Where have you been?” “Still having a home and job and car to help pay for it is enough.” I replied back. Bob says back, “Good grief. These jobs have gone south since you got in the IBEW. You have seen that the last 15 years. You know that Mike. You see how messed up this job is. It’s just like life is screwed up.” I replied, “Bob, just starting to feel as if there is a purpose to may life instead of putting up with all the bs we see.”
Back at Club Forties those words started to sink into me. Back in 88 the first 6 months there was winning over $200 a week after expenses of Michelob’s and the Juke Box. After a while people would just buy the drinks to watch me play. By 94 I had to buy beers just to get someone to get over the fear of playing me. (Hey fear of better players was one of my biggest weaknesses at the game. It was easier to get in the Zone when I felt an edge.) Damn were there a lot of broke cowards in that Club 40’s by 94.
Having a beer with Jerry, started talking over my roots Mom and Dad had been telling me of. “My middle name of Cheverie was French Basque. The French had kicked them out of France. They ended up on Prince Edward Island, and the English tried to throw them out of there. They went and played Robin Hood in the woods and had lots of kids the next 15 years.” Jerry replies, “Being born in 57 Mike makes you a Classic 57 Chevy.” “Jerry, that isn’t all of it. My Dad has traced the Dewey roots back to when the Admiral’s Family came over on the same Boat as ours. No big relation for the Admiral’s Family went to Vermont and mine went south to Connecticut. But my Father has found roots all the way back to William the Conqueror.” Jerry starts talking about how these are the end-times say, “You know people can feel it in the air all over the world. With all this New World Order stuff talked about by Bush and their kind.” “Ya it does sure seem to be Jerry.” I say, “But not sure what it’s all about.” My “New American Standard Version of Bible” with a thick brown leather, with a Dove over a cross has been unopened in the back seat of my Thunderbird-to protect me from the cops on my beer drinking ride home from Pool Tournaments and other pool action I would here of.”
Jerry and me light up another smoke and order another cold one. “Mike, those are not boring roots.” Jerry says sincerely. Had to reply about my sense of purpose he saw developing. “I asked my Parents that I wanted to know what the Basque are doing now, for that is my favorite part? (The English is too stubborn and the Irish is too drunken.) “Jerry. My Mom showed me 2 weeks latter this Article in The Catholic Digest about how a Parish Priest had come to teach at a Trade School in the Basque Region of Spain.
The Father had encouraged his students to start the Worker Owned Mondragon Cooperative back in the 50s. It’s now the 7th largest Company in all of Spain. Mondragon owns its own Bank, which funds smaller Coops, and a Collage which trains its future worker owners.”
Jerry throws some quarters in The Green Alter for a lesson, and I find Steve Miller’s Swingtown on the state of the art 1000 CD Music Machine. Jim 40’s son’s name for when he is half the man (Jim is called 80 for being twice the jerk or 20 for being half the man.) cranks up the speakers full blast. “We’ve been working so hard, and we got to get down to the swingtown,” Miller sings, while striking another cord inside of my soul.
I say to Jerry, “Do you see how Unions could make these Coops work here? Even Digital (The Family Company) where you use to work could have done something like this. I know as an IBEW Journey Man Wireman what it feels like to work for your-self, I get good pay, without the head-aches, and leave the job behind as soon as I am in the car. The Pope from the 1880s in this article is right that people feel better when they work for themselves. It’s clear how that how that self-worth could benefit all of Society.” “Mike. Never thought you were more than just a player but now you are breathing hope into me with common sense stuff.”
Oh springtime with spring fever sprung warmly in the New England air, at age 36 feeling in the prime of my life, and overhearing talks about Carol being interested in me, while also adding up the things she had said over the last year: like while telling another barfly in 93 my X had left, Carol over hears from behind her Sunday Bartending job saying, “I can’t cook.” Barfly replies enthusiastically, “Mike, did you hear what she said?” I had thought nothing of it, nor ever thought a beauty such as her would ever be in my league.-that being a year before in 93.
Then there were all the hard-times 40 had given me anytime I got near another girl to shoot the breeze with. “You know you’re bothering someone.” After showing Carol a photo of daughter Jade she says in the sweetest voice, “Michael, if I ever had a daughter I wished she looked just like her. She looks so happy she is adorable.” As those words cut to my heart, these came out, “Ya she is happy she looks just like me. (Carol smiles…) I sent her a Valentine Sculpture telling Jade, “You will always be my only Valentine.” I could feel Carol think, (Whether wrong or right.) “Now I have to compete with his daughter.” It was too busy that Thursday night to get more words in with the lady who was giving meaning to my life. It wasn’t normal of me to have any meaning to life. But I would seriously mean while joking to the barflies who called me the legend, “I am going to organize the Unions.” Later that week 40 lightens up saying to all, “Is this tough customer making some connections.”
“80”, Forty’s son, when he is twice the jerk had told me the Saturday Night before Easter, they don’t open until 6 the next day. “Damn. I wanted to bring her flowers.” was mumbled to myself.
After Family Easter dinner I show back up at the 40’s Club at 6:00, and hear Carol has just left. “Oh damn Jim” I say. Al Carol’s X asks, “What’s going on?” After he over hears me say, “Forty’s was open all day.” 80 told they were not going to open until 6.” “I wanted to bring her flowers.” I replied. Al tells me, “Oh she got plenty of Flowers today. She would have liked that.” He gives me her regular work address telling me “her last name is Roy, as is mine.” I am awful with first names of people everywhere I have known the faces of for years, so knowing a last name was impossible for me.
Next morning at coffee break calling the Florist on the pay phone in construction job parking lot, order 12 Blue Iris and 6 Velvet Roses with whatever else goes with the arrangement, delivered to Tamor Plastics Mohawk Drive, Carol Roy.
All week long wait for a Thank You in the mail. Damn did the tension in the air heat up that Sunday afternoon when Carol would serve the beers, and then head off to get me jealous talking to others about her life dreams of raising a son working 5.5 days a week. Instead of her saying anything to me.
Each Sunday got worse, for would send letters replying, “Did you even get the Flowers? Do you even like me?” You act so rude to me when I’m only trying to be nice enough to get to know you while you tend bar. Not an easy way to have any romance. No reply was all I would ever get. I did get a Dove for a pet, hoping she also had one.
Around that time it was mind blowing how the Music Videos on CMT and the Juke Box started echoing my life. (I knew Music can apply to everyone, and had heard on CMT, “Country music is about stirring up emotions in people.”) There was Dwight Yoakum’s, “Try Not To Look So Pretty,” where he makes a fool out of himself in video, gets thrown out off a theater, and says, “Thank you all for being so understanding about what me and her are going through. Is it too much to ask for 5 minutes alone in the dark with her?”
Then thinking back on right after moving to Leominster, Dwight’s “Streets of Baker”s Field” video, “I came here looking for something. I couldn’t find it anywhere else. How many of you who sit and judge me ever feel like you’ve been on the road our whole life?”-(paraphrased) Then Barmaid Lisa one night says, after the joker I was becoming by pulling out a Tennis or Ping Pong Ball to play Pool with,, “You never know what he might pull out of his pocket.” I go home and turn on CMT the only Station I would watch on the dial, and his “Inside the Pocket of a Clown,” comes on. But it was when people would play Neil Young’s Hurricane on the Music Box, which cut into me the most, “Once I thought I saw you in a crazy hazy bar. (I remembered seeing Carol, with her Digital Co-workers at The Old Oaken Bucket back in the 80s, and while she would jump into her Dart Throwing, with a smile on her face, I told another Bar Fly, “Carol would make a wonderful wife.”) I want to love you but am getting blown away.”
Club Forties APA 8 Ball League was going great for our team. I didn’t like being a 6, when I had gone up to a 7 (A goal of anyone who ever wants to be a player.) a few years back in a Gardner money league using the same handicap. (It did suck that had gone to a 7 the first week of the Play offs, where I lost my only match of the year 6-6, to Hippie, which knocked our team out of 1st round.) At 40s I went undefeated the whole year of 94, with my innings under 15 for winning 6 games, which is a 7.
Never understood how Captain would say I should be a Professional when he was fudging the numbers. But when he did say I should be a Professional, would say, “I am. I’m an Electrician.” (With those in the background loving it.) If today, he said I should be a Pro, my reply would be, “If you think I can make a living playing Strickland, Varner, Segal and Rempe, and Hopkins, Davenport and the rest? If you think I am as good as Perika and Reyes, why don’t you sponsor me out of the millions you have made with your Trucking Company?”
Finally get to talk to 1st Foreman Charlie from Ostrow Electric which held a Code upkeep course needed for their JWs to get Wireman License renewed. Funny to most of the wirenuts over hearing him say to me, “Mike you know you quit me twice over the years and Company still hired you back.” “Thanks for the good words to the Owner about me Charlie.” said with a smile on my face. “Mike, the Pros are having a Tournament right here Worcester.” Charlie tells me. “Most of them are jerks today Charlie.” Don’t even want to watch it. But maybe if I ever get this worried women into bed, my life might make it worth for a shot at beaten the jerk Strickland or arrogant bastards Segal.” “But they are right here in Worcester Mike.” “Oh Charlie, all of them came from some other planet.”-Words that may turn out more true than many understand yet said jokingly.
No reply from Carol, grew tensions within me after 3 weeks of waiting for a private talk with a lady who was in the process of changing my outlook on life, in many good ways. Mainly, a social conscience was wakening inside me, and was confidant the Worker Ownership of the Mondragon Cooperative would catch on, with Unions helping to build them.
Was so glad Carol went out to 40’s that Friday night. Oh but the confusion, one guy with the ability to talk to her normally, face to face (Which was impossible for me.) and then finally asking her out after half an hour, had me jealous not to be turned down as she ended up turning him down. So I kept speaking into the air about my life, making sure she could hear and sense how much better I was feeling than back during the fall last fall of 93, when while she once had pointing her index finger to me, motioning me to come talk to her. It was a night and day different feeling, than felt back the fall, while now feeling 22, instead of feeling 88, which had felt back in the last fall.
Forty’s son Jim, 20 or 80 (for being half the man and twice the jerk we nicknamed him.) says “You playing better every day in here, and you always played good here,” with me saying “the bar boxes are toys. Real tables are 4.5-9.” Then I loudly, “did I say feet or inches?” (Bad low joke.) Captain of APA Pool Team didn’t help the confusion when he tells me, “Mike you keep popping the pills, you are going to end up looking like 40.” Guess he had no clue they were only aspirin and Ibephoren, to clear my head and relax muscles, and told him, “I would rather look like him than you Mike.”
And a main feeling of mine at the time, “Don’t worry about me. Take care of your own business.” Finally near closing time, my song played on music machine came on, Steve Miller’s The Joker, “I’m a joker, I am a smoker, I am a midnight toker. I really love your’ peaches, want to shake your tree, which 40 cut off right at the end about that shake your tree part. With Carol saying, “Oh Forty.” (Too bad the rest of the words would end up true also, “People keep talking about me babe, say I am doing you harm. Don’t you worry for I am right here at home.” It added up even sadder that, there was no loving on the run.)
I could have easily driven home with no problem but ask Jim Paradise for a ride. I had talked to the jerk all night, instead of Carol, who was always busy dusting off the boys, as she always was when working also. On the way home go, “Hey Jim. I gave my neighbor Jerry a life. It’s a really great book about Woody Guthrie, “A Life.” Wanna come in and have a beer?” (Jim was pretty good about pacing a beer for an hour. That probably not a bad trick to pick up in this life, instead of at least 4 or more an hour, for would save much money.) For some reason at my Abbey Road Condo, Jim starts talking about how he studied the Bible in Collage and brings up how Christ would use parables, when talking to the crowd, but the people it was meant for, would understand they just got rebuked. Jim didn’t believe it though, and he said as much.
When he talked about the tenant that owed him 8 grand, figure he should get a Lawyer for that had helped clear my mind of that trouble recently. I say, “Wish I invited them all over.” “Who Carol?” he relies? “All of them I mean. They are all her friends sitting at the bar with her tonight. Wish I could call you a brother,” as I let him out the door.
Now 3 weeks after Flowers were sent, Carol’s X almost gets killed. The jerk Jim P. pisses off a man who owes him big time for skipping out on the rent, but does it downtown in “public” at Spencer’s Bar. End of night Al walks out with the Jim and the man owing the $8000 grand in rent, aims his car towards them trying to kill the jerk, but hits Al flipping him up in the air in a circle landing on his head. Al gets flown by Helicopter to Emergency room of Worcester Hospital. Rowdy Spencer’s Bar, closes for good that night for owner could not live with himself.
Did not know that the next sunny day while driving by Carol’s Red little Honda as she was leaving her X’s. She follows me towards my condo and I turn in instead of pulling into lot in front of Abbey Road, to flag her down. I had figured she was on her way to 40s, but didn’t have the nerve to drive there right then. (I am not as stupid as that, though am as stupid as people have said. Tensions had built up, though no fault of mine or hers.)
I show up an hour later and Jim P. tells me the whole story. “Jim, from our talk last week over my place, you knew better than piss someone off in public.” Somehow some of the girls heard that and while rushing out, “Mike the world doesn’t revolve around you.” which I did not understand what they meant. Interesting though that after hearing of me and Jim’s full talk, a week earlier at my place, one says latter, “With this and all these music coincidences happening, am starting to think it does revolve around him.”
The whole mess of trying to get a date or at least 5 minutes with a lady people had been pointing me towards for over a year was ripping me apart inside, though I had finally been feeling myself, and think 40 was right when he would say about me, “This kid is ready for the big time but these girls are not ready for him.” I figured I would focus on the top, so start writing letter to President Clinton starting off with, Dear Honorable President “Can I call you BILLS?”
Oh boy did Wendy complicate matters even more with Carol. Friday night I play Born to Run on the Music Machine, with the words, “Come on Wendy we were born to run.” I played at last call. Next night walks in Wendy. Seen her play down at Rack and Rhythm in a League played in the year before. She and her blonde hair wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, having just broken up with a moron of a boyfriend who didn’t know how talented this sexy bar-room player was, with roots from Elite Billiards, where owner Jean, who had run many New England Tournaments said of her, “There is this young girl Wendy who plays even better than husky road tough Liz, who got her start here also.”
Wendy says, “Those White and Blue colors wear nice on you Mike.” Wish this shot was on film, we line up 2 balls with the corner pockets 6 feet space between the balls. We count to 3 and then slam both balls into each other and they bounce back into the corners we were shooting from. What a rush to make it the first time either of us tried. If not for Carol being cooking in my kitchen, would have surely taken her home, as she says after helping with her black leather jacket, “I don’t want to wait Mike. Just seen you play here and you got the position touch, and shot making that can get you driving the Ferreira you belong driving.”
Last call that Saturday night Forty loudly asks Lisa, “Who is that? Have never seen a girl play as she does.” “That’s Wendy! You know from the song last night,” Lisa tells 40. Wendy gave me her last name saying it was the only one in the Clinton Phone Book. Many times since had wished I had called her as Wendy would say months later, “All you had to do was call.”
Wendy had complicated things in what became a pressure cooker.
Should have definitely been showing up at Forty’s right when it opened at Noontime each Sunday, after giving Flowers to a girl I wasn’t sure was a lady yet. Normally Sunday afternoons was quiet at first but they sure got rough and wild a few hours later. By that time I had figured maybe I will get 5 minutes with Carol, but that got harder and harder as time went on without a “thanks” from her or those 5 minutes alone, which in a crowded bar was tough on both of us to get.
One Saturday I was walking through the power line’s path that crossed through my Condo all the way up to behind Club 40s, thinking about how can I talk to Carol? Thinking back to the Old Oaken Bucket and Dart Throwing Friends Cathy and her boyfriend Forest came to mind. Oh, “Cathy-Forest” is a cool name for that fun couple. The “Carolina-Nickel” would be a great pen-name for me, while being a new name for Carol. That night on the local internet BBSs started telling a story of how Carolina-Nickel plays ping-pong with our hands, on a pool table at Forties.
This Sunday show up late again. First thing Carol says is, “Did he get it yet?” All I could say was, “What did I do now?” Carol’s sister Gail goes, “He does live on vibes. He isn’t like us.” Had no clue at first what she was talking about. Then people ask me if I had been busy on my PC today, and came to understand a crowd of men came in early looking for Carolina Nickel.
Was glad her Sister Gail was partying that Sunday. Back in the fall of 93 after Gail had asked how old I was, “88” was my reply. I hand Gail my cue, while holding the bottom and Gail holds the top of South West Cue feeling my vibrations saying “I would love to be your partner.” How old are you now Mike?” “I am 22 and am going to stay 22 the rest of my life”, laughed out of my mouth.” “No he isn’t.” Carol says nervously but sternly while running to other end of the bar. (Of all songs to start playing at that time Rod Stewart comes on with Ronny Woods, with Rod saying, “We haven’t played this song together for 22 years.”) After that bs from Carol from behind the Bar, these words came out of my mouth, “There are some things I would like to find out too. Do we have to do this this way?” Gail on my right says to Carol’s best friend Laura on her right, “They are so much alike. They need each other to keep from going insane from the people around here.
Man oh man, Scott T. runs into 40’S saying, “I heard you were playing good.” “Yes my position play, now, is better than ever on the Bar Box, and think my shot making will be there on the big tables. If I ever get laid, I will go on the road, which he knew was is Boston and that crowd, of B+ A- Players I had held my own against at B+ Level Tournaments, with if win against them, head to Providence Rhode Island to take on the Big Boys of N.E.
The Rat shows up to play some 10 dollar 8 Ball, tell him I am not playing “bar-rules” here you use other peoples in the middle, either called shot or ball in pocket. And that its ball in hand on fouls, for we both know not to throw a rack away by stupidly breaking balls or disturbing what would be a stale mate, as smart as we play by those rules. He swears he said not ball in hand on the 8. He fouls and gives me ball in hand on the Black Ball, which I stroke smoothly down the corner while cue ball sits close to his last ball. He gets all upset while storming out the door, without paying.
Not being myself after that, I play J Giels on the machine, “Hard driving man. 27 more minutes and I am going to leave. Instead, 19 minutes latter Carol rushes out the door with her now familiar smooth caring strong vibes of frustration, “He is not working here tonight.” What held me on that Bar Stool, instead of going outside asking Carol, “Can we please talk in private right now?” Why didn’t I show up earlier or respond when she said, “It was really busy earlier today Mike.”
Finally come Thursday night while playing Captain of Black Ball team, I get a break. I made a mistake during the game with Carol watching, having her Toasted Almond and Parliament cigarettes with Al and Bruno having their beers with her. My practice stroke ever so softly fouled the cue ball, without it cue ball even moving, that I had to laugh about how lightly I had hit it. As I sit against the wall Carol gets up and walks across the floor saying to me, “Mike I want to thank you for those flowers.” As she sits down in stool against wall she is saying, “They were the most beautiful flowers anyone has ever given me. I have been given flowers before. I have been given flowers before.” My reply, “I meant to bring them in on Easter, but 20 or 80 said they didn’t open until 6.” Oh she says, “Jim can be twice the jerk of 40, and half as smart.” “Wasn’t sure if you got them for thought Al had given wrong address of Mamor Plastics on Tomhawk Road.” She gets up to return to bar saying “Al got the address right.” How I had wished the Captain had enough sense to not have to stand there and stare at the both of us while my mind and heart were melting into Carol’s sweet smile and silky voice.
Next morning got up the nerve to call her during my morning coffee break on pay-phone out in Construction Parking Lot. Ask her if she wants to go out sometime, with her saying “it’s complicated.” Can I call you at your home? “It’s complicated Mike.” “Okay take care.” And hang up the phone.
That Friday night had known for sure Carol would be at Twins Café, for there was a party for a lady who had been sick. One man piano band was pretty good as was the platter of food on tables. Not there more than 10 minutes, when I get the nerve to ask her “what is going on?” She sitting next to Al. She softly but sternly says, “Take your trash out of here Mike.” Al says to her, “He is only trying to make friends. I have never heard you talk that way to me, and I cheated on you.” as I head out the door across the street to my car, with Band man playing a few notes of the Rod Stewart song, which Carol always sang to Al, “Someone like you, makes it hard to live with anybody else.” Then I nearly fainted while opening door, with sharp pain in my chest.
This Sunday I show up at noontime for the showdown. I head down to empty end of L shaped bar, and Carol nicely says, “It’s complicated. I take care of Al’s Mother.” I reply, “Oh that’s nice.” She smiles sweetly as she runs off to the almost empty bar, to what seemed like was to collect her thoughts. I had wished I had asked if I could buy her a drink after work? It had been so impossible to have normal talk while she was tending bar. It would get me so upset I wouldn’t tip her, which ended up pissing her off. This time I had a Blonde Cartoon I rolled up in a dollar tip which said, “This took a long time to make, you better enjoy eating it.” Though after it gets crowded I have to head home and try messing around on my 486 PC.
If there ever was I time if I could have asked to buy her a Toasted Almond after her shift that was it! If only she hadn’t always been acting like a chicken with her head cut-off, we at least would have talked enough to figure out if we were right for each other. Me being a Pool Player would have been a tricky fit into her non-gambling life. Pool Players do have a gambling reputation though I always tried to have cheap match play so as to be in stroke for Tournaments.
But then I show up after her shift was done. She is hanging out and for a little while we have a couple of laughs. Since she knew I had a PC and knew much more then I did about them, I ask some Technical question, with only a reply of, “Oh that’s work. Did you look in the book?” Carol says as she wanders to next bar stool.
“Oh I read a book about PCs. Cyberspace. This wizard in it get pissed off at the Register of Motor Vehicles, so goes home and hacks their system and changes all the outgoing number to 900 sex ones.” She runs down to Bruno saying, “It scares me what goes on in his mind. But if it’s great what he says if you use your imagination.
Luara tells her, “You know he bought cigarettes today instead of bumming them as usually.” It must have been a bit late to tell her, “I left you a cartoon today.” “How did you get it in the tip jar?’ she asks. “I rolled it up in the dollar tip.” (Guess it should have been a 20. Not everyone leaves a joke saying, “What if I eat it real slow,” to a beautiful cute blonde haired barmaid.) She hurries off to have a laugh with Bruno. It was frustrating for me not to be able to talk to her again that night. She heads out. 5 minutes later I head home batting zero again.
Her red little 2 door Honda Civic is stopped at exit across the street at Strip Mall. She doesn’t pull out until I am in my beat up T-bird, and she drives a little ways and pulls into Lil Peach right down the road on my way home, so I pull in next to her and get out of the car. She rolls down her window and I wonderingly ask her “What did you for pay this? This is nice.” “12 grand” she says. “Oh that is not bad at all.” “It’s me (With sweet cute smile.) Michael! That’s just what I said.” (She seemed to be implying that she was what I was looking for and me what she thought wasn’t bad at all.) “That is just what I said when I saw the price.”
How I wished I could have pointed to my rat and say, “That once was me. But it’s all beat up now. I don’t feel beat up anymore.” But I ask if we can go to dinner?” She says “No.” Then heads to make a call and kid hands her a cell phone. I can over hear her say something like this to Al, “He is the man of my dreams.” The kids start smiling. I get into my car as she enters her. I back up to the left, and she backs in front of me and stops. I see her eyes for 5 seconds looking at me through her rear view mirror. I shake my head wondering what the hell is happening? Then she takes off down the road. It will always blow my mind how Neil McCoys “Give me that blink came out that week!” If I or her had lightened up and smiled or blink, no one will ever know the life us-2 would have had.
Sent another letter to Carol at work, which found out later did embarrass her, with them saying, “More love letters FOR Carol.” This one was telling her how wonderful it would be to sit on top of Mount Wachusett or a bench on Littleton Common.
Now another spending problem had come into town, when Keno every 3 minutes came to Bars in Massachusetts. Must have been something Carol was thinking when she says of my 3-6-9 numbers, “Those numbers are never coming in. They are way too low.” She had never heard of 3-6-9 on the pool table, which isn’t 3 doing 69, which am sure is what came to her mind. Damn, I missed the numbers on the screen right near end of the shift. “Could you check these numbers Carol?” She rushes out the door with her bag in her hand screaming, “I don’t do checks!” Which really blew me away, for down inside had been figuring that this is no ordinary fine lady. (At this point the frustration from both of us had me wondering if she was worth this new thinking problem of mine. She was always on my mind and holding up my Pool Game from every getting back on The New England 9 Ball Tour.)
I head down to Mike’s Twins Café and order a draft. Go in the Rest Room to start crying for didn’t want to cry at the Bar. Man asks “what’s wrong?” “Nothing” I replied as he tells the Barmaid I was snorting coke. Go back out to the bar ready to have a beer in peace. Barmaid snaps it away. “Give me my money back then.” I say. After a “no” I head out the door to my car, but smash the window cutting my hand, not to go back there for months. Owner calls next day asking, Are you going to pay for the window.” Just tell him, “Send me the bill.” “Alright” he replies.
The other blonde Barmaid Conni at 40’s, slips some advice to me about there being a lot of Mikes on the Pool Team. I immediately say, “I am changing my name to Michael.” A smile of agreed understanding comes to her face. “Where did you get that wooden dove you wear around your neck Michel?” she wonderingly asks me. “Just dug it out some boxes I was cleaning out of the Condo. Guess it was the X’s” proudly was replied. ‘Oh you’re divorced?” Conni prompts me to reply. “As far as I am concerned, as of New Year’s Eve, it’s only a piece of paper saying otherwise.” Was strongly but jokingly answered. “Hey Connie, could I see that photo of Carol up there on the wall?” As soon as she hands it to me it goes in my back pocket while saying, “I will bring it back.” She says, “You like her Michael don’t you.” “She is really cool.” While almost saying, “She is really cruel.”
Around that time had been making a point of having dinner once a week with my Brother Richard’s Family. He had a great Home with pool out back. We would have quite a few laughs with the 3 teenage daughters and youngest 9 year old Johnny. Thought I finally had some music ability after Richard’s oldest Rebecca taught me this very simple song from an 1910 song book titled, “Keyboard Attacks,” “The most important book written this century.” Felt cool to play with all 5 fingers, “Off we go to music land, training fingers eyes and ears.” I took the book telling them, “I will bring it back.” Ended up borrowing sister Joan’s son, my nephew, Andrew’s keyboard and within a week was playing both hands of, “Off we go to music land, Off we go to Carol’s land’s training her to talk to me. Off we go to music land, training the people to mind their own business.” (I think it makes people feel better about their own guilt, when they can point out someone else’s faults. That is a subject that much more could be talked about in times of people drunk in a land of material wealth, that they can’t see themselves falling.)
Mother Days shows up May 8th 1994. 6 weeks since sending Flowers of what had been the most laughs and good talks with people who I finally felt connected with many for the first time of my life. Well, over the last month Big Tall dark Haired Carol, while playing a game over Beers, Cigarettes and Rock and Roll, (Of which Getting down to the swing town was my basic theme of the music I paid for.) she says, “You have a real nice Condo and it was good for my sister Sandy, of which you know Scott T was not living with, that you didn’t throw her out.” “Well you know the whole story Carol.” came from me. “Mike there is no one in Forty’s who I would have married besides Dave, other than you. I have been in your Abbey Road Condo.” There were also too many of those kinds of talks with 80% of the Folks all over town. A few drinking buddies would say, “I am just honored to be sitting at a bar with this man. This guy lives: what does it matter what kind of cloths you wear or car you drive, or the color of your skin, or whether you hang out in a bar.”
I play Mom my Mother’s Day song for her before Family dinner in Littleton. All over the World” by Arlo Guthrie, “I was watching the news tonight and all over the world people were singing and holding signs. Everybody holding hands in the cities that I’ve have been. Though I am not there tonight, I’ll be back again. I’ll be back again. I am on a plane tonight for Germany, and there are people just like you and me, who know the bomb must never fall again. We must overcome and learn to live as friends, all over the world.” Mom replies without a clue of what she just heard, “What must we do?” “Mom, we must overcome and learn to live as friends”. Brother Richard’s, wife Margie asks very awakened inside, “Why does Arlo Guthrie with his head held high, on this Someday album look familiar to me?” “Don’t know why Margie. It’s like he is listening to John Lennon’s Imagine and finding his own words for it.” was all that I could say. “What do you think of that Rodney Crowell video I played for Richard “Let the picture paint itself and it will be alight? There is something about this music I am not yet sure what though.”
Show up at Club Forty’s after Family Dinner of Mother’s Day. I was sure hoping for good luck with Carol around 5:30. Bruno is sitting between Carol and Laura, and for some shy stupid reason head for a bar stool on the Pool Table side of L Shaped light wooden highly glossed bar. Sometimes I swear people can pick up vibes, through spirits from that wood, from trees still alive. Bruno comes over, “2 bucks and a beer a game Mike.” He wins so am forced to bring the 2 bucks over to them. Carol jumps up, “Now Laura, it’s our turn to play mind games.” The girls put 5 bucks in the Music Machine and rack up a game at the Green Alter. Stupidly, I say, “Me and Bruno against u2.” “He is going to blow it again,” Carol whispers to the other two.”
After a few games we are all on the same side of the bar, with me creeping down bar stool, as she moves down closer to Laura, and she says,“It’s amazing what he says, if you use your imagination.” (Wished I had asked her what she meant by that?) I never got a chance to say much being so blown away by her beauty. Then as she grabs her pocket book to get up, I move my foot and get it wrapped around leather string. She pulls as hard as a stubborn donkey as she tries to walk away. String comes all the way up to my crotch, while being pulled tightly as the smiling blonde donkey tries to walk away. Then, I do the stupidest act of my life, (at least up to that time.) which no other man, would have done. I grab the leather string, which just made me feel such wonderful vibes from the dream of my life, and pull it down around me feet and hand it politely hand back her pocket book. I had finally had her money right next to my jewels, and let both slip away.
No letter this Monday morning. No need to call from work, for was up all night at home drinking away my frustrations. Write a note at the Florist to be delivered with a White Mum Plant. “Can we please Carol talk somewhere.” “More flowers for Carol.” her work partners joke to her. She grabs the note saying “send the Mum back.” I had had sent a plant hoping to be able to see what was sent this time.
It was great to see the rain falling on a sunny day while shooting the shit outside Fitchburg Music Store, with the musicians, from the Local Rock Band “Batting Zero,”(Name made me feel like a member.) who worked at the Music store. “Look at that sleet and hail coming down, with the sun still shining” was what we all were saying. I get home after picking up, out of the blue, a Royce (Carol’s last name was Roy.) tambourine. The Florist is ringing on the phone, when entering my Abbey Road Pad, which is now feeling like my first real home, and I get the bad news that the Mum had been sent back. That cut deep inside my soul, “Is there any way to be nice to this lady who has snapped my out of a shell I had been in my whole life, except for once getting off on LSD feeling the euphoria of how life could always feel?-maybe naturally.
Had always preferred 4 day work weeks, with 5 days’ pay, and half the price on rent. I could feel the rumors from General Foreman, through the workers, that I would be one of first to leave, when lights were turned on, which us wirenuts were about done installing. Those nuts did love the photo of Carol brought off the wall, care of Connie, with them saying, “Wow! She is the reason for your positive changes in attitude, even if we all agree the IBEW is slipping away from being much of a livelihood it once was. Cool, she is also behind a bar.”
Make it home Thursday without drinking since Sunday night, to clear my mind’s eyes. I had heard and seen the band Little Texas video God Blessed Texas a 1000 times or more on CMT the last year, yet always sang it to myself, “Rocked Down angels from the promised land.” Instead of “I’ve been sent to spread the message, god blessed Texas, brought down angels from the Promised Land.” This time on my knees wondering what it would ever get to close the deal, or catch this Tuna, on this relationship with Carol, seeming so close, from her smiles, yet so far away when she was frustrated? A light went on inside my head. “That is what happened. We all came down from above. Boy have we been sold some trash about these latter days. Woe, I am Michael! I can never tell this to anyone for they will think I am nuts.” went through my mind.
That very next Saturday, I am walking downtown, and see that an old dump of a Bar has just reopened and is called Michael’s. Thought it was one of many coincidences happening at the time. Even if many of those coincidences were only from Rock and Roll songs coming alive into my life, like never ever before, and that had happened since the late 70s when The Band Boston rocked me out of a couple years of blues, like, “I see my Mary Ann walking away.” And, “Its more than I’m feeling.”
Hey talking on the phone to a local Electrician friend Mark, with my wondering if he had any work coming up, for knew this Lord and Taylor job just about had all the lights turned on, he asked, “What pay I wanted?” To me I replied, “It would always be worth a 10 buck cut to work locally without the commute.” It was interesting to me how his next words kept me grounded, “You got to come down to their level Michael.” We had some good talks about religions, of which he was Catholic, with Mark claiming it was the only true religion. I skipped out on all that stuff, years ago, but found it cool he said the Catholic Bible was called the Dowa Bible, with my thinking he said Dewey Bible, with thoughts of “cool, being Michael I am going to get their money.”
It was an interesting enough talk with Mark to call him back on Sunday. He starts off tell asking me “Did you ever hear how the dragon had dragged a 3rd of the stars to the earth, with that war in heaven.” “No.” was my answer. But I went out to drag the Bible out of its job of protecting me in my worn out 84 dog of a Thunderbird. When I saw 12 stars on the woman’s head it blew me away, for there are 12 Dewey’s in the Family. (I may as well throw in that the woman had the moon under her feet, and America landed on the moon. Why not throw in that the earth helped the women, probably my Mom’s proudest accomplishment, outside of raising 10 kids, was her work on getting Littleton to recycle its trash.) Then read that the woman was travailing to give birth, with my Mom having told me 2 weeks earlier that I had taken 4 days to be born. That sure added up to travailing to give birth to me. It says the woman fled into the wilderness, and we had moved from Quincy to Littleton when I was 4. (But what looks to me as the most important (To me.) would be those other children who keep god’s commandments and hold to the testimony of Jesus, is that they will overcome by the word of their testimony and blood of the Lamb, and will hate their lives until death.) Revelations 12 also says the child was caught up to God and his throne. Well while working on rewiring a Bank by the Burlington Mall, back in 82, I had had 277 Volts go in one hand and out the other grounded to an EMT pipe my right hand was holding onto. I landed on my head, and woke up on the stretcher, as the sun light hit me leaving the building, with me saying, “I am alright.” Emergency men told me to, “Stay down.” When at Leahy Clinic had to move my whole upper body while getting different views of the x-rays.
My Foreman told me of that time years later at the Union Hall, he thought it had been his fault for rushing me, with him thinking I was dead, while shaking on the floor in a seizure. My joking apprentice shows up at emergency room saying, “That is a hell of getting out of working the 4th of July weekend Mike.” What I had never told anyone was that for months there was this imprint like memory in my mind of what looked like the Lincoln Memorial, with me standing off to the left, with a an image of a body like thing laying in front of the throne, and a memory of a small voice saying, “That is you.”
Since I had given up on the born again Church stuff 2 years earlier in 1980, from hearing so much talk about the unforgivable sin, had “thought” (Wrongly of course.) that I had been judged. What better excuse could any kid in his 20s have for drinking during the 80s and saying the hell with everything except playing pool. Most funny truth to me in Revelations 12 is that the child is to rule the world with a rod of iron, turns out to be a pool cue which shatters a rack of pool balls like shattering a potter’s vessel in the letter to Thyatira in Revelations 2, which talks of those who overcome will rule the world with a rod of iron as the vessels of the potter are shattered as a pool rack. The name of “The Christian House I had stayed at, with Richard and wife Margie in California, during my born again stuff was Thyatira.
In no way am I claiming to ever be world champion material at any cue sport.-that needn’t even be written… Though, in 94 I was playing great position and safeties, with the shot making to get me out enough to raise havoc on The New England 9-ball tour. It was feeling like it was going to be a blast playing anyone in their local Rooms, and maybe knocking off a top player every now and then. Being a grass roots activist seemed to fit in perfect to my dreams of stirring up Pool Players about Worker owned Cooperatives.
[But what got me through the emotional nightmare of the 80s was Tim Galway’s Inner Game of Tennis where his non-judgmental awareness, (Zen archer stuff.) about there being no good or bad, but things just are. I applied that inner game stuff to me Pool Game, figuring inside me, “I am worshiping while expressing myself and potential on the Green Cue Alter. “Dead Stroke” was an often talked about subject with pool playing friends back then. It’s being in the zone and you play out of your mind, better than you normally play. (Looking back, the ones who say they are in “dead-stroke” are missing an important point of the nothing-ness of just expression of potential, and just loving what you’re doing.) The inner game kept me from getting to frustrated over missed shots, by just trying to be aware of what the shot felt like, and where there ball missed the pocket, or cue ball missed position. Me never feeling as a natural talent, it took hitting a million and a half pool balls over the 80s and early 90s. But it also sunk into my mind sublimely and kept me a decent human being while thinking I was on the road to hell.]
Day after that cool awakening, and feeling 100% myself while at work, with wirenuts who had seen my life restored before their eyes, over the cold, windy, unclosed winter job finally with windows in the spring: some said, Mike doesn’t come here for himself, he comes here for us. Then when I was telling a story of a work road trip to Rochester New York, while I was joking about ordering a Coors in a IBEW Local 86 Journey Man Wireman’s Irish Pub. I brought up how some IBEW traveler bought a beer for everyone in the place but me. For sure the traveler was right when he told me, “You know better than to order a Coors in a Wiremen’s Bar.” I said, “Had I had the money, I would have bought a round for everyone.” That got a big “thank you” from a man who had doubted about whether I was a Brother or not.
That day I sang out the words to my apprentice, “Rocking down angels from the promised land.” He took off for 45 minutes. The other wirenuts then came up to me smiling while asking “where he went?” Then after a lower foreman said he would be back, I get jived about, “He said, stressing the he, would be back for you?” Lots of un-specified words there but they know. It was clear to them who they had just witnessed come out of his shell over the winter to spring. But they just as me, had no exact clue where it was going to go, but we all felt Unions would be there again by the time it got anywhere at all. Only there were much more complicated times ahead, which none of us understood at that time, why each dollar we earned, kept being worth less and less.
One of the things that became perfectly clear to me, was the memory of reading about that mark put on hands or head, to buy or sell, spoken of in Revelations 13 must never happen, for it is the only thing that matters in these latter days. And reading through Revelations 20 found out that even those who get that mark, end coming back to life around a 1000 years from now, which must be by being born again, as a human child. Not much in Revelations was clear at the time, except that it appeared that the 4 horsemen have been reading throughout history, yet didn’t realize then as now, that they had Authority to kill and take peace from the earth.
It must have been looking back on 40’s Bar Flies who had become friends, by their concern; over how badly I took my X taking daughter to California the year before, and how I handled it by sitting at the Bar smoking and drinking my blues away, instead of playing pool. It was clear there was no way they were sinners who deserved hell, for not buying the religious bs, all of them had heard of, and choosing to rather have some fun and laughs over drinks and the Juke Box. Sure some were ball-busters. What do we want in this cluster fuck of lies being told with words no longer true?
What awoke inside me the most was being pissed at the stone throwing I saw descend from the TV into a Society trying to do it’s best to get by. I called it “THE-MEDIA-RIGHT-STORM.” And it was clear that on my own as a single man with a huge story not to be told in public, it was best to keep my mouth shut or run, which once or twice was impossible so made things more complicated, when my mouth opened up…
Since Maverick the Movie was coming out the next week, had wanted so much to ask Carol for dinner and a movie, which I never got the chance to in Forty’s with her running around like a chicken with her head cut off. I decided to pull what Wiremen call, “A nooner if not sooner” to go see it on the day of its opening. Oh how beautiful Jodie Foster looked with her hair just as Carol’s. I first went to Littleton to see the movie with my brother John, but when I get there Mom tells me he had already left for it in Burlington. He got the Poster for being the first one in line. (John is also famous in the family for being on TV as the last runner to cross the starting line of The Boston Marathon.)
At that time with my best friend not even having a refrigerator nor any clue about what was going on at 40s, my mind had been living on what I came to call “Bar room static, or cyberspace,” some real some not. It was funny that Jodie had come from San Fransico and New Orleans, while my oldest sister Annemarie had recently moved from San Fran to N.O. What really blew my mind in Maverick was when James Coburn got up on the River Boat Loran Bell, for had thought since I was a kid in the 60s that Coburn looked just like my friend Loran. (What made that so funny to me was brother Richard had recently told me this joke about a bell ringer whose face sure rings a bell.) Needless to say, in 1994 that close to the end of a job, that “nooner” did not go over very well with the owner. It was amazing how close Carol looked like the star of this Maverick movie that had just come out.
[What ever happened to the old days (Before my IBEW times of the 80s-early 90s.) when you could pack up your tools at lunch and quit, and get a job out of the Union Hall the next morning? Someone who has a problem with working like that will never be a brother of mine, nor would those who don’t love this story about “Weasel.” Weasel was running the job and at noon time took the crew to the bar across the Nashua River in Lowell near the end of the Job. Owner shows up and calls him on the “then” state of the art Walky-talky. Weasel says to owner, walk out the back door. You see the guy on roof of that building across the river waving at you? That’s me.” He got fired but they had to hire him back to finish the job for he had all the codes for the technical terminations to make the electronics of energy management and motor controls run. –I have worked with and for the Weasel and he assured me while drinking beers on our commute home from Amherst College in western Massachusetts that that story is true.]
Day after hearing my Uncle Bob, from down in Oyster Bay Long Island, had passed away, which only way to get to funeral was driving through the Big Apple! I was driving to work and a mile from the job the heater-core in burnt-out, 44 Blue T-Bird had had enough of rides to work and pool rooms and bars. Got it cooled down enough to limp into the parking lot 15 minutes late, with steam coming out of the hood. Went right to work and at break called a Tow Truck to pick me up after work. I got towed after work to Littleton to borrow the extra station wagon my Mom no-longer drove.
There is where the over 2000 pool room trips highway car, sat for over a year. If I had any car sense, it would have been traded in after a blown motor back in 91, on another commute to work. End of week figuring right that all the lights seemed to be about on, figured right about making the first lay-off. The other JW laid off with me says he is heading to the Union Hall, and joke to him, “Mr. Billiard’s Pool Hall is a mile down the road on my way home.” We both knew that would be our last job working out of our Home Local for at least 2 years. Told him, “Guess I am going to go to work for my brother.” both of us understanding that meant more than my blood brother.
The Playoffs for The APA 8 Ball league were that weekend, so I meet up with the Team across the street from 40s and we drive down to Worcester. I bring all 5 of my Welders Caps to this one. (Out on 2 year IBEW work trip to Washington State for this huge Boeing Job we were told was good for 10 years, one Journey Man Tramp was selling caps his wife would make. He nicknamed me The Hat Man, for would checkout each Monday what different ones he had. I got an Irish One with 4 Leaf Clovers on it, another one with all kinds of purplish colors, and a Brownish and Black Native American cap, to go along with my favorite lightly colored fluorescent green, and orange, with aqua to go with the white background. Only one man there at the playoffs understood, I was a man of many hats and told me as much. Had once heard you can become like the hat you wear, which made me wonder… about my coming out of my shell, at age 36.
But what a hot little cute barmaid who was brave enough to tell me, “I won’t hurt you.” Tempted and tempted. Our first match we are tied 1-1 and Wendy is put up to play by other Team, and I tell Captain that is my game, but Captain was thinking I wanted to get into her pants, puts up the other Mike who loses 5-2. I had figured it was a sure win for me, for I had always played an opponent’s better player, and it would have put us up 2-1. I was stuck against a 2 who ran the first rack, having me hoping I wouldn’t have to rack again, for I had to go to 6. Well, did not have to rack again, for after he left me safe, he beats me for the game set and match by running out on his 2rd shot Afterwards talking to Wendy do I get tempted again, when she says, “All you had to do was call”. “I know.” She replies “Far out.” Wendy replies, for she understood the complicated time I was having with Carol.
I had been getting some strong feelings that I had the interests of a number of different ladies. But was thinking it was worth the doubts of some witnesses, who thought from the bs they had seen me go through over little Carol, that I was a moron, for not screwing every lady they would have laid in a heartbeat.
For some reason my Uncle Bob dyeing made me think so much of these words from an Arlo song, “There’s a bird way up in the sky.” Making me think someone is up there keeping me out of The Big Apple. I call my Aunt and tell her I would have been at the Funeral had not my Thunder Bird shit the bed. Her response, “Its Time.” made me even more sure of who I was. Then she tells me my cousin Rob has a car for sale. But down inside was brewing thoughts of avoiding New York City like the plaque. It came clear when 40 played Frank Sinatra, “New York New York. If I can make it there I can make it anywhere.” “No thank you on that.” came out of my mouth. Pool Captain Mike, thought I meant I was afraid of the big time, without even having any clue of what was going on with me and Carol.-he thought I was just trying to get laid.-while I wanted to turn the world around.
The next Sunday afternoon almost got me thinking that other men wouldn’t bother another second with Carol. She starts implying stuff about my being out of work, without her having any idea how in the IBEW JWs work them out of job every day, for every day the job is closer to being complete. Never even got a chance to tell her I was planning on going to Collage on un-employment, which many people were doing to get a better job. I still could not even get the chance, or nerves, to ask her for her phone number, and couldn’t think of anything worth writing to her that Monday.
[Around that time I told everyone at Forty’s Club that I was waking up dancing. CMT was always, on all night long, while I was sleeping in the bed room. Though this is a complete change of subject, I had always asked, “Why do I think that Arlo Guthrie is behind this music on CMT?” Most of the music just seemed to be dreams of a better day, and how we all were doing the best we could to make ends meets at the end of the month. Which we are not yet there, so we all better find a way that brings us all together. I would love to find a way to wake up dancing again but we have some problems to solve. Most of that cash that is needed to take care of our Cities and Towns problems are right on our streets, called Multi-national Corporations putting Mom and Pop Shops out of business.]
Thursday comes along and time to sign up for my unemployment, and from the talk by the impressive lady giving a small class on current programs, I have high hopes of going to school to be a Para-legal, to back up my IBEW gigs, while having dreams of me and Carol taking over Club Forties. Rumors were running around that 40 would set the 2 of us up, if we ever stopped being the morons he called most of his customers.
This Sunday is the Memorial Day Parade in Littleton so it fits in well with wanting a break away from 40s, in what was turning into useless Sunday afternoons. I follow the parade down from the Common, past our family home an down to the Fire Station, and then walk to car at Family and drive around the back roads other side of town to the West Lawn Cemetery, where many friends from the 70s were buried from high speed car crashes. Standing there with an orange and yellow ball (That had hoped had people thinking, as I did, about holding the world on fire in my hands.) throwing it up in the air all along the route, standing by Rick Baker’s grave, whose best friend since kids was driving too fast with Graduation gift of little sports car, a sister, of a good friend who I partied with during the 70s, of mine shows up with her Mother and her teenage son, wanting me to throw the ball to him. They had lost Author her brother with 5 others in the Muscle Car, when he missed a curve and went up the hill, into some trees. I ask how Kevin is and Debbie tells me Shemp died of a heart attack with his son in his lap, a couple years back. “Oh damn are we putting too many in the ground.”
It was time to go have a few Beers with the Parade Crew of the VFW. Only thing worth that cold beer was a little advice thrown through the air by Manager an old friend of the Family Bill Banks, “You know Mike there is a lot of crap that flies through the air in bars like this.” Ya, Bill, I am starting to finally understand that public crap a bit, and walk out the door with a full cold beer for the 15 mile ride back to what was becoming Lemontown, thinking that because of the rotten fruits from Lemon-ministers. (Had yet to coin the phrase Media-Right-Storm, for them Lemon-ministers.)
I decide to take the long way home, way out of the way to the country, to my Brother Tommy’s place surrounded by trees in Ashby. Tom was 11 years older than me, and married Donna, a girl I had gone to school with. I had hoped to talk to him about how in the 70s when he heard Norman Greenbuam’s “Spirit in The Sky” song, “I’ve got a friend in Jesus. I never sinned, going to the place that right.” Wanted to see if he still felt that way, or how our Brother Richard thought the born again church was right. Wanted to tell Tommy he was right all along, not how Brother Richard thought the born again stuff was the right way. Wasn’t going to talk to anyone about being the prophet Michael until first telling story to Carol, and asking her what should I do?
While the cassette player played Arlo Guthrie’s All Over the World,people holding signs and hands, dreaming of the day Arlo sings the power of love will someday bring about everybody making the news by holding hands in cities all over the world. And songs like how to get there: “Inch by inch going to make this garden grow. If its love you’re giving give it all you got.” Wishing like anything how Tommy and Donna would get to meet Carol first, and see the positive changes in my outlook on life. Nobody home but leave a note about returning the Joe Cocker, and Billy Joel Tapes I borrowed from the kitchen table.
I get to Abbey Road and start writing letter to the President about how tough trip west was, when renter wouldn’t pay the rent: How neighbor Jerry, who once had great job at “Family Company” Digital, was now working for 6 bucks an hour somewhere else. (Back in the 70s at 15, I had got paid 6 bucks an hour at Toy’s Turkey Farm by two Jewish brothers.) Asking Clinton had ever heard of The Mondragon Cooperative of the Basque, with its worker ownership, and owning its own Bank and Collage? Felt too frustrated about going to Club Forty’s to bother with getting a conversation with Carol.
Around that time had been to the Sears Town Mall to check out the Music Store. It was very surprising to me to see Arlo Guthries, “Son of the Wind” where he sings a whole bunch of old Folk Tunes his Father Woody use to play for him. Boy did Utah Carol scare the hell out of me, when it sang, “Little did this poor boy know that this ride would be his last, as he went off to save the bosses daughter, whose saddle loosened up and a red blanket underneath started waving like a flag for all the bulls to attack.” But it was Woody’s Rag that I was living at the time: “How many friends do you have to make in a tough City, to show this very worried women that I was not afraid of hard work? Work of the hardest kind, while at least getting pool workouts at 40’s…while wanting my head fully together before competing again in New England’s A 9 Ball Tour. That would take either making it with a very worried women, before being 100% (Enough effort was being put into my game, but this Space Cowboy needed his personal life complete in his “mind eyes” to ever excel.) to bother entering any 9 Ball Tournament.
Not that she was the only one worried about my money being spent in 40’s, (My living room for pool table could not be put in Condo.) others, too afraid to even bother to play me, would tell me I was wasting my money in there. The real friends there, who I was just getting too know, were not that kind of Folks nor the kind I would normally have over to shoot the breeze with, unless me and a worried lady held a cookout in the green courtyard right off my little deck.
Applying for Collage through unemployment if only for the extension, Collage would give me, was turning out interesting. They gave this aptitude test, and it said I was an artist, which the staff said was a rare thing. Swear the lady running things knew what was going on in my life and or was Carol’s sister. Once she was making this point to a lady applicant, while sitting around a table, and while pointing at me emotionally says, “Would you check that out?” With the female applicant, smiling while saying, “Yes.” Then she tells another staff to go get a book, which he brings back called, “In search of the perfect match.” Which stunned the hell out of me, with both of them saying, “Oh ya!” With there being an unspoken understanding that we were all thinking of the Moody’s Blues’ record, “In Search of the Lost Chord.”
Too bad the man I had a smoke with at break was right when he talked of there being way to much red tap to go through, when the only thing offered was being a Prison Guard, or a Robot making GMO food worker. Months later, my last words, with Frank Page, my counselor, and who was a teacher at my High School, Nashoba Valley Tech, was, “I don’t want to be a Prison Guard, I want to keep people out of jail by being a Para-legal,” which there were no jobs for, so either Prison Guard or GMO poison food maker.”
Heard “Batting Zero” was playing at Partners Night Club this week, so hooked up with a Pool Friend Jim (Not 40’s son or the other jerk Jim.) to drive me down there Saturday Night. All of Club 40’s did know of the event from me. I loved the drummer, who did take over the beat of the group from the Guitars and singing. Loved how the pounding felt inside my head that could feel the drums in my mind.
These 2 chicks were standing by a table with a napkin on it that got my attention. They ask, “Do you know what this means? It was an drawn eye, next to a heart, with words X-wife, and a music symbol and a tree at the end.. “I love country music” they said, The X was the Count-tree.” Right at the same time Jim says he couldn’t handle the Drums, and wanted to leave, the chicks made sure I took the napkin with me. Am looking at the napkin trying to figuring out what it was all about, as both us and them drive off, with me wanting to say to Jim, “follow them chicks.”
Finally after a month of trying to get ride down to Rhode Island to pick up 4 door yellow ancient 81 ford escort, with solid drive train and engine, for 500 bucks, had my own wheels again. Mom and Dad, both in their 70s, drove me down. When I told my sister in-law Donna, she was right to say about Mom and Dad “They could get lost on 495, even though it is straight south.” Me, myself was worried about my trip back with plates from the T-bird on the Escort. 50 bucks a month for a 500 dollar ride seemed fine with me.
That Sunday had never seen a lady (Little Carol) run around like a chicken with her head caught off. I get one small break when the words came on the Juke Box by Steve Miller in Jet Airliner, (I had changed to Big Old Carolina.) “My love life seems so far away. Don’t fly me too far away for its here that I’ve got to stay.” Standing at the Bar, Carol is getting my change from 40, waiting a few seconds while change was in both hers and my hands, with her saying to herself, “Hang on don’t go away.”
If we could have read mind’s I wouldn’t have stormed out after more bar static was fed to me from her talking to others about me. Cyberspace-static, I had come to call it. It was like wherever I went people were talking in riddles or such about me: like, “Did he catch that Tuna yet?” Or more clearly, “Did the 2 morons sleep together yet.” All of it good, for people understood what it was like trying to haul in this Tuna.
What a bitch Sunday afternoon turned into. This rock and roll soul couldn’t even get a smile or 2 seconds with a blonde running around, like a chicken with her head cut off. Must have played Steve Miller’s Swingtown half a dozen times, in between Forty playing Frank Sinatra’s I Did It My Way: “We have been working so hard but we got to get down to the swing-town my way,” Then since about to shoot some pool after 2 hours of nonsense, put my role playing song on by The Traveling Wilburies “Tweeter and the Monkey Man were hard up for cash, they stayed up all night selling cocaine and hash.“ (Once upon a time and even could have then, had not missed a ball for 6 months while subconsciously role playing.) “When the walls come down.” And Carol angrily lip syncs the words “When the walls come down.” Having seen her a thousand times sing Rod Stewart’s Reason to Believe, “Someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else.” I knew my time in 40s that Sunday was wasted. Other men who knew the story had felt the last month and a half had been wasted, when there were many other females around, who I had chance to settle down with.
I was so fed up with the last 3 months of trying to get at least a conversation with her, that the next morning I write her this letter: “I can’t even remember why I like you. What does it take to get a conversation with you? If you want to talk to me I will be at Cornerstone Restaurant at 7 o’clock every day this week.” Honest man that I am I show up every night on time, have one beer and then head home.
Friday night I catch a 1 way ride to Clinton to hear and see Batting Zero again. After it’s over, try and get a ride back to Leominster but walk the whole 10 miles. Not even a Cop would give me a ride to town line when I asked him at the Coffee Shop. Scared the hell out of me when heard the birds seem to sing, “Michael don’t smoke.” When the cows in the field marched towards the fence, I took off running. Make it home as the sun is coming up. Open up the mail box and there is finally a letter from Carol without a return address: “Mike, I am not interested. If you don’t stop I will prosecute. Signed Carol 6/9/94. And I got a paper cut on my left hand ring finger when pulling letter out of the envelope. All week long I tap my left index finger, which was cut, on the keyboard, deleting a lot of useless shareware games that were filling up my 250 megs of a hard drive on Computer. Quite a paper cut it turned into!
Obviously there is no need to bother her at 40s that next Sunday. I had so many useless free-ware games on my PS that I start deleting it all, with the paper cut finger, all week long. Also stayed busy finishing up my letter to the President, so many people who had heard was being written, would warn me “they were going to come take me away.” Ended the letter saying, “In my wife-time, knife-time, lifetime, we will see Worker Owned Cooperatives, modeled after The Mondragon Cooperative of the Basque, springing up around the country.”
By the end of the week, all of that taping on the paper cut had really opened it up to quite a scare. It did have a benefit of getting my left hand into my typing though. My friend Joe was blown away on Friday when chatting with him on his early internet BBS Site. He types back, “Is this really Mike Dewey or an imposter? Mike has never typed that fast. It can’t be him.” Joe got a little kick out of it.
Another lonely Thursday night without a date, so head out to American Graffiti, to see Batting Zero again. Damn only less than half a dozen men, plus me there to listen to a drummer play Rock and Roll. None of them there were stupid enough to put any money up on the Green Alter. Scream out for the Band to play some Steve Miller. They didn’t play as had I had hoped, Space Cowboy, “Let me tell you people that I found a new way.” But the Joker worked fine, “People keep talking about me Babe, say I’m doing you wrong. Don’t worry for am right here at home. I’m a sinner, I’m a midnight toker, I really love your peaches wanna shake your tree.”-with Batting Zero lead singer saying, “The only ever #1 song by The Steve Miller Band,” Then after that, with all there knowing my troubles with a blond they all would drop everything for, lead singer says this, “Oh she was lying.”
That Friday night meet up with, who all said was a jerk, Jim. (My mind was still open on that.) We drive around, and I bring up, “We ain’t been to Michael’s yet tonight. When I started talking about being able to put 110% into my pool game, he got lost thinking I was intimidating him. We are at the end on the bar, with steps down to where a pool table could fit. I say, “Wouldn’t that make a nice place for a barn dance.” While I was thinking of Arlo’s song, “When we get back to that old barn dance, then we will know we are home.” Then he tells me its over between you and Carol. So I bring up, “You know of that war in heaven, in Revelations 12. It rocked down angels from the Promised Land, with Michael.” Those words went through the customers and chicken shit owner that night, as if they were scared cattle with a bull seeing a red cloth to run away from, or attack, depending on which view. Owner had named the Club after her son Michael.
At least Cornerstone Restaurant was still a first class place to get a great bowl of French Onion Soup and a great micro-brewery draft beers, right across a little creak that a mickey-mouse bridge was built to cross the Abbey Road home, by smart local folks who knew how to avoid the Cops. But why the fuck did OJ’s wife have to get killed right then? While hearing everyone say OJ is guilty, while he is driving down the highway in a white SUV, with a gun to his own head, say, “Thought it was up to a jury.” Owner tells bartender to shut me off. Bartender looks at me for a minute, says, “He is only speaking his mind.” and gets me another cold Wachuestt Draft. Lady says about me from next bar stool over, “He is a prophet from god.” But honestly, what had really pissed me off was, these people are watching dirty laundry on the TV, when they could be shooting the breeze with a man who was had just had the truth of these latter days happening in the flesh revealed to him.
Rumors got around in that town like they do in every town. One night while shooting the lights out of the balls on the green alter. I over hear Bruno asking Jim, “Did he say he was Michael?” “No he didn’t.” Jim answers. “That is what scares me Jim. I have had feelings he may be.” Bruno says back. Other people at the time were saying to Jim, “If you have listened to every word out of his mouth the last few months, it all adds up and makes sense.” Still hearing all these good words and vibes about me… made me wonder why a man sitting next to me one afternoon would say, “I am honored to be sitting next to this man. What difference does it make what color your clothes are or the kind of car you drive.”
But when the next Sunday arrived, I drive by 40s right at noon when Carol is getting out of her car to go in for Sunday afternoon work shift. I was too stupid and shy, to pull in and try to clear the air. So I drive around the block and then have the courage to walk into the far end of the L shaped empty bar. Right off, I hear, “What do you want Mike?” from her. “Give me a beer”, as I put a buck in the table and run the rack, and hear Carol say of herself, “I am crazy.” She brings the Michelob back, and I tell her “I cut myself on your letter Carol. I have been taping it on my keyboard all week long,” and show her my cut. “Oh it looks like it hurt,” she says, as she walks to other end of bar and brings 40 back to within 10 feet of me, in the empty bar, and with no Juke Box on, says to him, “I am ready to move in with him right now.” 40, as tired of it all as me and rest of Town were, says, “Why are you telling this to me? Why don’t you talk to him?” I was so fed up with all this bar room static crap, knowing not all I heard in the bars was about me, but without time in private, with Carol, couldn’t be sure of what parts did or didn’t apply.) that I get up, and hurry out, but stupidly grab my South West Cue left at counter by the door-which I had almost walked by. (How many times I had wished I had forgotten it, for I would have gone back in for it after calming down.) But I left the napkin, and could see Carol looking at as she watches me storm quietly out the door.
Monday night I show up for Connie’s night shift at 40s, to try and unwind. I was furious inside about how Carol, seemingly always, was trying to tell me things about herself, while talking to others, within my hearing distance. Yet still figured it was worth the battle, for as Bruno had told her within my hearing distance, “You both will laugh about these times for a long time.” First thing Connie says is, “I didn’t think you knew where that napkin came from.” Then she goes and plays The Wilburies “Well it’s alright. We are going to the end of the line. Well it’s alright. Maybe someday done the road you’ll think of me, when someone plays Purple Hazes, we are going to the end of the line.” There wasn’t anything more anyone could have done to help me relax, for the whole thing never had to have been witnessed by the whole town the last 3 months.
Tuesday morning feel like calling my old friend who had put me up for a few months while getting work in Tacoma. Tom Durcharme, a 3-cushion player from the Elk’s Club there, the richest one in the country, with 10,000 members. While out west the Elks was my Oasis’s from the storm of life. Won some 2 Elk’s Club B 3-cushion Tournaments while out west on that trip, but credit them for showing me how to have fun-even though times there were rough when Condo tenant was unfaithful in paying me the rent. (Probably would have been smarter to throw the kid out, rather than paying the mortgage with credit cards. But seemed worth putting up with for a chance at part of tenant’s pool room. Certainly a selfish and stupid reason for going the extra mile.)
First thing said to Tom he understood about Rocking down angels, was like stars falling from above. His mail address intrigued me, 4057 with me thinking of 40s and being born in 57. I really didn’t want to come right out and say I was Michael the child of Revelations 12, for that wasn’t then or now my style, for if it can’t help, it feels more like a curse. But Tom did ask if I was going to Chicago for the 3-cushion Nationals, for World Champion Sang Lee (from South Korea.) was going to be at Chris’s Billiards, where pat of ‘The Color of Money was filmed?” Well, it being a month away figured it would be worth the trip.
Mainly feeling very close to things all working out that week, OJ’s wife gets killed and OJ takes over all the News at Cornerstone Restaurant, across the little man made bridge over a Creek from my Abbey Road Condo. Ya was feeling like, “It’s more important Michael is here than to watch some guy with a gun to his head drive down the road, who they all felt was guilty, with me storming out, “I thought it was up to a jury.”
Friday afternoon comes and feel as if Michael’s would be a great place to have a quiet drink. First thing in there the older lady owner tells me, “I don’t want you coming in here. You are scaring people.” Tell her, it was the other jerk who got me wound up the other night, so I answered back. I just want to have a drink in here and think to myself.” The only other one in the place, some old-timer, nods his head to the lady, as I head out the door, growing more sick to death of a town that I had come to love.
Hoping for any kind of pool action that Friday night, pack up my South West Cue and cool, beat up brown leather Case and head for 40s. I’m playing pretty good against a couple of younger jerky kids. But the songs on the Juke Box explain how I felt, “Take this job and shove, got the over worked, under paid working in the asylum blues. But you don’t mess around with me, unless you like spitting into the wind.”-paraphrase of the songs playing
9:PM Carol comes in with her girlfriends, leaving them to be on their own, with her sitting right next to me at the Corner of the L Shaped Bar. “Hi Michael, she whispers, while being too blown away for a 36 year old man to be, with her perfume smelling as beautiful as she looked in her blue jeans. 20 asks from behind the bar how I am doing? “Oh someone called me an asshole today.” Carol says to 20, “The owner of Michael’s did.” Say to myself, wondering how she knew that already. That Friday turns out to be the rowdiest night all year, and this Space Cowboy needed a quiet night.
Had enough of the kids playing pool, even after they said 10 bucks a game, and reply, “Oh I am tired of playing with the bumble bees.” With Carol saying, “He is a real man.” I pump 5 bucks of Classic Rock into the music machine, while the jerk Jim P comes and sits down next to me on the right to check out what is going on between me and Carol finally together, or so it seemed. But Jim makes her look away and talk to some drunk fat man on her left, for she couldn’t stand looking at Jim, who almost got her X killed. She puts her left hand behind her back with fingers under her blue jeans, an asking for help sign. Dancing in the dark comes on, before I can say, “Carol turn around, for I am jealous as hell of the drunken man you are talking to and am getting pissed off by Jim prodding me about this and that crap.” She jumps up when Uncle Albert comes by and I congratulate him on his engagement. “I am so happy for you she yells.” Over by the Juke box can hear her loudly say, (While, “Even if we are dancing in the dark,” is playing by The Boss.) “He keeps beating at my heart.” She was looking so happy.
The jerk Jim puts 5 bucks of Def Leopard on the Juke Box and that heavy metal head banging music starts to drive me insane, with the evil way it was sounding to me at that point in my life: for why should I listen to pissed off hopeless music while I had so much hope of my being able to breath hope into the people, with me and Carol together. Having had heard enough call Jim an asshole, and head out the door, wishing I had grabbed Carol, asking, “Let’s take a break from this insanity and get some air.” Little was I to know how big a mistake not doing that would turn out to be. Even while driving around to clear my head, I drive by 40s, and blink my head lights as Carol gets in her car near last call, as I was too stupid to pull in and say hi. It was damn near the only car left in the parking lot.
Tossed and turned all night long about why that noisy jerk Jim had to blast 5 bucks of that negative crap, after Carol was all warmed up from the Classic Rock I had played. (I now can understand, in the 21st century, that it’s very angry music, though it just bangs your head without giving your soul any hope.) At that time, some words of songs by Steve Miller and Arlo Guthrie were becoming conscious to me for the first time: like in Space Cowboy, a very anti-establishment song, starts with, “Let me tell you people that I found a new way…” (Well that “new way” is that it’s all going to happen in the flesh this time as they were also not ready for it 2000 years ago.) and there was Arlo’s song Prologue (listened to since 79 on Out Lasting the Blues.), “Just because you say you’ve seen the light, doesn’t mean nobody sold you. Drunk in a world of material wealth, now makes you deaf to your calling. And all alone the prophet groans with words as yet unseen.”
When those songs became clear to me, I remembered when seeing Arlo out in Santa Rosa and while he walked around the stage smoother than silk, said to myself, “What is different about him?” Then at the end of the show Arlo says this, “There is someone here who is really going to need this 2 tapes of mine, Someday and The Power of Love, I do not want to tell you to buy them, but don’t know where else you will get them, you are really going to need them sometime.” I said to myself, “That is me.” It’s a very good idea that I bought them. While listening to the song All over the world people holding hands say to my X on the way home to Petaluma, “Are you hearing what he is saying?” Though at the time had no real clue, for could not see the whole picture. (There were some important things wanting to be discussed with Carol, before anyone, to see what her feelings and thoughts were. Was sure it was all true, but had no plan of how it should be revealed, without people thinking I was insane.)
What a Sunday afternoon this turned into, when walking in the door of Club 40s, Neil Young’s Hurricane starts playing on the music machine, before even being able to order a cold beer from Carol, “Once I thought I saw you in a crazy hazy bar, (called the Old Oaken Bucket, 10 years ago, while you were dancing I into throwing your darts, with love in your smile.) dancing on the stars. I want to love you now but your beauty keeps blowing me away, in this rougher local pool playing bar, where I never had dreamed dreams could come true.”-(Until you cut me open.)
It didn’t help ease any tension between me on the costumer side of the bar, when first song I play was Steve Miller’s Jungle Love, “I met you on somebody’s Island, you thought you had known me before. I brought you some beautiful flowers, while waiting months for your answer. You probably won’t remember, I probably will never forget. Jungle love in the surf of the pouring rain, everything better went wet. Jungle love is driving me mad, its making me crazy. But lately you live in a jungle, I never see you alone, so I thought I would write you some poems. The question to everyone’s answer is usually asked from within, but the patterns of the rain with the truth they contain have written my life on your skin. We live in a life of illusion, where everything is peaches and cream, we all face the scarlet conclusion but we spend our time in a dream, (now turning into a nightmare, with it getting worse and worse as bs from the slime out of the TV keeps oozing its way across your living room floor.) You swim in my blood when it’s warm, protect you and keep you from harm.” The words we live in a life of illusion did not come clear, until many sad moons latter.
After work she leaves right away to arrange things for X to take their son longer. As she returns, ”She gave me no reply” by the Beatles starts playing but not by me. She says, “How does he do this?” And I am pissed that she doesn’t come and sit by me. But yet throughout the chaos of that day, while my song start’s, by Bonnie Raitt, “Let’s Give Them Something To Talk About,” and go stand next to the Juke Box, and stare at her, while leaning up next to it, with her not budging but looking back from the other end of the L-shaped bar. After that song I had had enough!
I head out to my car knowing the direction she is heading. While this fed up man on a mission is driving by my Abbey Road condo her little red Honda Civic, with son and X are both in the front sit, flip my middle finger out the window at them. Must have taken them a while to get to 40s, for after driving around a long country road block, they are pulling in and flip her the bird again. I speed around the next shot Y shaped block and head back to catch her and her son pulling out so I can flip her the third bird, with her stopping her car suddenly and me just driving by heading for a drink in peace where no one knows me. (Couldn’t think of that place in that Town at that moment so head home to blast some more Steve Miller’s Space Cowboy on the Surround Sound System, I knew Carol was pissed to hear I bought.)
At least a comrade of the town was cool when I returned to 40s, to hear the damage done an hour later. I hesitate going in, as he says leaving, “Just go order your beer.” Her X ain’t too happy and lets me know, as he sits down saying, “Lightin up on Carol. You know I gave you her address. Now my son is involved. Lighten up on her.” Words from me of the last 3 months finally came out, “I have only been trying to talk to her.” (Of course there was more, like her and his son moving in with me.) Bruno is cool enough to take care of this light weight for me, and tells his good friend, her X, “Do you understand how alone Mike has been in this? His best friend who doesn’t even own a refrigerator and 40 likes him, but he hasn’t been in with Mike sine this all started! (40 don’t like anyone!) His best friend has no clue of what has happened here over the last few months”.
I tell them I am taking a trip to Chicago to see the 3-cushion Nationals, were World Champion Sang Lee will be competing with some old friends from my Elks Clubs days of playing out west a few years ago. Figures her X would say to Bruno, “You know what that will do to her?” Bruno was dead on with the answer, “Sometime she is going to have to trust him, and if she had by now, they would be a couple that would make everyone else want to be them.”
My having made a point about not saying anything about my awakening, except for a loose lip of mine about Rocking Down angels, head out the door. Oh but since leaving the next morning, had a little printed Booklet “Bits and Pieces” (filled with words of wisdom.) which I had written, where a hand is setting a Chess Piece Queen down on the board, with a saying about how important the Queen is if she knew how easy things should be: I write in my own hand, Carol I love you. But I think you are a stuck up American cunt. Then I do the stupid thing of putting it under the window wiper of 40s Cadillac!
Having had enough Leominster whose people I had grown to love over the last year, (except a few morons.) was ready to get out of Dodge for a while, for too many who should have known me better, had me calling it Lemontown. Figured I see if Joe wanted to take a trip to see the Nationals out in Chicago. He had no work, nor any money, so didn’t press him about it. Even though, me and Joe had always clicked when it came to playing 8 Ball for 5 or 10 buck in the Bars. I packed up more shit into that 4 door that the back seat was loaded up to the roof.
But there was one more stop, which was to drop my extra set of Condo Keys on Carol’s little red Honda while it was parked where she worked during the week. Felt very nervous about anyone seeing me place the key ring over her window wipers. I was sure hoping that would make up for the “Bits and Pieces” pamphlet, she was yet to read, that was placed on 40s car the night before. Left a World Cup Soccer Ball left on the coffee table, for I was hoping it would help me out, with my getting her 9 year old son involved in it all, when flipping her the bird with him in the car.
Head on down the highway, with my large coffee mug filled up with an “After 5 on the Rocks-Kahlua, Baily’s Irish Cream, and a touch of Peppermint Schnapps. Some locals had recently turned me on to the 4 dollar drink, they called “A Girl Scout Cookie.” At least the FM radio was good enough to hear Classic Rock on WZLX out of Worcester, for the 3+ hour ride down the Mass Pike until crossing the New York State Line. On that sunny July day, felt 22 or younger, on my way to see American 3-cushion at its best. Sang Lee, was going to be there. Sang was 1 time World Champion & 2 time National Champion. He arrived from South Korea, a few years earlier, after becoming Korea’s 3-c Champion. I had heard about him from 3-cushion players out west. When Sang Lee saw Allen Gilbert recently win his 5th Nationals he said to Gilbert, “You Champion from big country, me Champion from small. I give you 2-1 odds and play to 100. Sang beat him 100-65, and 66 year old Gilbert never competed against him again. Tournament was held at Chris’s Billiard’s where part of the movie, “The Color of Money” was filmed.
If I had been in a rush, and had a car that could cruise at 90, would have flown through boring upstate New York. But I had always loved my trips through the beautiful green hilly Pennsylvania, with its white church steeples. Putting together a mailing list of local bars was high on the agenda of this trip. It can be a bitch stopping in every town for a beer in these days. Though at least there was always someone who connected with my playing Bad Moon Arisen, or Swingtown, with first 50 cents in the Juke Box. The ones who said from those songs, “You came to the right place” will forever be filed under my good memories.
Showing up at some Vets bar on a back road off the Highway 80 turned into a special night. After manager asked me how I got there, while it was empty, answering “got some awful directions to a Motel from some drunken bitch.” I was 36 feeling life ahead would be the balls, and that showed in my walk, talk and smile on my face. As the Bar filled up, am saying to these two chicks, “I was Michael. I was Michael.” (Not being specific about who I was now.) The Manager says to the guy next to him, “You know who he is?” And when I go over and say to him, “Yes I am.” He is blown away and bows his head. We were certainly on the same wave length, and he gives me the address of the place, telling me, “It’s not even the map.” Since no one was worth playing pool in there, even for fun, after seeing the action, I ask the Bartender for a bucket of ice for my warm beers in the trunk, manager says, “Get That Man Some Ice!”
Still having Carol as a thinking problem, pick up some post cards and send them to my Condo, hoping she has moved in by the time I am back. One says, “When you have a man by the balls, does it really matter how cold his feet are when he gets home to bed.”
Here I go again on my own, while heading on down the highway, clearing the trash from my mind. Pull off the Highway in Geneva Ohio, and see sign for “The Driftwood Bar” which auto pilot heads right for. They were fun people who didn’t mind me paying the money to play pool with them to have some laughs. It was the 4th of July, and after Barmaid asks, seductively, “Are you ready for another one?” I head out to the wharf and watch the 4th of July fireworks, the thunder and lightning on the great Lake Erie. Got to find a Motel, and since owner of Driftwood would not rent me the trailer out back, drive on down to the boardwalk and crash at first Motel.
I had recently connected with the McCunes who were in Muncie teaching at Ball State. When in my born again days of the 70s on a Jesus Farm in Petaluma California, Bill and Jane had turned me onto some social justice stuff-which was the only thing that had worked for me, during those “born again” days in city if little hills, Petaluma CA-except for a message at Open Door Worship services, when for a month we had sermons of living simple and recycling what we could.
Heading north in Indiana, saw this huge mushroom dark cloud up ahead so pulled in for a cold beer and a Cheese Burger at next Tavern. I swear after a few songs on the Juke Box in there, that there was a still small voice kind of a feeling that said, “This is Michael, the archangel.” Right after that, the heavy set Barmaid asked me, “What brought you in here.” “I had to get in out of the rain up ahead I could seeing coming from a huge mushroom cloud up ahead, which is pouring down rain right now.” No Pool or Darts in there, so head on up the road, after the rain stops.
It was cool to meet folks at a Muncie Bar who knew the McCunes from having gone to Ball State. Had a good time with Bill and Jane, and went to swim meet one of their daughters was competing in. Great ride through the Corn Fields with them, was helping to clear my head of the last few months. They put me up for the night. It was okay to practice my one piano song. Off we got to music land. Off we go to Carol’s land, training her to talk to me, while training my fingers, hands and eyes. This wanna be piano player, could play the simple song pretty well with both hands. And I was taking my sister in-law Margie’s advice of only learning one song, until I could play it for Carol.
700 miles on the road and I am going to hit the south side of Chicago today. From loving too always play J Geils song, “Take you to the south side of Chicago babe.” I had to stop there first. Another bar for my mailing list, of what to write, had no clue. But, when I played “Bye Bye Miss American Pie, “fire is the devils only friend “(true or not?)’ it resonated with that back street bar.
Not having a clue where Chris’s Billiards was, head north to try and find an IBEW friend who a friend and me had couched into the finals, for 2rd place against Jim Rempe of Reno’s 87 Pro Am-which twice a year, is held before its Pro Tournament. (Thought it was a great setup that would get more amateurs to watch Pro Events. Though, it never caught on nationally.) My friend made the Cover of the Billiard Digest that year, holding the fancy 4 grand Cue he won along with 2 grand. I drove him and his brother home to Bay area after, with my new T-bird, as he joked, “The 6 cylinder is a dog, the turbo charged 4 cylinder has balls, you bought this for the cool colored graphics on the dashboard.” He was right. I got no share of the cash for the ride, as he was counting the money in the passenger seat. And a friend and I gave him some advice on playing safe, which won him some matches. I couldn’t find his name in the phone book.
I ended up watching this preacher on TV in the Motel Room. Once in a while like to keep up with what they have to say. He was talking about how John Lennon was burning in hell right now for singing, “imagine there is no heaven or hell. Imagine a brotherhood of mankind sharing the entire world.” Oh boy, if their vision of heaven doesn’t have the Beatles and the rest up there, this Space Cowboy would rather keep rocking in hell. Then the preacher says, imagine if Christ showed up right now in this church? I had figured they still believed the lamb was going to come back flying out of the sky. But had come to understand that the TV were the clouds of heaven the lamb said the son of man would come on, in Matthew 24. Though, listening to the preacher talk about Lennon, it became perfectly clear to me that I must never go to the big apple where Lennon was shot. I recently read of the 2 olive branches of Revelations 11, yet until right then had “thought” me and Carol had better never go to Jerusalem where it implies the 2 prophets get killed by today’s establishment. (I hadn’t yet figured out a few things.)
After checking the phone book found out Chris’s was right down the street from where I was staying. Heading out the door, see some of my old 3-cushion friends from the Medford Oregon Tournament held every year since JFK got shot. They call that the Woodstock of 3-cushion Billiards and it is a weeklong blast every October. They always arranged raft trips to keep the wives amused. They even rented a party room at the motel for after-hours drinking. It’s had over a 100 players many of them years. Many people live for it the whole year.
It’s time to see how good this Sang Lee guy is, so we head to the room. Bleacher seats to watch the 8 European heated tables. I am impressed with this shot he makes with object ball on 2rd diamond of long rail, and cue ball a foot away; with 2rd ball on 1st diamond on opposite end of table’s other long rail. Very small ball with tricky stroke to judge shot. Since I thought he would have played to the end rail instead of directly at long rail to make the ball bigger, I had to show my fun attitude picked up in at Tacoma Elks, “How were ya playing it?” said laughingly. After the match Sang is about to be introduced to me, but takes 5 and ducks out of site, and returns and shakes my hand. Man he was playing says, “I wouldn’t say that to the World Champion,” but he also knew where I was coming from for he knew Tom Durcharme who had that line as one of his own. It was great to get the Member’s Tournament Book with the addresses of all of their Rooms around the Country. This being a social trip kept the political, spiritual talk out of it.
With Carol still being a thinking problem, hoping she had moved in, there was no way I was about to lay any cash down on my pool game. Chris’s has been around Chicago forever. Must have had 30 tables, with the action looking like 1-pocket, which will never be my cup of tea. It was good to see Pool and fiction writer Bob Byrnes playing along with Jack Knoer-who I love his fighter like attitude at the table-who got the most points, 22, against Sang Lee. Noam, the Tacoma Elks Champion jerk, who never spent any time teaching me some secrets which he knew well. Tommy Thomson, pool room owner from Beaver Oregon, did say to me to Norm, “You know if you had spent some time with him, he could be playing in this.”
I had enough and didn’t even stay for the finals. This nut had Bars to stir up on my trip back home, where hopefully Carol had moved in. How do you make drinking respectable? Damn, Solomon had said “there was nothing better than to eat, drink and be happy.” Damn it, the bars on ride back had turned into hospitals filled with mainly depressed folks, fed up with life. When it felt right, would try and feed a little hope into them. Jeremiah 31:31-34 was becoming clear to me, “They will no longer teach know the lord for all would know him, and he would remember their sins no more.” I was figuring out, until “who he was,” was widely revealed, we may as well keep giving strong drink to them whose life had gone sour, as Solomon had also said.
Sure was hoping to drop in to that Vets Bar off of 80 in Pennsylvania, which I missed the exit for in the dark. Every rest stop on the Highway would show these 2 photos of Arlo Guthrie, from his album covers, with me saying, “This man on this Someday album is very deep in prayer, and has some very hopeful songs. They are like John Lennon is singing Imagine down to him, with Arlo finding his own words of how a brotherhood of mankind would be holding hands all over the world.” End up on the last rest stop in Pennsylvania, and ask, “Where the hell am I? How did I get passed that exit?” Cleaning man was adamant to me and says 5 times, “You better go back. Just don’t ever go to New York City.” That was an exclamation point on my thoughts of when hearing that TV preacher talk of Lennon. I made sure to tell him I would just keep going North East, with there being an understanding between us.
Well, check my mail box as soon as back to Abbey Road, and Carol hasn’t moved in, for the post cards sent her were right there in the box. I Head down to 40s for a very rude welcome home. 80 strolls in, being twice the jerk 40 ever was, and screams, “What is he doing here?” The he throws me out. I knew I had fucked up. But say to him, “You don’t have to yell at me like that. And head down to Twins. At Twins, her X Al comes over all pissed off and grabs my shoulder, and I fall to the floor all by myself. Everyone except Bruno starts yelling, “Get up Mike! You should know better than to come in here!” “At least Bruno wasn’t yelling at me.” I say while heading out the door.
Show up at the dump Montgomery’s, and Bartender throws me out of there as well, with him saying, “I don’t like the way you treat girls Mike.” Show back up at 40s, as to get my last words in. At least 40’s son-in-law Steve tending Bar was decent enough to talk to me outside, “I have nothing against you Mike. Someone who works here had you thrown out.” “Ya for what?” I say, “Giving flowers to a girl who put me through hell for it?” Steve says, “I have nothing against you Mike. If you want to get back in you have to come talk to 40 during the day.” “Oh I won’t do that!” as I scream like Meatloaf’s song as I get in the car to head home.
Oh knew I had blown it. Yet knew Carol was tough cool chick. I knew all I had to do was grab her hand when she put behind her back and say, “Let’s get out of this Friday night jungle she came in to sit next to me.” Frustration was running through me, though my mind had so much hope for a better day for all, that my confidence about life had still never been stronger. We could be heading for the top of the world. The topper most of the top as the Beatles use to say. But now “we” have a message of worker ownership cooperatives, so people can earn enough to do as they please in their time off. Good luck with that message. My mind was still in the skies about being Michael and nothing could break that fact.
I figured the only way to attack back at the ones who just threw me out of my safety zone of bars I could drive to and back from, without trouble from the cops out to arrest anyone for a beer on their breath was to leave my letter in a rolled up News Paper outside the 2 bars. So I wrote, “You Bell ringers are going to pay for what you just did to me.” My phone rings Monday afternoon with silence, though, I say, “Carol please.” 5 minutes latter there is a knock on my door. I look through the eyeball and see Carol holding a piece of paper, feeling my eyes on her, she rubs her ear, and runs away. How I will forever wish I had opened that door, though chances are that could have killed me on the spot, by yelling at me. All I was thinking was, “You don’t want to give that letter to me. Not in my condition right now.” (Yet there was a funny coincidence in the Blonde Cartoon the day I had got back. It was a joke about it being on the coffee table where I had also left the Soccer Ball her son never got to see.)
Why didn’t I open that door? I began being conscious of the whole of Steve Miller’s “Your Saving Grace”: “Winters people watching as I sail upon seasons floor. To join some crazy ladies in a game upon the shore. None of them with broken wings, yet still refuse to fly. So with sweetness on my lips I smile a last good bye. Good bye. And now I spend my life on the velvet side of hell. Aimlessly here searching for what I cannot tell. The quietness is terrible as my blood boils in the sand. Child, child, you are not the child you thought you were. You wake up in the night and know you are blind. Forever, forever, a resting place to control, until the emptiness of heaven welcomes your weary soul.” I had heard the song many times before. Yet, had never recalled that part about the child, who I was sure I was. Though wasn’t sure if I had to do anything at all, except wait to die? It was clear to me my story had to be told. Thing was, I was not going to tell anyone about it, until I told Carol first.
At least I had unemployment, which had a chance of helping me get to Collage, which could extend my benefits for over a year. So wasn’t worried about losing my Abbey Road Home, which was perfect for me. I had begun to distance myself from my friend Jerry who owned the unit across the hall. Overall was trying to figure out who the hell I was?-just figured I was on a mission to promote Worker Ownership such as the Mondragon Cooperative, along with revealing the truth to the Churches that no super man was going to coming flying out of the sky for its all to happen in the flesh this time too, as they were not ready for it 2000 years ago either.
My friend Joe would come by on a regularly bases, since he was working right down the street. He was in the process of teaching me things about the PC. He grew tired of my talk about the girl. He had offered to try and get me back into 40’s (40 always had liked him, and 40 always gave everyone a hard time.) I did think about going there with Joe for a second. But made it clear, as stupid as leaving that note in Bits and Pieces on 40s car was, it was between me and the girl. It was good for me to have Joe as a pot connection. He brought over story he had written the year before, which struck me. (It was on a 3.5 floppy disc he was trying to sell in stores.) It was about a prophet who came here to work with the people. The church leaders called it blasphemy. No doubt that I would be taken the same way by the Churches.
Each week I write a letter to Carol asking her to forgive me. I did not get my being Michael into it at all. Though, that is why it was so important to talk to her, so she could hear the whole story, of which she was a major player in the awakening. But I did know from my blurting out at Michael’s Tavern, “That war in heaven was like rocking down angels from the Promised Land.” Hell, it got me thrown out of Michael’s. Each Tuesday Afternoon I would open up an empty mailbox. Then I would go play the Moody Blues, Question and Driftwood: “Why do we never get an answer when we are knocking on the door?” “Now that I’ve met you I can never be the same. Oh don’t leave me like driftwood on the shore.”
Oh boy, did the pressure catch up with me and Family. I just saw life of traditional American Christians, mainly being a pile of shit. The only issue I had heard them stand on for the last 14 years was abortions, while the Govt was slowly taking away freedom to earn a living-which is what it takes to be free enough to raise a Family. Angrily at that time I tell my Dad on the phone, “Someone should take down that man from the cross. (Being very sure about who me and him were today as humans.) Those traditions hadn’t done much to get people ready for it all happening in the flesh this time too. Just as the Traditions of the Jews 2000 years ago, had left many of them unprepared.
I drop by my Brother Richards house, for had been getting along with him, over great talks during dinner once a week, over the months, with Margie and their 4 cool teen year age kids. I never got to tell him it all exploded on me at 40s, over Carol in the photo I had shown him. Out back by his swimming pool he blasts at me, “If Christ was to come back he is going to damn you to hell.” “Oh” I say, “You must have heard from our friend Candy out in Kentucky.” (We knew Candy from my time on the Jesus Farm of the 70s that was part of the Church of the Open Door, Richard was once a Minister of.) “Why didn’t she answer me about the letter with photo of Arlo sent to her, with me saying, “Someone should take that man down off of that tree?”
We are sitting there on that sunny day, with Margie soaking in the sun by the pool, while she thought about things I had said. “You can’t say things like that Mike.” Richard says. “Richard, Is it not Lucifer who is an angel of light? While it says in Revelations (god or the lamb) comes as a thief?” Margie nods her head a little. Margie does say, “Who found out where Candy and Steve, the McCunes and Judy from the Open Door are now?” Since I was looking for grass-roots mailing addresses wherever I could find them, I did hope the connections in Kentucky, Indiana and Illinois would bear fruit in time. Richard couldn’t answer about why Candy could not have asked me what I was talking about in letter sent. “I wish I could talk to you today Richard. I just lost a very important person in my life, whose ways inspired a long dead social conscience.” As I storm out to my car and drive off.
My pool playing Brother comes by Abbey Road and we have it out. “What are they to do, who get comfort by their worship looking at that cross?” he asks. “John, from my memories of the Catholic Church, it’s a very depressing place.” So I play Steve Miller’s “We have been working so hard, and we got to get down to the swingtown. This is where it’s at John. How many Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s do we have to say to be forgiven for being human? If you want people to bow their heads in the depression blues, you would mock David as his wife Michal did, when he danced for joy before the lord. Good grief, I worship by expressing my full potential on the green alter.”
Conversation gets heated after John asks, ‘What if they don’t want to play pool?” I say “Good grief John. Can’t you see that life should be much more fun than it’s become?” All he can ask after asking him if he had ever read of the 2 Prophets that the establishment kills in Revelation 11, “Are you one of them Michael? How much of that booze have you been drinking?” “I reply “Yes I am and John Lennon was the other one.” John says, “People think you are crazy Michael.” I ask “who?”, with him replying, “it wouldn’t be fair for me to say.” I don’t even get a chance to defend myself on some things I have done? I say, “You don’t have a clue as to what happened over the last few months in 40s, with this girl. Nor have I told you anything about which has brought me to the conclusions I have been telling you about.” Right after he scoffingly asks, “What girl?” I tell him, “Get out of my home!” ‘No!” he replies. So throw my ash tray from the couch over by Oak Table he is sitting in, and it smashes against the wall of the hall behind him. He picks up this crystal rock used as a door stop for Pizza deliveries, and rushes to the couch with it. Holding me down with his left hand screams, “You want me to do this?” as he holds the rock up above my head with his right hand? “Go ahead John. Get this over with.” “No because I am your Brother,” he says as he heads out the door.
Another week and another letter sent to Carol at her regular job. Damn near begging her to forgive me for what I called her. I needed to talk to her. Yet another Tuesday afternoon with no reply in the mailbox. It was listening to the dreams of Arlo Guthrie’s Someday and Power of Love albums kept me positive inside that each seed sown would pay off in the end. Arlo’s Russian Girls could save the world song made me sure I was on the same wavelength as him, “Here in America, land of the free, can’t tell women what they really are for, well then you ain’t really free anymore.”
Have a blow up with my sister Kathy on the phone, telling her, “Your Christian Church can fuck off on their abortion bullshit.” Kathy says, “You can’t say that. You need to repent for swearing.” Kathy, “Its real life about what your Christian Right Church has become trying to legislate morality on oppressed people. You don’t see how your abortion babble is only another witch hunt like in Salem, while you are not focusing on the stumbling blocks who are causing people to do things that they would not normally do.”
She says she is worried about me and is coming over with little sister Elaine. On that hot summer night the AC is at full blast, with the temperature down to close to 60. I have Arlo’s Power of Love up as loud as the surround sound system could blast it. “The power of love (with a cool mellow drum beat like a marching song.) scorches out the doubt. Is the name of names and burns away the pain.” I get right to the point, when showing them the photo of Carol. “I know who I am. You have not a clue what just blew up on me, from the fruits of the stone throwing coming out of the TV. Thanks in large part to the religious right that I call, The-media-right-storm’s don’t do this or that trash on the TV. Frank Zappa sang about it back in the 70s about the TV being the tool of the Government and industry too. It’s now even turning people off to the Bible, for people do not want to become like those TV preachers.”
Elaine goes, “You know who he is?” When I say, “This is where we are going”, and play Steve Miller’s “we have been working so hard, (from around 72) and we got to get down to the Swingtown.” Religious Kathy says, “Oh no, we are not.” There was nothing else we could talk about. Even with Arlo plying full blast, they had lost the beauty and dreams of the 60’s music, that Arlo was keeping going from his 80s songs. They were cool as heading out the door, “It is cold in here today on this hot night. You also have a window AC Unit in your bedroom to go with the freezing one here in your living-dining-kitchen room?” “They run all day and night. Things in this mind constantly spinning around, it does get very hot,” saying as I close the door.
Looking for a friend, wanting to get out of town, for my friends around this City could do nothing for me, for Playing Pool was still all I was about in this City. I find an old friend Mike, from the 70s, in the phone book. If all was known about our gang’s crimes of the 70s, we may have been in jail until we were at least 25. We turned out alright: he was manager of a meat department at a super market, and I was still in the IBEW, which a living wage from, helped me buy an overpriced home now worth in the 40s, which is what we should have paid for it new, instead of the 80 grand. I tell him, “I got some very good news about Worker Ownership Coops, though am not sure where it’s going yet.”
Mike says to me, “My older brother Gary in doing time at the Shirley Jail.” Feeling rebellious inside, with nothing better to do, I want to cheer Gary up so figure on bringing him a cold beer while visiting him in jail. I wear my baggy cargo paints and put 2 beers inside. Get to the jail, and wait for the 6 people ahead of me. Right when I am almost next, I chicken out, and head to my car. Drive around the prison parking lot, for no reason at all. (That’s probably not a smart thing to do, in that empty country like prison parking lot.) As heading out the main drag Prison Patrol car lights come on behind me. As the Officer gets to my rolled down window he says, “You can’t drive around in this parking lot like that. We might think you are helping with an escape. You been drinking? Get out of the car.” I was ok but he asked if I want him to call the Shirley Police on me. “Sure. Make my day.” I say. He smiles, then asks on the radio, “Can anyone come down here to the prison, got a suspect? Oh thought you might be busy. Ok.” He lets me go but warns me not to be seen driving around the prison parking lot again. (Damn. I really wanted to bring Gary a cold beer in that jail.)
It was good Joe would drop by after work. I was interested in this writing project he was working on, about putting his writings on to a 3.5 floppy drive. He would show up right as Kung Fu would come on. At that point in time got encouragement from the words at the start of the show, “I will help you,” as he is walking through the desert. For, though my mind felt strong I was in a lonely wilderness. Joe had some interesting writing which if marketed right could bring in some extra cash, on a grassroots level of a new kind of idea. I hadn’t done hardly any writing to speak of up to that point, except comments on some local BBS sites that were what tied the internet together back at that time. I was glad to have a friend who was always up to different things that could be done with a Computer, which I had mainly played Chess and other video games on.
But you couldn’t keep me tied up in this Condo. Old Oaken Bucket, the 80s hang out for my dart throwing days of the 80s had recently opened again. Rumor has it that one of the owner’s sons, cleared it out at 10:pm to spray for bug the night it burnt down. I had to check it out to get the feeling of being in the place where I had first seen Carol. Remember her jumping into her dart throws with a cute smile on her face. There was an old friend there this time, and tell him, “I have a second chance with the girl I said years ago to you, would make a wonderful wife.” He took a look at me and knew from my outlook on life, and says strongly, “I know.”
Since being in the area, I head over to the Idle Hour to see if any of the old crew hanging out. There was only some old timer in there, me and fat barmaid. After second beer ask for Steve Miller’s Swningtown to be turned up a few notches on the Juke Box, and get a reply, ‘No the neighbors will complain,” as she grabs my half full beer off of the bar. “Oh it ain’t like the old days here anymore either is it.,” I say. I am very upset about that as I head down the road for my ride home.
As heading into Groton from long windy route 40 road, one cop drives by me and turns round and 4 cop cars have their lights flashing as I come over the last hill. Cop pulls up behind me saying, “You almost hit me.” I am very sure I never crossed the yellow line. I just say to him, “If I can walk that line there on the side of the road, will you let me go officer?” Officer answers, “Yes.” I tell him, “Let me have this smoke to calm down.” He opens the door and pulls me out of the car. What ever happened to the old days, I wasn’t even speeding? You can never beat that charge these days, for you have one beer in half an hour you are considered driving under the influence. I sure wish the powers that be understood the crap they were doing were the ones driving people insane. Oh but guess I never was one to fit into the box they wanted us in of “do this don’t do that” regulating us to death as moronic robots. On day hitching to Court Carol drives by and shakes her head, “Oh shit.” I think she said, yet didn’t care enough to stop.
Now I am totally screwed for there was no work in Boston, and I wouldn’t be quite so wild. But also without ticket to drive, I had no chance of finding work out on the road. I knew Tacoma had much work still going on from the few years earlier I had worked there. I was still in good enough mental shape to give my cue games a shot out there again.
Then things get even worse. Unemployment was not going to fund going to Collage to be a Para-legal, for there were no jobs at it. Counselor Frank Page tells me “It’s either a Prison Guard or making synthetic tomato kind of food.” “Hell Frank. I want to keep people out of prison except the ones using chemicals to make our food.”
Being upset about how this whole life was turning out to be crap, decide to run against Kennedy and Mitt Romney for US Senate. I do try and get in touch with Jerry Brown and Ross Perot, for if someone had those 2 behind them in Massachusetts you would have a chance. Mainly was hoping they would just send the word out to vote for me. If I had any recognition at all, it seemed like it could be won much cheaper than Mitt and Ted were spending on their campaigns. I went to work sending out hand written post cards, with a touch of color with a message, “Electricity could be paying our taxes from our Electric Bills. Do we are don’t we, we do for Dewey. Elect the Electrician.” I sent them out to all the Pool Rooms and Bars in my mailing list, along with sending them to every local News Paper in the Commonwealth. I even had Business Cards printed up which I was sending out also. Joe got a kick out of them when he picked them up at the printer in Gardner.
I may have even made the News. Hanging out in this bar with the TV turned down low, swear I head the 2 hosts say my name. Then I was having a beer at Cornerstone, across the creek at back of Abbey Road. The bar talk went like this. “Are we happy?” someone says. I shout out in the air, “Oh the Beatles wrote a song about happiness.” With the crowd knowing it was a warm gun. Man says, “How can he say that? I would be honored to be him.” Barmaid says, “He is honored he just isn’t having any fun yet, for he hasn’t gotten things right with Carol yet.” Then the man says, “Maybe he didn’t see what was on the other night?” I shake my head yes. The barmaid says, “This is the end time. We better vote Dewey in this time, not like Dewey won was in the paper and he lost.” They all shake their heads in agreement when I say while leaving, “I better go to 40s this Sunday.” I tried but couldn’t make it. Monday night I get a phone call with a girl saying, “I just wanted you to hear my voice.” At first I thought it was my X but it had to have been Carol. I would have said something had caller not hung up right away.
Months go by with letters sent every week, with no reply on Tuesday afternoon. As I am walking out of Gas Station store one night, Al Carol’s X knocks the hotdog out of my mouth and we struggle around a bit. Then he just says, “Don’t send anymore letters to Carol. You have ruined her life.” Since my South West Cue had not been put together for months, the next morning walk down to 40s and lay it down in front of the door. Sure had hoped that might get a message through that she was driving me to do some stupid things.
Flight to Nashville
At the same time Credit Cards were still being sent to me in the mail. Since always wanting to go to Nashville I buy a ticket. (As hitching out of town to Worcester Airport, walk past 40s as 40 had just pulled in and there was no way I could talk to him.) I was hoping to run into Pam Tillis and ask her who the Mommy was in The Queen of De Nile? I had sent her a letter asking if it was Steve Miller? I had brought that thought up at 40s a time or 2. One man mentioned the Abracadabra video years back when Miller had his eyes blacked out. I was thinking Pam may have answered me in her recent video, “Every time you walk in the room.” For in it she takes her left and right hands, with 2 fingers open and goes across her eyes, as like when Miller had his eyes blacked out. I get to Nashville and start talking about that to some guy from Canada. He says, “This is the prophet. John Lennon was killed in New York City wasn’t he?” With my answering, “Yes he was.”
It’s time for me to head to Opera Land. No luck finding Pam. Carrying my red Marloboro Suitcase, white shirt and blue jeans I do get nods of being an American. The Dolly Parton show for free was worth checking out. Not my cup of tea.
Head back to the bar to see if that Canadian guy is still around. He seemed like an aware one to me. Am staying at the Motel that is part of the Bar, so figure I am good until last call. At least until Barmaid says, “The owner thinks you have had enough.” I probably had. Yet walk over to the owner and say, “You the owner?” He shakes his head yes. “I am Michael and you are going to burn in hell.” And head back to my room.
He has help tell me not to leave the room. I want some air so go out the room and hang around on the balcony, which they then throw me out of the motel. After the cop shows up, I am wearing my 3 different welders caps, pointing 3 directions, with purple, light green red and Navajo colors. Cops smiles, then they tell him, “We never want me to come back here.” The Cops says, “He is only a tourist. I am not arresting him.” After they help escort me out of the parking lot, making sure to not let me head in the direction of some other bars, I crash at the Bus Stop for the night.
Not ready to leave town yet, next morning head to the Opera Land Hotel right nearby. Beautiful open covered Garden Style with 3 floors of walkways. If I was ever to do LSD again this would be the place. A couple pianos around the walks, so play my one song, “Off we go to music land, training fingers hand and ear.” Or as I sang it, “Off we go to Carol’s land teacher her to talk to me, not everyone else about me.” Saying to myself, “One of these days am going to combine that simple song with the Pink Panther, and The Stray Cat Strut. It was great the Hotel Bar gave you the green trash can cups to you for each Tennessee Trash drink you bought. I got 3.
Since I had pulled out a couple thousand on credit from the ATMs, I head down to the strip. I fit right in with the old style country singers who had been playing there for decades. I had to see Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge. Doorman outside says we can’t let you be seen in here dressed like that. I think for a minute, which often times out on the road have forgotten to think, like the other night, and say, “Wait a minute. What if I tuck my shirt into my pants? I’ve heard many of the top Country stars could drop in there at any time.” Man was cool and says, “You got the idea now.” No Pam Tillis, so was a long trip to just see her and her Father Mel’s autographed Photo out in the back room up a flight of stairs. This cry in your beer country music is way too depressing for me while being in the same state of mind. I gotta get out of this town.
4 plus months of being mainly alone in my condo were wearing on me. Yet the last month since Nashville trip, hadn’t drank at all. The pot was enough. Oh Arlo is playing in Boston so got to find a way there. That was not so easy the morning of the show, for depression set in in big time after not even making the vote count for the Senate Election. But inside me a feeling says take that train ride to tonight’s show. Oh how he had aged in the 7 years since last seeing him. “First thing he says made me laugh, “Looks like some of you haven’t seen me for a long time.” When he says, “I would like to see a politician run sometime who was going to do away with all the laws, for the laws only make more criminals,” I had a feeling he did knew I was there, for had sent him letters saying I was running for the Senate. When he said, “There are a lot of people in a lot of places cleaning out all the corners. I know you are here. I know you are all here,” finally figured out that all, my mission was about, was to help tie them all together. But the end of the show blew my mind as Arlo was walking off the stage. With me standing at the front row of the Balcony, he is walking towards the back, and turns his head up towards me and eyeballs me for at least 3 seconds. We both smile and acknowledge to each other that eye contact had been made. It was absolutely the coolest moment of my life up to that point. Then say to myself, not knowing what I know, others would not be able to say, “He is the Lamb.”
Thanks Giving comes and I have it for the second year in a row at Denny’s. But the day before feeling in the mood of Alice’s Restaurant do some lettering of my own. I send post cards to Carol, begging her to give me a break. Monday I get a call to come down to the Police Station. Tell him I can’t come until the morning. I show up and they say no one wanted to see me. Tuesday afternoon the Cops knock on my door to arrest me for Stalking. Joe was there at the time, with a bag of pot out in the open on the Coffee table. He says, “I will pick you up at the Station in a couple hours, and mess around on the PC until then.” How I was hoping a Christmas Carol was going to jump out of this stalking.
On the way to Station in handcuffs behind my back-which is no way to treat a human being-I say, “Don’t ever give flowers to a female until you are sure she is a lady,” and the Cops laugh. While in the cold cell, the cop asks, “What was meant by a return address of the White House?” “I’m a hopeless romantic,” I reply, as he smiles. “She says there was never anything between you 2,” he says. “Ya that would figure, it never got very far. But we were the talk of the town last spring, when my life came out of a shell it’s been buried in most of my life. Why don’t you ask some people who were there?” I frustratingly say. He asks, “Why didn’t I come down Tuesday and we could have worked this all out.” I had come down and ask them who wanted to see me, and the cop at the desks said no one want to see me. At least the male cops were cool enough to let me out without bail. The female cop wanted to hold me the 4 days the law requires for stalking.
I didn’t mind the name of court appointed lawyer Threasher, for it rhymed with thresh her. But the useless shrink didn’t believe anything I had said to him and recommends 2 weeks on 4-E at Worcester State, a so called, Hospital. It was a busy day for the Lawyer to have a chance to read the letters, so in chains and cuffs, off I go in those cold prison transportation vans that look like an Armored Car for transporting money. Before they take me away, Carol’s mother walks by and looks at me, and then shakes her head while looking at Carol.
Oh hell, the staff treating me as guilty from day one was perfectly clear. “Are any of you going to check out what really happened at Club Forty’s? Was all that was worth asking, since they didn’t believe a word I said, and believed everything in the police report Carol had said. After talking to some forensic guy he extends my stay for 2 extra weeks, after I made a joke about feeling like putting my fist through her mouth, after they ask me, “What is this photo of lips mean?”
At least we had a smoking room, which I would pace the 5 steps back and forth and be called a caged lion. I cracked up laughing big time when first time in the smoking room another starts singing, “Sitting here on the Group W Bench.” “Hey.” I say, “If all of us no good beaten up people really wanted anything we want at Alice’s Restaurant, this place would be filled to the brim with all of us not moral enough to play by societies rules.”
Then reading a News Week Article gave me some really needed inner strength. The writer was saying that today’s Christian Right had become the same kind of people as the Scribes and Pharisees of Christ’s time were. It was important for me to know things like that were getting published, From the time I saw Lemontown-Lemon-mister go bat shit crazy over OJ’s wife being murdered, knowing it was supposed to be up to a jury, I knew why no one was minding their own business in a bar in the 90s. I could see the fruits of the stone throwing on the TV, which heated up in the 80s, descending into the local waterholes people gather at to not feel alone.
I hadn’t opened my Bible since before trip to Chicago, so when Mom and Dad came to visit me, made sure that they would bring me one. I had to find in Daniel where my neighbor Jerry had told me the prophecies were mainly complete. I had to find out where Michael was in the Old Testament. I Can’t say I understood Daniel very well after that reading. Hell, when first reading of the Ancient of Day in Daniel 7:9, with my being #9 asked myself, “Is that me?” But that was the 1st time I read Daniel 8:9-14 about stars and hosts being dragged out of heaven by a horn. The connection between that and rocking down angels was automatic. Oh is Daniel 11 a complicated chapter. Though seeing the battles between the kings of the north and kings of the south; I did see it was America. And then there in Daniel 12:1 Michael arises after someone comes to his end, who no one helps him anymore.
The regular staff who took care of regular feeding of us were fine. The day staff had the smoking room unlocked all day, instead of the top of the hour for 15 minutes, as the nightshift did. They were fun enough to play cards with and at least would get a laugh from them when I said, “You know I’m crazy, why else would I be here?” With them answering, “Oh you are alright.”
But the Doctor was some power tripping bitch from India. (Not to have anything against India or some Doctors.) She kept on beating me down with what Carol lied about in the Police Report about me always asking her out while she was tending Bar. I kept telling this bitch, “I never once asked her out while in 40s. I was friends with all the other female Barmaids there. Well, not the kind of friends I would have over for dinner. But we could talk about work and regular other parts of life. Since I did have a crush on Judy, the Mohawk Indian, I asked out to dinner once, with her saying, “Just diner?” And then she kissed me on the check. But Judy scared me for she drank a lot of 100 proof Absolute Vodka and would get rowdy, which reminded me too much of Rhonda I ones lived with. Connie was a fine lady who knew what was going on when Carol caught my attention, and offered subtle advice, which I tried to take. Lisa was as hot a shit as they come with a sexy body and long black hair to go along with it. Lisa had often times stood up to 40 for me, when 40 thought I was hustling his customers. If I was only out to get laid, like you are implying I was with Carol, I would have had Lisa move in with her young kid whose Father was in jail.”
Doctor answers back, “We have the letters and Police report.” “Good grief. You think 40 would have put up for months with me constantly hounding Carol? You really think I would be that way to anyone in there, where I could get plenty of match pool playing so close to home? Besides that my Lawyer, I just got off the phone with told me he was going to get the charges dropped for there was nothing threatening in the letters.” That power tripping bitch, called a Doctor, and Forensics men kept on treating me as guilty. They show me the Bits and Pieces pamphlet I wrote, “You are a stuck up American cunt.” Damn it, I was feeling that way. Can’t you see that I wrote it while in bits and pieces?” Then they show me a post card sent out of running for the Senate. They big time stress, “You ran for the US Senate?” Yes that is what the post card said. Don’t I have a right as an American to do that? I knew I couldn’t do it alone. But with Carol I may have had a chance to get Jerry Brown and Ross Perot people behind me in Massachusetts and scare the hell out the status qua.” At least the Forensic man did say Perot and Brown together could go a long ways in Massatack.
Bumble bees started building in my head, memories of the few morons, who would get in the way at the wrong times last spring, who somehow over the years didn’t get to know me as well as Carol’s friends did who would give me small words of encouragement, which was enough to let me know they understood the pressure cooker 40s had become for me. In this 4-E called a Hospital, those bumble bees started to feel like what that crown of thorns on the Lamb must have felt like.
Sitting here on this Group W Bench, dreaming of proving in Court that I was Michael, I kept my mouth shut most of the time. But when group after group, I hear the leader telling these down on the luck kids, who if lucky were sleeping in their cars, or else they were out in the street; that they need a job, I couldn’t hold back, “These people have no chance what so ever of the American Dream of owning a home.” It made me sick in side to be answered back, “Well they have to settle for a lesser dream.”
The month goes by with sore bones from sitting on rock hard plastic furniture. I couldn’t figure where they were coming from when they tell me, “You have to get a job, and you have to go to a domestic violence group.” I mean there was no violence ever intended, and since I was going to jail for lettering, why the hell would I need a job? They told me I was going to jail for lettering. What gave them the right to treat me as guilty, as they also treated everyone else in that hell hole, without a thought about what us regular folks were going through.)
No one likes them cold hand and feet shackles and chains they put on humans when transporting between jails, courts and or hospitals. At least I did have a home for the time being to drink away my blues, which now seemed like there was no way out of. My Lawyer made a petition to drop all charges, since there was nothing threatening. DA sort of agreed but asked it to be continued for 6 weeks. What a cold wait for ride to get home, when John heard they were going to keep me, and instead of a ride home with the keys, have to wait around in the cold. After calling him on payphone, catch Taxi to Abbey Road and wait out in the cold. At least there was a stop at packy for bottle of Peppermint 100 proof Schnapps and 12 pack of Rolling Rock Bottles.
Wanting to talk to someone I call Richard, for still had hope he might listen to what happened. He shows up at Abbey Road and immediately says in loud voice, (He never yells.) “You are crazy!” Clearly this will not end up at all close to my finally being able to tell him the details of how Rocking Down angels. No details of which yet mentioned, to him or anyone except when a few words came out at Michaels, from a slip of the tongue from being pressured by a jerk kind of friend. had awoken me in large part from people who were becoming the friends I had always wanted. But it all exploded.
Since I was still in control of the music playing on the surround sound system, yet to be paid for, I have to play Arlo’s Prologue from 79 (Written after Arlo said he became a Christian, for it was the first time he had heard a Jew could become one. Right around the same time Dylan become A Christian and wrote, “There’s a slow training coming.”) which is about how the dreams of the 60s had turned into states of illusions while sleeping on computerized beds. Hippies now being drunk in a land of material wealth, that now no one can see each falling. So much for those fantastic flights of acid once good for your minds health, for they now have you deaf to your calling. What could that calling be he sang of, was a question often running through my mind’s eyes? And all alone the prophet groans with words as yet unseen.
First time I tell Richard this, “I am Michael of Daniel 12:1, who is the child of Revelations 12, and John Lennon is the other olive branch of Revelations 11, whose today’s establishment may yet kill both. But I will not go to the big apple where Lennon was shot.” The conversation gets a “Maybe you are?” out of Richard. But knowing this conversation was not going to get anywhere, play Steve Miller’s Space Cowboy, “Let me tell you power trip dreamers that I found a new way, and I am tired of all this talk about love, while you are putting the screws to the people.” With me saying, “Richard, I know what that new way is.”
Then play The Gangster of Love, which send chills through Richards spine from anyone calling them self a gangster. That song use to scare the hell of the X also, with her saying, “He is making fun out of being a gangster!” Well these words never came out of my mouth but someone said he was coming like a thief, and since that someone is about love; you get where I am coming from.
Richard heads out the door, without him ever asking what brought me to these conclusions. He just says in a forceful accusation, “YOU are Michael the ARCH-Angel?!” Richard had totally missed the whole point. (No way in the world could I have been able to tell him that I was not claiming to be who, through his Religious Images, made him think I was claiming to be.)
What a year 1994 ends: We lost Frank Zappa, Jackie Onassis and Tricky Dick Nixon, and we were soon to lose Mickey Mantle and Jerry Garcia. Now Michael was a couple months away from losing his much loved Abbey Road Condo Home. How do you sell a Condo paid 80 grand for, but now worth 40 grand, which in reality is all it ever should have sold for? It could still have been rented but I saw no use in doing that, for it was now located in Lemontown, which had just driven me out of town. You don’t get a break in this small city too tough for its own good. But hell, sticking the Credit Cards for 25 grand almost made it worth it to stick the Bank with the condo.
Knowing I had 2 months left to stay in my home, drank enough to sleep or pass out for around 6 hours of the day through that clod, car-less winter. With no one to play any pool with around town it wasn’t worth being there. Hell, now I wasn’t even fit to go out in public at first class Cornerstone Restaurant right across the little creek at back of parking lot. That came clear one night, after a deeper meaning of Arlo Guthrie’s Coming into Los Angles, came to me. The deeper meaning to me, was comparing coming into LA with Rocking Down angels from above. I couldn’t stop singing “chickens flying everywhere around the plane.” It was singing it through my mind one time I went into Cornerstones, for some great French Onion Soup, and a cold Wachusett draft. Listening to the chatter of overworked folks had me singing, “Chickens flying everywhere around the plane, while we are trying to bring in some keys.” (Metaphor for solutions to this lands problems to me, with me and Carol being the keys.) Bartender understood I was out of it, and he knew why. It was cool of him to ask, “What are you doing?” At least I knew I could go back there, not like the 3 other bars they threw me out, because of a romance gone sour from it not meant to be done in public.
It was starting to suck that the lines of the song started to apply to my life.
“There’s a man in the line smiling saying he was the lone ranger.
There’s a women in line and she’s blowing his mind, thinking that he already made her.
Hip women walking on the moving floor tripping on the escalator.”
Oh boy did the bumble bee memories of last spring come into my mind’s eyes. Like there were 1000s of memories, as little circles in my memories of people I had mainly got a long with. It was the Friday night memory of when Carol came in to talk to me, and sat down next to me that proved beyond a shadow of any doubt that she had had some interest in me, yet the lie in the Police Report had an awful effect on my relationships with my family. Fucken Jim P, who damn near got Carol’s X killed, the Father of her 9 year old son, was the worst of those bumble bees. It was him looking with interest at us 2 sitting together that night, and he still had to act like a moron by trying to talk to me, while Carol was sitting next to me. That was a very hard situation…which he should have known better, so as to give us both a break.
Jim should have known over those months, how tough it was for me to talk to Carol. And he should have known that damn near getting her son’s Father killed…he had no place near us that night. The drunken fat man on her left that night could not be faulted for wanting to talk with a beautiful lady. That fat man had no clue of what had gone on the months before, for I had never seen him in the Club before. It was the busiest night of the year, though was sure neither one of us 2 would blow it, until Jim P, plays 5 bucks of heavy metal head banging music, which ruined what was almost a very special night for me. That music has its place, but that was not the time or place for 5 bucks of it.
Then the memories of one of the men from Paraguay, whose crowd had been cool to play pool with through the last 6 years, struck me weird with what I did, He had told me I was wasting my money in there. I should have known enough to tell him, “Get your own living room with a pool table and Juke Box, and get the hell out of my life” Instead, I reach in to my pocket and pull out the 200 I had made under the table doing electrical work the last weekend, and say, “You want the money? Here.” (And he took it!) That did not vibrate well, back through the gossip, when Carol heard of it. I was getting my pool game in shape there, though it was stupid of me to give the money away.
Then there were Carol’s friends, some of them who were almost my friends.-but they knew, which came out in bar talk more than once, “He is not going to tell anyone all of it, the awakening they saw, until after he tells Carol first.” For thinking 40 hours a day, for weeks, months and years that would go by, would say to myself, “These 1000s of stings in my head, must be what that crown of thorns on the Lamb’s head felt like.”
End of February comes, and since got my “right” to drive back for a little while, needed no help packing up oak table chairs and living room coffee table, and all but couch and Queen size bad I not slept in for 8 months, since was waiting for company. Brother John was cool enough to offer help when bringing stuff to Family Home. But just tell him, “Hey it’s a great bed and couch left there that whoever ends up in it may like. And its all trash on the floor of the smaller bedroom” This desperate man moved the surround sound system, PC and printer, into the attic bedroom of family home, with the rest ending up in the attic of the connected barn for 15 years. For those months after it was clear no Christmas Carol was going to jump out of a stalking. All that ran through my mind was that this was not right, but there is nothing I can do about it. My Family nor anyone else, will ever listen to this hard to believe story now.
I drive to my Court Date for Stalking, wearing my white silk suit. I walk by Carol in her black jacket, in the back row right next to the entrance door. Take a look down and shrug, while sitting myself near the front. When case is called and am asked to come up front, stand there as Lawyer gets no objections from DA for the case being to be dropped, since there was nothing threatening in the letters. Lawyer Threasher is right: in saying, “He was only pursuing her in these letters.”
There was no reason to bring up that my reasons for the letters was to connect back with her and people almost my friends, so we could have a blast turning this land around. The Judge seeing my white suit asks Carol, “Could you come up here?” She comes up and stands next to me in her black leather jacket, and me in white silk suit. There being no way in hell I would look at her in this Court Room, Judge tells me, “Don’t contact her anymore.” Many times since have wished I could have said, “Is there any way that I can talk face to face with this lady in private, if only a few minutes or less?”
What a bitch it all started out with at Family Home. Every time I play Major Blues from Arlo’s Someday record, it vibrated down too loud from the attic, and always had to turn it down, after them yelling “Turn it down its so loud it vibrates the house.”. As Arlo sings in Major Blues, “Day will come when this country needs a helping hand and they want mine, I”ll tell him buddy just get in line. When my baby comes back crying for her lover is no longer around, I’ll kick that smart ass out the door.” I knew I couldn’t stay here long.
(Here is a home made video of that song made the winter of 2011, after Marie had come to visit me from Belgium for 3 cold weeks the day after Thanks Giving of 2010. And the photo is Marie and me on my birthday over at sisters in Ayer, where I had a great apartment on other side of town with steps from upstairs deck leading right to the bike path the 17 miles from Ayer to Nashua Cow (New) Hamshire. One of the only photos of me that I had liked in years. Yes, Marie had been a Muslim for 26 years, until after a month returning from her visit she asked me if it was alright to go out in public with her head uncovered. Told her that was totally up to her. Think she was upset with what the extremist were doing.)
Mom (Only me in the Family called her Mom she told me once.) always made sure I had plenty to eat. Damn, she would ask 10 times a day if I had eaten enough? Ya, it was great Dad would keep me in smokes through the week, and a shot at talking to the locals at the tough crowd in the VFW.
No clue as to where I am going from here, though it will not be here. Though, I am printing out the simplest form of my Rocking Down angels story, which awoken me to the truth of these times happening in the flesh, as they did also happen 2000 years ago in Israel when John the Baptist had his head cut off, and the Lamb was hung on a tree.
What a wall that was built between me and John (John stayed at home after quiting drinking to take care of Mom and Dad.) He went through my printed papers, and says down in the kitchen, “I went through the cabinets of your papers, and ARE YOU REALLY AN ANGEL Michael? I went through your papers and read what YOU WROTE?” Leaning up against the stove could only say, “I’m Michael, a brother.” Wishing or feeling, I could have said, “John, you have known me your whole life. I am a man after your own heart since a kid, who was inspired by your pool playing on the basement pool table, and our drinking Coors out on the front porch, when we were younger.”
(Here are the 5 brothers together in the living room back in the 80s. Billy, Richard,and Tommy on couch John, and John standing next to me. )
Then I hear from the 700 Club that Pat Robertson has a new book out, “The End of the Age.” It was cool of Mom to buy it after telling her about it. All I can say about Robertson’s nightmare, is if people like him claim to have faith, how the hell can they see a worse nightmare than 1995 happening. (Well I didn’t see 911 coming and the tougher economic times coming either, for thought my story would resonate with people) I see solutions from worker ownership cooperatives helping people build their own way out of the insanity of our leaders. But was not aware of how out of touch our leaders were with the so called life the people were trying to live, with too much month for the money. Damn that TV set, cable and all. I had come to call it, “THE-MEDIA-RIGHT-STORM,”whose fruits were rippling stone throwing throughout society.
Little Sister Elaine showed some concern about my walking away from the Abbey Road Condo. Come springtime. she comes off very strong and demanding while saying, “You have a home there.” I am your sister.” “No you are not I scream as heading down the hill to the back yard for a break. Feeling frustrated that I still would have a home, had she ever been able to drop in to 40s. Mom tells me “You hurt Elaine.” This goes way over their head as I tell them, “I forgave Scott for the back rent he was paying back at 50 bucks a week through The Lawyer I got.” “What, did you win the Lottery or something?” they ask. “Yes as a matter of fact I did.” Didn’t bother bring up that Scott could be my ticket back into Town. (I was calling Lemon-town, or Lemon-minister, depending on who at the moment was upsetting me: the religious leaders of our time, or people who should have known me by now.) Hell, I had paid for the window I had smashed with my hand at Twins, as soon as bill came. I knew there were plenty of people in that city of Leominster who had seen me come out of my shell, as my social conscience had been awakening.
Thank god Walter shows up in LittleTON asking if I would like to go to I-owe-wa? We use to play basketball at Sandy Pond in Ayer, back in the 70s, with a good trouble making partying Michael, who was a good point guard on Team that had tall Walter as center. Walter would show up now and then in the Pool Rooms and Bars back in the 80s. He was an ok pool player, though his stroke and stance never impressed me much. He was a two bit hustler, in it only for the money. I was in it for the thrill of the competition. I got much out of the mental discipline of expressing a sport art form, which I did apply to my life.
He showed up at perfect timing to get me out of that tough little town, and family whose hard core right (that are wrong) religious beliefs could not be tolerated by the free spirit inside of me. Me, Mom and Walter are sitting on the couches in the living room, near fireplace for the winter, and windows looking out to huge Beechnut tree we would climb all of as kids. Mom isn’t impressed with me when I answer what my plans were. I state, “I’m starting the revolution. I’ve been doing it through letters and talks with people over the last year. We are going to play Robin Hood.” She answers back, “Michael, you can’t do that.” “Mom, something went wrong back in the 80s. I am not sure of the details. But the rhetoric of smaller Govt, while at the same time the Unions (The smaller Govt at local levels.) are being broken is putting a lot of financial pressure on people my age which wasn’t there back in the 80s. Mom, you are the one who turned me onto The Worker Ownership of the Mondragon Cooperative, as a better way for people to work. You gave me the article in the Catholic Digest where an 1880 Pope said this “People feel better about themselves when they work for themselves. It’s evident how that would benefit society as a whole.” I knew firsthand what that was about how I could leave the job behind after my 8 hours of work in the IBEW.
We pack up his 500 green Galaxy boat, with PC, printer, surround sound system, little tool box and red Marlboro soft suit bag. And enough other stuff to fill up the back seat and trunk. “Damn.” Walter says, “Didn’t think you had so much Mike.” It was a good thing my car sold. I had yet to pay my cousin the $500 for it from last year. Oh did John give me a hard time about that. At least Dad understood cousin Robby from Oyster Bay Long Island was a Doctor, as his beautiful wife was also, and he didn’t need the money. I had just got run out of Home Town I had come to love. The $550 was very much needed.
I get one more sight of Carol as Walter drives me to the Registry for my ID. As she is pulling out of the same parking lot, I go, “There is the girl who just ruined my life.” Walter goes, “Oh is she hot. But looks like a bitch.” “No she really isn’t Walter, but she is very tough.” Probably good idea I did not jump out of the car and flag her down for the 5 minutes I’d been longing for.
I did write one more letter telling her about Rocking Down angels is how that war in heaven in Revelations 12, got thrown down here to earth. Also told her I was sure that the Rock and Rollers of the 60s-70s were going to turn out to be the prophets of our generation. Open the letter by changing the words a bit to a favorite song of mine, wished I hadn’t had to live: “Lay down Carol. I have been trying all year long to just talk to you.” Leominster Police call up day before Oklahoma Federal Building gets blown up. “Officer says, “You don’t live in Town anymore. But you have a court order to not contact her anymore.”
Walter drives straight through upstate New York on 90, all the way to Geneva Ohio on Lake Erie. I had to have one more stop in the Driftwood Inn, as a way to face the music, of being left washed up on the shore. Walter does get some small time action on the Pool Table. I just sit at the bar to get drunk and play the Juke Box watching his action. We get a room down on the strip near the Amusement Park, and head back on the highway after Breakfast.
Walter says he is feeling like dust in the wind, with me feeling like cosmic debris. It’s a long drive for one to drive the 3 day trip there. So I get behind the wheel once for a couple hours, but feeling too nervous without a license tell him I can’t drive. “I’m the DJ this trip,” so keep getting Walter singing Arlo’s Eli song about a an old dog laying in the middle of the road, who don’t do nothing if he don’t want to. I will always find that song a funny coincidence for the old dog started moving with something in the air. when some bitch was coming up the road. And it goes on to sing, “The more he gets around the more I want to do too.” Didn’t know where we were going but started feeling like Johnny Appleseed, getting around as to plant more seeds. And Johnny Appleseed was born in Leominster.
What a dump this shack turned out to me. “Oh Walter,” I say, “I’ve wanted to live Grapes of Wrath since reading it as a kid. But didn’t expect it would be anywhere near this bad.” The carpet was over dirt with hills in it. It didn’t have a shower. It had an outhouse out in the back alley. The guys at the Bar next door told me it was made from an old chicken coop. At least WW2 Vet Bernie and his teen age Grandson Jason-Walters friend-got the electricity on after a couple of days. It had a couch which I called home. 40 hours a day of Arlo keeping the 60s dream alive, with his 80s albums. There was still much hope inside of me for Arlo’s Satellite dreams to happen, “The whole world is running around like a universe of fools. Isn’t it wonderful to see a day that breaks the rules. Today we tell the hungry soon you will be fed. Today we tell the prisoners soon you will be free. Oh no one take this microphone from me.” I was feeling like that microphone getting around.
Thought I had made a few connections at the Bar next door. One lady gave me a head shake yes, after Credence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Arising sang, “I know the end is coming soon.” A man customer was looking at me another time saying, “You are a preacher aren’t you?” “Everyone is a child of god,” I say. And a lady says, “I believe that too.” When a local Rock Band was playing at a cookout they sang “Knocking on heaven’s door, with my head looking up to the blue, a man took a second look at me while shaking his head yes. But oh boy, did I see the depression blues in those local Iowa folks who knew things were bad, and that there was nothing they could do about it.
Walt and I would help Bernie and Jason collect metal in the country area the small town of Hastings was located, in between all the corn fields. Then we would take the hour drive to Council Bluffs and sell it at the scrap yard. Then my favorite time of day couldn’t come soon enough. We take a break for some cold beers, and a few games of pool in the local watering holes. I was good for that every other day.
With Jason’s Grand Ma having recently passed away, with a nearby apartment, we did have a place to shower and eat the leftover food…since his Grand Father had moved in with his daughter Deloris in Red Oak. At least for a few weeks until the elderly people at the complex said we were scaring them, which put an end to that. Deloris was disabled and spent most of the day on the coach, but she took a liking to me (She put up with Walter as I had too also.) and invited me out with the family for Pizza one night which I pitched into also over her objections, her knowing finances were tough.
Walter and Jason did have a cool friend nearby with a pool table out in his barn & had some great Black Afghan Pot, with silver & black colors in it, which got me higher than had ever been before. Pool table was horrible though, even if it did keep me hitting balls around. Never was nor probably ever will be a ring game fan with 5 of us playing 3 6 9 for quarters.
The others days I was writing up the basic facts of Rocking Down angels, that had happened to me the year before. I would add in since Johnny Appleseed was born in Leominster, all I could do at this time was to plant these seeds, of the 10 facts which coincidentally had happened to me. I sent out 100s to Business Cards picked up through other travels, and to the ones picked up here in I-owe-wa?
It was great that Shenandoah had a weekly 8 Ball Tournament at a place called Mikes Irish Pub. I won 6 tournaments in a row. Walter should have could have but wouldn’t win the first night there. He dogged an 8 ball in the finals and I ran out. Played real well for the condition my mind was in. That 80 bucks a week kept us on in food for 6 weeks, and was even enough for my smokes. Hell, the 7th week I lost, and Walt won, and I won over a 100 playing Clyde, this well to do man for Iowa, making long shots off the end rail and getting out, until he quit after 8 racks. I hear one watching say, “He is playing like god.” and answer him by say, while smiling, “I am Michael and we are going back to the garden,” which did get a smile out of them. Good thing the Bitch Tending Bar wasn’t paying attention, for over heard her tell a customer, “I hope I catch Clyde gambling in here so I can throw him out.”
Council Bluffs had a Sunday 8 ball Tournament which I won twice. The 2rd time I was catching on to Walter’s selfish style. There was another tournament (my style) but Walter didn’t know enough to walk away 60 bucks up in a 9 ball match to see if I could match up with the better players in the city, like I had been longing for. We get into an argument and he drives off and leaves me there. I head down the long main street to the road out of town. At least at the time I have walked out of town, Walter has driven back, saying, “I am Catholic. That’s why I came back.” I figure it was cause I money from winnings that day. He goes on, “Those players would have killed you the way you are playing.” “Damn,” I tell him, “I was just getting loose and looking to match up against better players in a Tournament, which is my element.”
But I had had enough of the one street town of Hastings, while living in a shack. Bernie was a cool man in his late 70s, who looked 90. He would get me dunk the once a week it took to relax me some. Jason was a fun big size Teen who had a joint for me now and then. Walter liked what I was up to in sending my story out. Though, told him I would tell him more about it when it might get somewhere. He knew it was about helping the regular folks having a real life, which takes enough money, and time to spend it as one wishes. I did blew up a couple of times at Walter and Jason, from frustration of crap I could have let ride.
Oh I was getting torn apart by 2 donkeys who couldn’t answer me: My X out on the west coast in California wouldn’t send the withdrawal form so I could pull out the 3 grand left in my IBEW Annuity Fund, as she gave the reason being she thought I would go out there and kill her and Jade; and the hell with the donkey on the east coast. So after selling the PC and Surround Sound System at nearby Auction, for a whopping $120, instead of the $300 I had hoped for. I packed up my Red Marlboro Bag and Little Tool Box and walked out to the main road. Damn long ways to go, for after walking that mile, switching arms with the 50 pound tool box, both shoulders were already getting sore.
It had to be over 90 that boiling hot July day. First ride only took a 45 minute wait. It took me all the way to the interstate Highway 80. Left both the welders cap I had left on the dashboard of that ride. I loved them caps, one an Irish one with 4 leaf clovers all over it, and the other a black and bright brown Navajo Indian one. They were the only 2 left from IBEW Wireman, from the south, I got while working out of Tacoma at a Boeing job back in 91-93. What a mile walk up the entrance ramp to 80. Damn near dead by the time I get to sit down on my tool box. I was sweating in the sun for at least 2 hours, hair and t-shirt drenched. Thought I could have very well died on that Highway.
What a fantastic sound, when getting in Pickup Truck with Texas Plates and driver says, “I am going all the way to Syracuse New York. How far you are you going?” “That is plenty close enough to save my life. I am going to New England. A person could die out on this highway in 1995.” Air conditioning is running full tilt too boot. Iowa is behind us within 5 hours. It didn’t bother me not having to pay those toll roads through Illinois and Indiana. Wished I had been more aware at end of Ohio, miss our turn for upstate New York. No big deal though for plenty of roads north in Pennsylvania will get you to 90 in N.Y. “Thank you very much mister, “As get out of truck at rest stop on Highway near Syracuse, just in time for lunch. Next ride was cool for get to smoke some pot on until outside of Albany. Shit can happen.
Sitting on the Interstate, Highway Patrol Man pulls over. “There is no trespassing here on this highway. I can drive you to the next exit, after I am sure you don’t have anything illegal.” He does take offense when I say, “Oh this is America.” He starts going through my bag and finds a bottle of pills. After I tell him, “aspirin, Ibuprofen and Excidomediphin for my head aches and back pain,” he checks each one with his book of photos of them all. About when he is at the last one I remember.. “Oh there is a pipe in the tool box.” He sees all the cue tips, “Oh you are a pool player. Where is your cue?” “Officer, wish I knew.” “Ok” he says, “There is THC in this pipe. I can either arrest you, or you canthrow it over the fence at the bottom of the hill there on the side of the road.” With my hand out, within a second, he hands it to me and that solid granite pipe is flying over the fence.
After he is driving for a while and telling him I am doing some Political and religious writing lately. “You mean spiritual writing?” He asks, Laughing. I say, “Of course.” He has a change of heart and calls in saying, “I’m giving this hitchhiker a ride to the first exit in Massachusetts.” “Thanks for the ride,” as feet touch the ground of Massatack. I wondered if he had read the papers I was pinning to bulletin boards at stops along the way?
At this point, shoulders still sore from the few times I had to walk to get anywhere. I figured I could call my friend Joe and tell him I was going to hang out for a while. Though, I had to get at least 2 hours closer before asking for him to pick me up was even thinkable. It was a piece of cake from here. This older hippie type man and beat up car, got me to within half an hour ride to Route 2, which heads directly into Gardner where my friend Joe had a partially complete home, with a pool table. Make it to Gardner just after noon-time. Oh there’s no way I am going to carry this Tool Box the 2 miles up and down hills to his place. So I take my chances and stash under the Highway Bridge, up at the top where no bums were sleeping.
Joe isn’t home from work yet, so I crash on his couch until he opens the door saying ‘Tom, what are you doing here? “Oh it’s you Mike.” Just hitched back from I-owe-what? Damn a cop out on the highway in NY made me throw my pipe over the fence of highway. Can I stay for a while?” “Sure,” he says. ”But I’m not going to go help you find the pipe. Let’s smoke a joint. Just don’t do anything with that lady you got in trouble over. This place hasn’t got an occupancy permit yet. Where’s your South West Cue? He asks” When I tell him, “I laid it down at 40s front door the morning after the bitches X gave me a hard time about writing to her, trying to get things right enough, so as to be able to stay around Leominster.” Joe did try and help me find it, but I was branded in that Town.
The house was on Grant’s Hill, and took a climb up another hill through the dirt yard to 6 steps to the door. Joe built it himself. I did the wiring in it, which was only house I had ever wired on my own. It was built out of modules that were well insulted. He was hoping to build a lot of them as our friend Al (Pool player friend from back in the 80s days.) who was doing real well building them. This place had no hot water, for we could never make the soldiering connect into the heater. It had no carpet, though the high V ceiling added a good atmosphere to knock balls around on the 8 foot pool table. That high V ceiling gave it a look worth holding onto until he could pour a concrete floor in the dirt basement it currently had.
Sitting on the couch getting high, Joe tells me of the letters sent to him, “Those are some very interesting coincidence that happened to you Mike. But you know you weren’t yourself then. Remember you went a sort of nuts asking me what my PC writing project was about?” Ya you are right Joe. I just couldn’t get into it, if it wasn’t out to help people and was only meant for the money, I agree with what you said “Everyone needs money.” I could tell there was no way or need to push my Michael story on him. Joe liked my idea of a News Letter I was hoping to put together. Though since the name of his writings on 3.5 floppy’s was “Cosmic Debris,” he didn’t want me to call my News Letter being called, “All We are is Cosmic Debris.” Even though, I told him, it was Walter saying, “he felt like dust in the wind,” was how the name came to me.
From time to time I would call Joe the fool on the hill, and I couldn’t deny him calling me the nowhere man. Tv dinners were a good enough meal once a day. I would practice this one side shot, with ball a little more than a foot from the side pocket, with cue ball off to the right of the spot where the rack goes. There was a little hole in-between cue ball and the rack spot. I would work on every possible way to get the cue onto the spot, with it once in a while landing in the hole, but normally within a foot. I wore a path into the cloth with the shot down to the end rail just to the left of the 1st diamond, and then it hitting right above the 1st diamond on the long rail, all the way up to where cue started. After having hit 20,000 shots, was ok with it 1 rail off the bottom rail, from the bottom rail to right side long rail, and even from end rail to long rail to other end rail back up to near the spot. To me it was to learn how to go off the bottom rail in 3-cuhion, for the Europeans 3-cushion plays are fantastic at that shot.
Joe was cool enough that summer, and had enough pc parts to build a machine I could start writing on. I thought about one thing he told me there, “If you can come up with a precedent, of things in the past. You may have something to say for today.” It was soon after that that I started going through the Bible, to see what else was in it. When I found Zechariah 9:11, where prisoners were set free from a waterless pit, by the blood of the covenant, my being 9th or 11th in a family of 12 came to me. Then I saw that a star which had fallen to earth who it says his name was called, Abbadon or Apollyon in Revelations 9:11. Since Carol had reminded me much of the blonde Cartoon Character in Underdog, who was called Sweet Polly Pure bread, I had sent a letter the last year to Carol calling her Sweet Poly: a-bad-done by a sweet-poly-on the way to here couldn’t help but make me laugh. It had me thinking, “What would they have put in the Bible to help Michael?”
Reading that Daniel was told he was highly esteemed in Daniel 9:23 and 10:19 knew there had to be more in his writings of these latter days when the good news has been preached (And I was seeing how it was also trampled.) all over the world. Boy is Daniel 11 hard to figure who everyone in it was. But seeing the battles between the north and south, I was sure it was about America.
Then I found Daniel 11:20-22 where an oppressor was sent through the Jewel of the Kingdom, who I was sure was Carol, for it sure was adding up that I was the prince of the covenant who gets shattered in Daniel 11:22, while overflowing forces were shattered away. It was clear to me that by the blood of the lambs covenant with me, for me never to go to the big apple, was what let souls out of hell. And that the covenant also allowed the stars and hosts dragged out of heaven in Daniel 8:9-14, to be born as human beings. I had felt like I had seen both angels and demons as people over the last year.
My Mom didn’t like it when I sent her a letter telling her these coincidences and calls Joe, who tells me, “Your Mother called, you are scaring them while talking about things in the Bible. Charlie Manson use to quote the Bible too.” That just gave me more bumble bee stings in my head which had 1000s of memories stinging me as that crown of thorns must have felt like on the Lamb, knowing there was nothing I could say.
Me, Joe and Tom, Tom a husky arrogant pool player known for walking into Bars with his battle cry, “Anybody want to play for money?” would check out the Bars around Gardner. No action at all came out of these trips. Hell though, we run into Tuna. The 3 of us had a pretty good team a couple years back, in the Gardner money league at Tuna’s Bar out in the boondocks of Baldwinville. I didn’t lose match until going up from a 6 to a 7 first round of the playoff, which knocked us out of the money back in 93. Tuna had recently turned his Bar below his apartment into 2 apartments, for the liability insurance was taking all his profits. I will always hate seeing a good bar close.
Tuna tells me, “Are you the guy in the paper last week for raping this teenager? You look just like him.” “No Tuna. That wasn’t me. What is it with you people? You compare me to a rapist, and Joe just compared to Charlie Manson. I’m much more like a Robert Kennedy.” At least that gets a smile out of Joe while shaking his head yes.
Joe me and Tom get back one night and as walking in the door ask Tom if he wants a race to 5 for 5 at 9 Ball. Tom (The Pot grower who had recently told us he had cleaned out his pot plants planted, the day before the cops went through looking for them.) goes ballistic, “Dewey what are you calling me out?!” over and over he screams it! “Get the hell out of here Tom. We don’t need your shit around here,” Joe says with much anger.
We have both known and liked Tom since our days back at Saint Joes’ Club, when we were trying to learn 14.1 Straight Pool back in the 80s when we got match play on 4.5 by 9 Tables and had the cream of the crop players around. We had had plenty of good times with him while trying to drink for free, which in times like these, was impossible, while also risking our rights to pursue our happiness, trying to avoid the Cops on our rides home.
I was writing every day trying to turn a sad story into something that would open minds for a better time to come. I’d go through Joe’s change in the draw of his desk, so I could have my morning Coffee, and a pack of smokes, which was only a short walk away, down the hill.
But boy was there anger boiling inside of me. I would yell loudly into the V shaped open ceiling, “You assholes up there in power have a mother fucker coming to get you for the damage you are doing to the people down here trying to do the right thing, yet are pressuring them from all sides.”
I was always listening to Arlo on a beat up portable radio and tape player. Joe never could figure how I could listen to the same stuff over and over. Could only answer, “Joe I am just a 60’s type guy who has gotten caught in the 90s.”
(Here is a homemade video made the winter of 2011 of All Over the World People are making the News by holding signs.)
One thing written went like this: “Way back in the depths of our minds, is a paradise of where we came from with rolling hills with green paths such as a Golf Course. In a blink of an eye we can get to the party we are heading for. Though, many of us may still have fun mocking the cartoon like creatures, who once tried to destroy the planet and its people, through oppression and destruction of nature. They are numbed to the point of feeling no pain for the damaged they caused. But up on top of a high mountain is the 24 hour Dew Drop Inn, where all are welcomed.”
Joe would give me 20 bucks a week hoping I could beat the 2 kids in town, saying, “If you can’t beat Danny & Darwin here, you won’t be able to beat anyone.” I drop into the Shooters Pool Hall and Boston Manny is playing one of them. “Hey Manny, how it’s going? I say.” Pool Room owner ask me, “Who is that?” That’s Manny one of the best players in Boston, and New England. I hear through Scott, owner Scott’s Billiards in Leominster, Manny came by telling him, “Dewey blew my cover. But I was just about done with them kids who do play pretty well.” Darwin asks me one time as I was walking out the door of Shooters, if I want to play some 9 ball? “I don’t want anything to do with you kid,” as I was walking out the door of Shooters, which I had just sold a bunch of high quality pool tips for 25 bucks that were worth easily over a $100.
I was literally feeling like I was being crucified as trying to get some shut eye while laying out on the mattress on the floor that hot summer. I can only figure to keep on putting one foot in front of the other, for this truth revealed to me, at a time when I was totally feeling I was the me, I had always wanted to be, would someday help this world.
I ask Mom and Dad if I could get 10 bucks a week from each in the Family so as to help me get my feet back on the ground, by meeting people around Gardner. They do come up to take me out for a Seafood Diner. I tell them that I am Michael. Mom does say, “Then we better tell people this.” “Yes you should,” I reply. But knew it wasn’t going to happen. Dad’s nice enough to give me 100 bucks.
Little sister Elaine and sister Annemarie, from New Orleans, show up to take me out for Chinese food. Annemarie says as I come down from the hill of a front yard, of nothing but dirt, “You look like Jesus with that beard and long hair.” They tear into me over dinner, and am about to get up and head home. They go, “You know you have to take care of your daughter Jade.” “There is no possible way I can right now. You think it’s too much to ask for 10 bucks a week from the family so I can have a chance to get back on my feet by having some laughs with people while playing pool in the Bars, as the Juke Box plays?” “No” they scream, “we can’t do that.” “Ok, you care so much but won’t lift up a finger to do a damn thing but talk, while putting me down. Oh, it’s too good to be true, but my story is true.”
Then Annemarie goes, “Do you think it’s a sin to buy drugs from a dealer? Christ followed every rule and so must Michael.” “Oh sister, you can’t make that comparison. Drugs are just one of the plagues at worst, out to bring down an oppressive system.” Annemarie says, “I think they are from the devil.” “Oh then someday I will thank the devil for planting pot. I’ll walk home there was no need for you two to attack me this way, while down on my luck from the same kind of idiots you both are turning into.” Annemarie does say, “It’s good you got a friend you can stay with.”
I had heard from Joe he had written a book about 2 pool players who headed out on the road. I finally got to read what is a fantastic story of a lefty and righty, (Joe is lefty and Al is right handed.) and hit Saint Joes Club in Fitchburg to get crushed by 15 time City Champion Roger. But they learn enough tricks to make it out there on the road for a while. I pick up a little bit of why my social concerns and music, never clicked with Joe, as he writes in the book, one of them ends up at one of those useless anti-war demonstrations.
It starts getting colder as Fall comes along, so know my stay is coming to an end there. The cold water sponge baths I’d been taking would not work with temperature in the 40s. Joe is cool enough to give me a ride all the way to Littleton (16 miles out of his way.) as he heads off to his second shift job in Lemon-minster, as was called by me, for mainly being pissed off at those from whom the stumbling blocks come, who cause the little ones to stumble.-even if that was OJ-of which Joe would listen to every word of the TV trial-which made me sick for figured it was up to a Jury to decide guilt, and it was none of my damn business, nor hardly anyone else either.
I keep my mouth shut at Family home for about a month. Mom’s always good with cooking up food for dinner, which was my breakfast. It was like a fast for me not to eat hardly anything for at least 5 hours of being up, except for a glass of milk which felt good coating my hungry stomach. The many cups of coffee with cream, would keep my gut always feeling hungry.
Though I will bring up how Daniel 7 was adding up to me: There are 4 beasts that come up out of the sea, with 3 of them having been given Authority to cause much harm. I can see them as China, Russia and the USA, with all of them being allowed to live for an appointed time. But the 4th beast with the 10 horns and boastful words is the Church itself, with the horns being the Churches which arose out of Rome in Europe. That 4th beast is totally destroyed. It is the beast in Revelations 18:10 where it says, “he was and is not but will come up out of the abyss“(The abyss was hell.) and he goes to destruction. It was Peter’s Church but is not now. Needless to say, words such as those are not going to go far with a religious Family. It’s no help at all that the little horn which grew out of the 4th beast is the Religious Right who overthrows 3 kings, for mainly the whole family follows them.
Put this following video together in 2013 while in Antwerpen Belgium which sums up all my beliefs. Sorry I could not add music to it, for have yet to figure out how to get through the copy right stuff, so Windows Music Maker will not let me music. I know it can be done, for have seen beautiful whole records of the Moody Blues by some hippie Chick who adds videos of space and cool graphics too.
But by the end of October I had to try and tell Dad about the coincidences of me being 9 or 11 in the Family, and where those numbers were and what they said in the Bible. He goes upstairs and I try to get him to listen to me. Elaine comes up one stairwell and John the other and have me on the ground as Elaine says, “You have to stop it Michael.” I just yell back, you want to end up toothless forever (Meaning for her to always be a gummy toothless person up above when life is over.) and to John, “You want to end up ball-less up there too?”
It being so impossible for them to listen to anything at all of that happened the year before, I had to try and tell them. Elaine calls the Cops after I just lay there. Cop nods his head, knowing where I am coming from, by my being down on my luck, as I say to him, “What do you do when a Family who says they care, will not lift a finger to do anything at all? Except for them telling me what to do.?”
As I walk out with him to the Cruiser, he says, “I didn’t want to put the cuff on you in the house, in front of your Mother. But have to now, for the ride to the Station.” What a night without a smoke in a rock hard jail cell. With no way or chance to explain it was not all my fault, when driven out of my home and town that had become part of me, from the laughs and smiles of the locals.
Officer gives me a ride to court, with cuffs behind my back, and me dyeing for a Marlboro. I tell him I had read Pat Robertson’s book which talks of a meteor hitting the Pacific Ocean, with me saying, “If one was heading this way, we would know about it by now.” He agrees by saying, “We would know of it by now.” Then he has a philosophic thought, “We all did come down from above. You just inspired that thought Michael.”
Sitting in another cell behind steel bars, on Halloween, with other down on their luck group w bench members, not moral enough for society, for they were broke in more ways than one: I started singing to myself, “I see the glory of the coming of the lord. We will trample down the brambling brushes where the grapes of wrath are stored.”
Judge has me committed for a month, which turns into two, Worcester State Hospital, after DA states, “He told his parents the Pope was the devil’s advocate.” I had never said such words. Judge does say, “That is no reason to throw him out in the street.” As being put in hand and ankle chains, before being put in cold steel box prison van, looking like an armored Bank truck, I do over hear the security person from the court say, “This may be the man who brings us back to the old days.” Hell, the armored truck driver gives me two smokes for the hour ride to so called hospital.
Worcester State So Called Hospital I call A Slum
What a group of suffering people behind steel chained bars over the windows? Group after group heard that our illness was incurable, take the meds we tell you to, and don’t drink and drug.
At least Doctor Smith must have opened the Bible, when he tells me it’s interesting how your Family moved from Quincy to Littleton, when I was 4, which had me thinking he at least read the coincidences in Revelation 12, where the women with a child fled into the wilderness.
The only thing that made the place bearable was the smoke breaks every hour and a half in these small smoked filled rooms. Met a cool Engineer type man John in those smoke filled rooms. He liked the idea of my News Letter, and said he was a wealthy man who could help, if he could put in his engineering ideas of green sustainable energy. We had fun talks, and when we both had a pass, we took a Taxi to see the James Bond movie “Golden Eye” with Peirce Bronson. We both walked outside thinking it was the best Bond film yet.
Doctor Smith was bearable, and sent in the paper work to apply for SSDI. I say to a man waiting in line for dinner slop, “Hey I am going to get paid for this bullshit.” “Damn.” the man sleeping in his car with 2 kids goes, “I wish I was you.” Then he goes and sits in front of my dinner plate, until coming back from napkins and forks in spoons, and he moves over. I thought for a little while that there was a connection with the server who sang, “I see a bad moon arising. I see trouble on the way,” as he was serving me so called food.
The groups were ridiculous as the leaders all said that these Meds were proven to work. Must have said 10 times “What good are they for the 2 million homeless in America?”
I did get to pass around some of my “weird” writings about Rocking Down angels which one man said was off the wall mumblings of a lunatic. But another said, “Have you ever heard of Vonnegut, your writing sounds a lot like his.” That, made me feel a little better behind those steel encased windows, and promised to look him up if ever out in Spencer, where he got thrown out of 5 bars in one night, on his trip to this a-slum, with rock hard plastic so called couches and chairs to sit on.
After a month staff was convinced that I was no danger to anyone. They knew my thoughts of a News Letter was going to be tough to do, and told me as much. But I had convinced them, it was about getting an honest wage for workers through Worker Owned Cooperatives, modeled after Mondragon of the Basque.
I had gotten John’s phone number who had interest in getting together with me to print the News Letter that I had told all staff and patients about. John lived right up the Street from 40s Club, so figured he may be a key in getting back into that tough Town, where I felt I belonged.
Being back with parents and Family was still a bitch, for knew there was no way (Without Carol by my side, for them to believe any of my story.) I kept my mouth shut that cold winter.
I had my pay day with the tough crowd (not good pool players.) of the VFW, by winning 8 or 9 straight 8 ball Tournaments. Then they brought in a ringer to try his luck: McKnight, from a large family in Littleton, who had been the owner of the Mohawk, the last Rock and Roll Night Club, which had closed. He made a great long spot shot off the end rail to cut in the black ball to win the night’s prize.
Pay day came in the spring of that year 1996: after Social Worker took me to the Social Security Department in Lowell, during the a cold winter, $1150 a month SSDI check started to show up, with back pay of 14 grand a couple months away. Back pay from year and a half, since first time in E-4 of Worcester State. That first stay had much to do with totally disabling me emotionally, for all they did was treat me as guilty, when that is up to a jury.
Well, when I started get my first check in April, I moved back with Joe for a month, paying him $200 a month. But we didn’t connect on my social concerns. And though I liked his idea of putting a 3-d video game into Bars, didn’t think it was worth it. Hey, we even picked up some steel frames, with a sit, from a computer system that had gone broke. Joe was right that the set up would work perfect for the 3-d Wolf Pack game. It was just like driving a car, while killing all the bad guys, seeing their blood and guts explode, on the window screen in front of you.
But I had to go before the month was even up. I call Dad asking if I can move back until a better place came turned up? Dad says “sure,” and gets John to drive the 40 minutes to Gardner to pick me up and what was left of my stuff. I didn’t even bother to telling Joe I was leaving. (I did leave Joe half of a 30 pack of cold beer.) He called a week and half after to check out what happened? I tell him, “It just wasn’t going to work out. My License to pursue my happiness is almost back. So I am going to hit the west coast and see some old friends at the Elks Clubs and play 3-cushion Billiards.” He understood.
I get my 14 grand of back pay from SSDI, and Dad says, “That must make you feel human again, right?” “Ya it does. And I do now have back, may License to pursue my happiness. So am heading west to the Woodstock of 3-cushion Billiards in Medford, Oregon the first week of October. Now I can buy a car, and pay cousin Robby off for the car from 2 years ago.” Me and Dad are standing in the front room, his CPA Office of our home as all that was said. I find a 4 door red 93 Chevy Cavalier, and pay the 42 hundred in cash, with used car man saying, “That is nice.” I felt fine talking him down 200 from the 4400 it was listed at. When Dad drives me down to pick it up dealer says, “This is a good car for him.”
I learn from Arlonet that Arlo Guthrie has a show in Springfield middle of August, and he then in Washington State beginning of September, for a few shows, so my plans are set, since also Medford’s week long 3-cushion tournament is out that way too. The bumble bees stinging my mind. Now of which my Parents were some of, tell me it was time to hit the road..
Arlo Guthrie’s Mystic Journey Comes out
As I listen to Mystic Journey down in the basement with rocks for the foundation, haunts me to the depths of my soul: so many words in it like; “My words are sung to those I have come to love. The waves splashing on the shore lead back back to who I am. A second chance to grasp the life of who we may turn out to be”-paraphrased
“Just me and a friend wandering around, him musician and I was a clown, playing the streets for a dollar a day.” Thinking about San Francisco Bay, where I could put a 3-cushion table on the board walk, and offer a game to 5 points of straight billiards, or 3-cuhion to double your money. That would be a nice job in the sunshine, if anyone ever gets a permit to park the table 24 hours a day.
“This world is not my home, passing through as clouds before the moon.”
“Wake up dead. Forever is real the rest is just fake.” (Though I was singing the song to the dead I saw in my real life, and around the States of confusion. The song was about waking up as the Native wisdom said to be hollow bones, only being alive for the love of service to mankind. Arlo’s other words from Led Belly, Woody’s friends, “It’s possible to do for yourself, what you intend to do for mankind.” That’s a tough sell, if we want the world to be dead to their dreams.”
Made some mistakes on the sound, at the begiing, of this Doors of Heaven song off of Mystic Journey, which the sound is turned up after the start. Though the timing the song was perfect to me, for he sings of angels coming down here to earth to share the darkness with their light.
“I’ll take to the road under cover of night. You stay or you go, whatever feels right.”
“I’ll take to the road under cover of night. Who will leave this world of sorrow; who will pay the price of freedom learn the disciplines of the road?” (Sent Arlo an email, “Teach me the disciplines of the road, for I have no home now. )
The whole Mystic Journey album haunted me, down in my gasoline alley where I had pocketed 500,000 pool balls as a kid. with the back ground instruments like a symphony, with piano guitars, drums and a bass player, with words of wisdom not yet heard.
Me and John had hit a million of balls on that table Dad bought us kids for Christmas in 65, that they would let me play on until I was 9 for they didn’t like me beating them. (Kidding) Table had a viscous roll to the left from the right side of the rack. But taught myself, you hit the cue ball on the left it goes to the left after pocketing the object ball. I remember the kids John’s age when I was 12, which was old enough to watch: and the Littleton kids were chearing him on after breaking and running 8 racks in a row. “That is a 100 right now!” But it’s not a 14.1, Straight Pool 100 ball run. Yet it’s still pretty good to run 8 racks from the break.
Then there were these words from Arlo’s Stairs song, off of Mystic Journey, “If I thought that I knew, that the way to get across to you was this high and winding stairs, I would be there at the top.” I knew I had friends out there on the road somewhere.
I take a ride to Leominster, where once had many almost friends, until I saw a police state of massive chaos descend on it, and everyone was telling each other what to do. Oh there were quite a few who understood what was going on: like Carol’s sister Gail told me once while playing pool, “They are trying to regulate us to death.” Go in to 40s and ask him if it’s alright to come back in there? “Of course not, talk to Carol Roy.” He answers back. “You know I can’t do that 40.” So he says, “Call the cops then.” As I tell Connie to “take it easy.” Ask 40 if he knows where my South West Pool Cue is?” With him answering, “I have no idea.” Since Mike’s Twins Café is on the way home, I decide to drop in to check it out. “Ok I will serve you, if you show me your license.” So tell him, be right back it’s out in the car, and go back in for a drink, feeling like maybe one can catch a break in this Town.
I have no fault with long time Bar-maid of Littleton VFW when I make it back to town, when she says, “I would serve you except for your car out there.” Ordered a coke, with my understanding…for had pissed my pants on 495 highway in LittleTON, rather than pull over and take a chance on the side of the road.
Arlo had a show coming UP in western Massatack, and then was on the road to Washington in Olympia and Everett. Know Medford Oregon had its Woodstock of 3-cushion billiards come up the beginning of October, start planning my road trip. 9 grand in the bank almost made me feel human again. Knew I should have been able to live on the monthly checks, but didn’t give a shit. My 4 year old daughter Jade was out there in Sonoma County, and she was getting a monthly check also.
The thing is my mind was stinging with 1000s of bubble bee like memories of the chances I did have, which for some reason could not relax enough to catch my breath and thoughts to regroup enough to say, “Carol, could we please talk outside? It’s too tough in here for us to have this relationship in this jungle, with you behind the bar.” How does that Steve Miller tune go Jungle Love? “I met you on somebody’s island. You thought you had known me before. You probably couldn’t remember. I probably couldn’t forget. We live in a world of illusion, where everything is peaches and cream. We all face the scarlet conclusion, but we spend our time in a dream.” That is a hell of a song to have had to live in real life, while having a rude awakening which could turn America around so it could be the example of ho things are done right, which is its calling and reason for being here.
I would think often through the late 90s of what my X’s Brother’s Father in-law Huck told me when we rented out the condo to Scott, to look for work out west, signing the Book at IBEW Union Halls all the way out there to north of Olympia in Washington. He had a beautiful home stand there in the country surround by trees and small green hills all around. He offered me a place to stay until I caught a call out of the hall, that summer of 91. Huck says to me, “America is here to show the world how things are done right.” I knew what he meant, but had no clue why he may have thought I would have something to do with that, which for some reason, I was thinking.
Mom tells me she doesn’t like the idea of this trip, while having a Marlboro on the round front porch, we had a blast watching thunder storms on as a kid. And also drinking plenty of Schlitz Beer local folks would drop by to shoot the shit about our family tradition. “Mom, There is nothing left for me here in New England. The City, I had grown to love ended up costing me my home. I got good 3-cushion friends at the Elks Clubs in Tacoma, Portland, Medford and Vallejo. And Jade is out there too.”
(Was not sure when or if I would ever see this family home again.)
I packed up my car with over a 100 classic rock tapes, and a cheap Mali pool cue, that not only did I not like playing pool with, was not going to be any good to play 3-cushion with. I see Arlo and his son Abe’s Band Xavier play at an outside show in Springfield. Was sure hoping to get to talk to Arlo, for felt that was a connection I needed to get back to being the person I was so far from in 1996 that I was in 94. I kept walking around hoping Arlo my notice me. I would never forget the time at the end of his fall of 94 Boston show, when as he was walking off stage, and me at front row of balcony, he turned his head around and smiled at me, while we both nodded our heads.
With a beer in my hand, 90% of the tine I head straight to Pennsylvania, hoping to drop into that Vet Bar which isn’t on the map, that the manager had figured out who I was, just by the glow of life on my face. Oh hell, I am in Ohio now, for missed exit 1 or was it 2 before Pittsburg. I had never on the 10 trips back and forth across the country figured out where the stop was in Oberlin, where cousins of friend Red, 2 houses down on King St, use to visit us every summer. I told their Dad when I was a kid I would need to drop by there on my future travels, with him agreeing.
South Bend Indiana was always a good stop for had a number of Sports Clubs nearby the Motel. There were tables in them bars, and would have played anyone. One reason being, if they beat me, I would back them against the local players they knew I could beat. No action this stop, nor any of the other earlier stops. Was always cool to drop by there, with Dad was stationed for training during WW2, when he was in the Navy.
I do stop into Chris’s Billiards in Chicago, where parts of the sequel of the Paul Newman’s ‘The Hustler” ‘The Color of Money was filmed. I cared not at all for watching the one pocket games going on. I did play a 3-c game with Don Paine, who I had lost 24-25 at a few years back in Medford. Don says, “You played a very good half a game at the start.” I hardly ever did have a full game but had my spurts.
Watching one game there on them heated European Tables, that roll on forever, was very impressed that for an hour, neither player ever ended up more than a foot away from the second object ball. I got a nod of understanding encouragement for saying that to the 2 players. Little things like that can keep things positive when you are living on cyber-space memories of loose connections through life. I got the address of Chris’s and many other business cards picked up along the way.
It was only a blur driving through I-owe-wa(?) up through South Dakota into Montana. I had my 6 pack next to me. Probably would have been a good idea to stop in Hastings, or Red Oak to see what Jason was up to. Walter had brought him back to Massatack and we shot the shit at King Street Homestead. He was standing at front of driveway next to Yellow Fire hydrant as I pulled in just after testing out what this Red 4 Door Cavalier could do on the highway, Jason says, “Bet that car can fly. Don’t forget, you always have a place to stay there in Hastings. A roof over your head, some people don’t even have.” Stupid of me, for he had an income from SSDI now, and he would have loved a road trip west.
Montana is a trip to drive through with no speed limit, you just can’t drive dangerously. When I drove through back in winter of 93, this feeling kept coming over me, “DC has not clue what the people here want or need.” As I brought that up at every watering hole stop, all agreed that States did not need DC to tell them what to do.
My sites were set on Cord de Arlene in Idaho, which had a a great Pool Room near a Motel. I never did get down to the lake there, where the bars party hard, from stories I’d heard told. Stupid of me to not stop in Spokane Washington to look up Cole Dickson, who was a legend for the more he drank the better he got. But check into a Motel in Tacoma, close by where I knew there was action on the bar box. $450 a month was cool, and it even had a Bar, where another guy kept playing Credence Clear Water Revival Bad Moon Arisen all night log on the Juke box.
(That bad moon arisen is here, and the end won’t come soon enough.)
I have no problem renewing my Tacoma Elk’s Lodge membership, for old friends were playing so they could sign the application. But damn it! First words I hear from Tom Ducharme, “I didn’t understand anything you sent in your letters.” Others say, “Oh you lost it didn’t ya.” I could only shake my head in agreement, rather than to explain I was only trying to have fun with writing an important story that will reveal much that will someday help. Tom says, “You almost caused me a divorce when I put you up those 4 months you were sitting at the hall with cobwebs around pipe benders waiting for a call.” “Damn Tom”, I say, “You were living in sin at the time, and didn’t get married until latter.”
I was with Tom and his wife Sherry when my daughter Jade was born in January of 92 and talked to X telling me, “It’s a girl.” I had told Sherry, “I have never seen a man like Tom before.” She does tell me, “Keep it down. He doesn’t need to hear it.” Another man in a bar had said, “It’s a tragedy Tom got MS for he was a true Prince, who would have been a Professional Bowler who would have done good things for this City.”
Hanging out a few hours a day at Elks was good for things loosened up. Wasn’t playing very well at all. The B players of first trip there, were now almost A Players, and I had things to learn, and the Mali cue was too flexible for the bigger 3-c balls. But Tom had thought about things written to him, and sitting at the Bar says to me, “Love is a wonderful thing.” I wanted to say more about what went down. It’s just that those things were hard to talk about.
They knew I had the potential to be a player. I had won the Medford B’s in 91, beating this other Tacoma Tom to get to the finals, That Tom eventually beet a top American Player in the North West open in 95. It was said to him after I beat him. “You play well, but he has more time in competition than you do. And I won the Hood River Oregon B’s in 92, coming back strong after losing to worst player in the Tournament, on the worst table in the room. Told an old-timer, “Damn, now I have to rush Chuck-(the 91 Champion who Durcharme drive us both back home, with a stop on Hood River where the Salmon come to spun near a little water fall. These big red fish where right in front of us in the stream) Tom Durcharme, Kip and Bill Sweet. to win. And I did start off strong with a run of 5 against all of them, to show who was boss. But up 19-12, Kip comes back to tie it after so many close misses from me. I say, “I am done.” Spectator says, “You mean as stick a fork in ya.”
And Tommy Tomson the A Champion that weekend, can’t watch anymore, and walks out. Finally, after many missed shots, I have a natural duck. Simple shot with first object ball a 2 diamonds up the long rail, and second object ball inside the 1st diamond on the opposite end rail. But damn the first object ball goes 2 rails back and forth up table near second ball, and I swear the cue ball went through it to miss the kiss and make the winning billiard. So all I need in my final game is to reach 13 which I was there in a flash. But the score is 14-19 and the other guy misses so many close shots, I end up winning that match, so can’t be said I backed into it.
I did win a couple close by 8-ball tournaments. Beat a good player for some cash. I lost cash to others. And did drop into the weekly Pool Hall Tournament and beat a top play by a lucky roll I missed a corner shot by a mile, but it goes 2 rails into a side pocket, and I got out. A gambler wanted to take me to Vancouver, where there was loose money from people he knew I could beat, and he knew the ones not to play. That connection never worked out. Which was probably because of not having the South West, which he asked, “Where the fuck is your cue?” As my friends at the Elks all had asked me also, “You do not want to know”, was all I could answer.
I never did get to know the man at Bar at the Motel who always said, “Just keep playing Bad Moon Arising: “I see trouble on the way, hope you are you quite prepared to die. Looks like we’re in for nasty weather. I know the end is coming soon.” But if the barmaid who ended up in my room the last night there was not married, as she was taking her clothes off, I would have gotten laid. Thing was, I understood when her friends knocked on the door to check on her. It would have been fun but not right.
It was time to head down south on Highway 5 to Medford, with my 3-c game not at all ready. This tournament has had 100s of players from all over the country. Some of the very best in the Country.. The others lived all year long to go back to the Woodstock of 3-cuhion for their love of the comradely of great hot shit shot makers. How I had wished that 4 years ago, I could have spent time with the rich old timer, who said to me in Hood River, “You have more talent than anyone I have ever seen. If I could spend a month with you, I could make you a player.” He probably could have set me up with a pool room as I was told by others, that he had for 100s of other players around the country. We drinking folks always stayed until early morning at the party room at motel stocked to the hilt with booze. One regret I have is not having that old timer draw out the 4 basic position shots he told me Willie Hoppie use to use. Some of my friends were friends of the greatest American 3-cuhion player of all time.
One kid didn’t like being put into the top division, so we talked it all over, since I wanted too, the Tournament directors says, “Where else will he ever get to play the players of this caliper?” I didn’t win a match nor have much fun while playing. I lost 2 matches 24-25 and got over 20 in a couple others. I did play one of the best matches of my life, making end rail first shots (From other end of the table.) around the table which I had never made before. But the older timer out classed me and got back in the game, after armature mistakes on shot selections. With the tough defense these Pros left you with, 3-cuhion at its best is chess on a pool table. Leave them long and on the rail, and leave them all the 5 rail bank shots you can. Making the easy shots is the key to keeping you in the game.
Back in 92 I did feel real good about getting to 19 against 5 time US Champion Allen Gilbert. Allen was poetry in motion on the table. He says he played a system on every shot, but you could see instinctively he had a great feel for the shots. I was up 14-6, with the shots making that I should make. I told a man after, “At 14-6, said to myself if I can run 5 I have a chance.” He says back to me, “You should have said run 11, for you only got 5 more.”
I head south down route 5 of California, past 13,000 + Mount Shasta, and 4,500 Black Brute, (Natives say blew off the top of Shasta 1000s of years ago, and landed 30 miles away near the Highway.) thinking, if things don’t turn around in my mind’s eyes in Sonoma County after seeing my daughter Jade, I may just jump off the Red Golden State Bridge. Since I had never got along with X Father in-law who was a retired High Way Patrolman, drove straight past Grenada where he had a cool ranch a mile off the road with 3 homes on it.
(Money wasn’t so tight at the time, but Stevie Ray Vaughan’s stranded in the caught in the Cross Fire was still the chitty condition of my mental health. Won’t somebody come and rescue me.”)
At least the X welcomed me in, and since the Holidays of Thanks Giving and X-mas were coming up I knew I had a place to stay until the end of a year of hell. 4 year old Jade was adorable. I would be there when she got home from pre-school. She would say cutely, “I am going next door to see me friend. I can go that far.” I was a jerk and when playing children games with her, I would move her pieces where I wanted them on this country style map campsite. Then she would get pissed off and say, “I want them there.”
I had Pool Playing friends around there in Sonoma County from times there in the 86-88, when me and the X lived with her Grand Ma Myrtle after being married. Marrying seemed like the right thing to do when she called me on my birthday in 85, after a break up with a rowdy help, help me Rhonda from the Beach Boy’s song, who was a waitress in a bar and restaurant, below our alright apartment, which had just had cable come to Ayer. Me and my future X talked for hour on the phone, and sent many letters back and forth across the Country. We had met during my time with brother Richard during my born gain trip of the late 70s, when I lived on a Jesus farm with him and work for his Building Projects construction company. I said to myself right after her calling me, “Maybe I can be saved.” Since I had seen God’ throne, thinking I was judged, had felt I was going to hell. So figured I would give marriage a shot.
Hit first Class Pool Hall Stars Billiards, which had a Roller Skating rink that allowed the rich owner to keep the Pool Room open. Shot nothing but spot shots for 3 hours. Ever since Texas Express hit pool, the spot shot had become obsolete. With no balls being spotted anymore, thanks to the bar tables which Texas is big for. That whole thing about balls not spotting, turned it into a faster paced game. For when balls spot, there is more defensive strategy added to the game. Lots of people knock them who play safe. Even having cut my teeth on 14.1 straight pool in my 20s at Saint Joe’s Club-with many fine all around shot makers-who also knew how to duck, it safety play had come hard for me, yet is the best part of my game now. But you need to make spot shot like shots to win!
Chris McDonald, a Pro who I had read of being on the road with his girl living in a Van, is now covering for Jersey Red, who was in the hospital, and which Star Billiards he managed was his home. Chris offers me the 8 and I say, “I know who you are. Let’s play even for 10 a set race to 5.” We got a game. Hey, the regular guy working the counter tries to tell me, since I told him I was a friend of Reds, “That’s the Pro Chris McDonald.” “Hey man. I say, “I’ve got enough to play 10 a set against a player of his caliber, so I can get some match play. Yes, it is donating.”
After a couple weeks at Star on 9 foot tables I was ready for the Bar Box action I knew was in Sonoma County. I had my 8-ball break shot down pat. With me bridge hand up against the rail to make it solid, blasted 2 8’s in a row on the break. I ran the next rack after opponents miss. Then I had 3 more 8 ball breaks, before he quits down $120. Then he starts his hustle talk, “We gonna beat each other up or the suckers around Cotati who can’t play? You have to lose first against these guys. But then you win.” That was at the 8-Ball Bar in what is called the smallest City ever. That little town does have a couple great Rock and Roll Clubs, and has many left over hippies being only 50 miles north of San Francisco. Sonoma County does have some of the best weather in the world, to spend a winter through, when its not raining.
I loved driving up to the top of Sonoma Mountain with a bottle of cheap Zinfendel white wine, and turn the tape player up loud for the night. It was cool looking down on the lights of the Petaluma. I found a new way to pray, while looking down on them light connections, “Let my mind’s eyes be that electricity running them light and seep into your lives with love.
At that time I found Zechariah 3 in my leather bound (With a Dove over a Cross on the cover.) New American Standard version of my Bible from the late 70s. It talks of Joshua the high priest in filthy garments being accused by Satan. The lord rebukes satan. The lord takes away the iniquity of Joshua and cloths him in festal robes, and is given a clean turban for his head. And that Joshua would be given free excess of those standing with him. I’d been feeling very much accused by family and friends. I knew Satan was the accuser of man from Revelations 12, where he accuses them before their god night and day.
Now, I see that stone throwing going on throughout so called Society, from what I call The MEDIA-RIGHT-STORM.
Then the angel of the lord says to Joshua and those standing before him, that they are a symbol for the servant the Branch, and I will give you free excess among these among you. And there 7 eyes on a stone set before Joshua which have to have something to do with something. And which at that time the iniquity of the land will be taken away in one day. Then everyone will sit under his vine and fig tree with no one to make them afraid. At that time, I was sure I was the servant the Branch who was to come. Being judged and accused, now homeless, living in a car, was more than enough rags for me.
I liked seeing my 4 year old daughter. Though, do think it pissed her off when my X seduced me into bed by telling me, “I am so ugly, my X will not even go to bed with me.” So I slept with her more than a time or 2.
That all pissed off Jade who figured something out. That spunky 4 year old yells at me, “You are stupid.” She runs back and forth between living room I am standing in, and her bedroom, coming back saying, “You are stupid!” I almost understood that she was right. I couldn’t stand all her toys all over the living room, so had pissed her off also by saying “these are all going up high in this closet where you can’t reach them.
One of the good things at the X’s was that she brought home the Fax Machine from here work. Then I started Faxing every IBEW Union Hall in my IBEW Directory, like phone book. I paid the over $350 phone bill that month. It helped me to spread my Rocking Down angels’ story all over the land. Figured inch by inch was all I could do. With the Worker Owned Cooperatives part of the message, was sure some of the seeds planted would fall on good soil. I was also mailing out my story all over the Sonoma County phone book.
It was weird how the X had this tape of Bono’s quote at the end of “Sliver and Gold, “This song was written in a hotel room in New York City. Round about the time when a friend of ours Little Steven was putting together a record of artist against apartheid. It’s a song about a man living in a shanty town outside of Johannesburg. A man that is sick of looking down the barrel of white South Africa. A man who is at the point where he is ready to take up arms against his oppressors. A man who has lost faith in the peace makers of the west. While they argue and fail to support a man such as Bishop Tutu and his request for economic sanctions against South Africa. Am I bugging you? I don’t mean to bug you. Ok Edge play the blues.” Then on the tape Midnight Oil’s Beds are Burning with its attacking music as soldiers use to march off to war, “The time has come to pay the rent. It belongs to them. Let give it back. That combo really blew my mind’s eyes. I would stop where ever I was and turn the sound up, to blast into the people who were around. Got a lot of head shakes of yes, yes yes.
While hanging out between the shelter and the free lunch kitchen, and sometimes having dinner with Jade and the X in Rodent Park, when driving through Penngrove, one street town between Petaluma and Cotati, this after hours sign caught my attention at Kelly’s Pub. Kelly being my X’s name.
Show up just in time for their Sunday afternoon Pool Tournament, which was worth the 50 bucks, and a bonus of making friends. Perfect place to hang out, for could park out back near entrance to a hardware store and the train tracks no train ran on anymore.
Only tough time then living in my car was when walking down the small town’s main street to crash in car, 2 cop cars shinned their lights on me, and I put my hands up. Told them I was sleeping in my car out back. They have no reason to search me. But they do ask, “Is there anything in that inside pocket? So tell them yes and pull out 30 bucks worth of pot, that they make me drop on the sidewalk, for the wind to blow away. As walking away say, “Damn that stuff is tough to come by around here.”
At the X’s and Jade’s Home, while writing a letter to Richard, about the good things to happen in times like these: like the lion laying down with the calf, beating swords into plowshare, and people laying under there vines, figs and pot plants, with no one to make them afraid. These words of a small still voice came in from the back of my minds’ eyes, and I wrote them down as they went through me, “We may very well have been hearing the Peals (I call Pearls.) Thunder for some time now.” I knew instantly that they were Rock and Roll.
Oh did that get some cool head shakes and smiles from Kevin and Rick, a couple of locals at Kellly’s Tavern, when saying, while Joe Diffie’s “Welcome to earth 3rd rock from the sun” when I said, “Oh we have been hearing the peals of thunder for some time now. And that was without ever remembering reading or hearing about those words being kept secret in Revelations 10.-which would reveal the mysteries of god told long ago to the Ancient prophets who spoke against the powers of their times, while trying to warn the regular folks of the wrath to come.
Oh the one night in Penngrove me and big bosom Patty went out checking out the bars for action was the best. She got me talking to this older hippie. An end times’ conversation came up. So I wrote down some Bible verses for him to look up. Asking him, who is the child in Revelations 12? Is it Michael of Daniel 12:1? Who are the 2 olive branches killed by today’s establishment in Revelations 11. Does not it say in Revelations 22:10-11, basically, “let it be and live and let die?” After he watches me play a few games of pool, I bring up more about it all. I tell him in Revelations 22:10 it says not to conceal these words, while in Revelation 10 some of those words may very well have been kept secret. He called me a Scholar by the time we were done shooting the shit over beers and country music.
After a cold X-mas I spent in the X’s bed, thinking an hour a minute, while Jade’s Grand Parents were celebrating, know it was time to head south. Knew from phone calls to IBEW Union Halls that there was work in Santa Barbara, and since Dad had kept my dues up, until I did get my SSDI, from damn near being killed from what I was calling, Massive Chaos descending into Society from our TV sets, packed up the Red 4 door, to see if any old wiring day friends were working down that way.
It all did start to boil over after telling the X my story about Rocking Down angels, while munching out at a playground for Jade to play at. She couldn’t give it a chance. Nor give me any encouragement about my Worker Ownership Cooperative ideas. I headed out to get drunk. When parking my car out back at their place, I started screaming of the stupidity of America I saw in 1996. Cops show up. Since keys were out of the car, they could at least not get me for a DUI. The X comes down, after neighbors called. Cops let me sleep on the couch, knowing I was very upset. I wake up and while heading out the door, scream loud, “I am the branch!” Hoping to get some help on this mission to turn America’s Religion around on, which I ended up on alone.
I had ordered a Ray Shuler Pool Cue, with one shaft being the European taper Allen Gilbert played with, with 6 inch straight taper near tip, and one shaft with a pyramid like taper right down to Ferrell where tip is on. I had also had an order for a soft leather case from 3-cushion player Huck from the Woodstock of 3-cushion up in Medford Oregon. So knew I would be back up to the X’s to pick them up. The cue was reverse birds eye maple and ebony, with a dark Cocobolo wooden joint for $750.
Driving out south of Sonoma County on Highway 101 in the afternoon, is a piece of cake. Even, though it’s called the most dangerous HW in the country. But it sucks doing 50 tops, bumper to bummer in a 45 mile morning commute to San Fran across the Golden Gate. It’s beautiful heading south, with the small green hills in winter when most traffic is heading north. Mount Tamapalis with its little hill at the top, even way back in my 70s born again days with the Church of the Open Door, always had remind me of Darth Vader, and it turns out George Lucas who created Star Wars, has a huge studio there in Marin County. I made it over the Bridge, which 3 months before had had plans of jumping off-still thinking 40 hours a day-with bubble bee memories which drove me out of a little too tough city-that had become my life and Home..
I had to drop by Toney Alegony’s Palace Billiards, in San Fran. I had played him once up at Star Billiards in Santa Rosa, where ED had his home after teaching Tony and others how to play. Ed had taught many. After a trip he had to Florida in 95, Ed had told me of his trip, “The Pros shoot better than me. But I play better, with my knowledge of knowing when to duck.” Then he tells me of a trip to Ohio, where an up and coming Pro asked him, “You still teaching?” All Ed could teach me was saying, “He don’t miss. Lots of people can play.” (I miss a lot so will never be a Pro.) Ed’s edge to edge system on cuts, and his half of what’s left to half of what’s left systems did help me in aiming. I like his idea on straight in shots, of aim center of cue ball, through the center of object ball and through the pocket, while also aiming up the edges of cue and object ball. And Ed had told me, my sighting from pocket to through the ball to from behind the rail point, and sometimes from behind pocket was a solid aiming system, though you do not have to do it on all shots.
(Boy had times changed in San Fran since the 60’s when this song was written about wearing flowers in your hair.)
(Absolutely amazing I didn’t jump off of the bridge, but there was still money in the bank!)
This Space Cowboy knows right where the Palace is; bang a left off of Hw 101 on Gerry, and hit Market Street. (Tough part of the City.) Hope you got the 25 bucks to park, which I didn’t feel like paying. Since the Mali sucked at anything but Bar Box Pool, it was left in the car. Had plenty of beers in between hitting 3-cushion balls around, while watching for any action. After watching a match for 4 hours, late after midnight, asked this beaten man if he wants to play for 50 a set? “Hay, I Worn out.” He says. He would have had an easy match at the hour of the morning.
Butt damn it when this man comes in asking the Lady behind the counter if this Mali belonged to anyone in here? I over hear it and tell him its mine. “We better go outside,” he says. Out there I see my rear window smashed in and all but my work boats and one case of Classic Rock tapes in the front seat stolen! I could not turn down the deal he offered of 40 bucks, bum says, “Walk around the corner and you can have it all back. But damn, half the music was gone, and those thieves didn’t even return the brown wooden dove left in a pocket of my blue denim Carhart Jacket. They did give my soft red Marlboro bag back, with light brown, thick leather Bible back, with a Dove printed above a cross on the front. All of it walking distance to Height Ashbury, not for from Golden Gate Park, Hippies had occupied back in the 60s, with green grass and streams running through it.
It was time to get out of Dodge, right after paying $150 for window to be replaced. I head south as soon as I can get on Highway. In a better emotional state it would have been cool to drop in on Herriot Hudson, an old friend of my sister Marylou in Redwood City. Saw her back in the born again days of the late 70s, when on a Jesus Farm with Brother Richard, who was a Minister of the Church of the Open Door.
I knew San Jose was not far away. Then it’s Highway 101 South, to see if any IBEW Brothers met working on earlier road trips were working down there. I knew there was work there from talking on the phone to 180 IBEW of Vallejo California. Thing was though, there was a wide left bend in the Highway, and I say about the road sign up ahead, “How the hell did I get north of Oakland to Vallejo from there?”
I knew where Vallejo from having worked in IBEW 180, back in the late 80’s, and had been a Member of its rich Elks Club, with 3-cuchion players who some had played with Willie Hoppe, from being a newly-wed, back in 86-87. Beautiful Billiard Room, with high ceilings, 4 old time Brunswick 3-c Billiards Tables, one 5-10 snooker and 3 antique loose pocketed pool tables. There were 2 Egyptians who played there, and had met Jay Bozeman who use to compete with Hoppe. The Egyptians Kalue and Diab played like machines, yet with different styles. Kalue hit him hard, while Diab played softer for better defense. Yet Bozemn had said of the hard hitter, “He has been hitting them hard for so long, he now knows where the balls are going.”
Bozeman wouldn’t play me back in my late gone 20s, so I just watched him after he said, “I practice alone.” He had taught Willie Tanti well. Tanti gave up pool in his 50s for 3-cuhion. He had a high run of 22 within 5 years. But it had taken him over 10 years to be beating Bozeman on regular bases, when tall Jay was in his mid to late 80s. When I first met Bozeman it was a thrill, for had read of him in a Bob Byrne’s Book about Hustler McGooty, who said at age 15 Jay rained down billiards on him, when he showed up in town. Jay was still averaging .75 into his 80’s which on slow American tables is a fantastic average.
But with the condition my mind was in, 3-cuchion was the last thing on it. It had 1000s of bumble bees’ stinging memories of back in what I mainly called, Lemon-minister. All these people and places, who and which had become a part of me, were videos running in my head. It all had me saying to myself, “If given a chance, the locals in Leoton can make a home grown movie which would mainly would be short CMT or VH1 like videos on TV. But the love I had, from the hope I felt I had a part of breathing into people, was driving me crazy. Main reason for that, was not to ever sit down with a few who grew close to me, while an important hard to believe truth was revealed to me, right in front of their eyes, of those aware in 94.
First Club off of the Highway was the Relay Club, run by a Father and son, who parked 2 classic 50s Auto’s out front, one a light green truck, and the other one almost a pinkish Chevy, both with mint leather custom seats, and signs on them, “Hands off, touch me and watch out.”
Had a couple games of 8 ball with the son Moe in his 40s, with him saying, “I don’t play much anymore.” After I played plenty of revolution type songs on the Music Machine, like Badlands, Bad Moon Arisen and All Along the Watch Tower-with, “2 riders were approaching and the wind began to howl,” to The Doors Riders on the Storm, Into this world we are thrown”: the bar talk led to them saying, “We have heard of 2 movies out lately.” “Oh” I say, “You have?” Michael had just come out, so was sure from vibes that that was one of them.
(It was in the Relay Club where the 2 riders approaching in
All Along the Watch Tower came clear to me, and that the hour was getting late.)
With all the letters sent all over DC about my story, and feeling like them Aliens in recent movie of the Aliens Attack, had told all DC “I feel like them Aliens, when they blew up Congress.” I went out to get my simple story of my rocking down angels awakening, which had a promise of a better day for people with the message of Worker Ownership modeled after Mondragon in the Basque Country of Spain. Left an 18 dollar tip right on top of my story being printed from Star Writer 3000 and sent out ever where! (Found out a few weeks later, that the Relay Club was a hangout for the Police in town.)
I drive a few miles down the road, and found the perfect connection; a Motel Room run by Indians from India. Good timing for my car wouldn’t to start for a week. For right across the street, was Stan’s Club, where Stan’s wife ruled. First stop after a shower in the room, head for Stan’s to check it out.
My mind still feeling like the crown of thorns had to have felt like, with so much hope in solutions to slow the country down, from mainly (at that time.) stone throwing crap down here in real life society, from what I was calling, the fruits of, “THE-MEDIA-RIGHT-STORM.” The barmaids felt I was a very troubled man that first night in. Must have been how I started banging the pool balls harder than ever, only as to loosen up, and watch the balls flying around. It was there in Stan’s when I started playing Sympathy for the Devil, telling the barmaids, my friend back as a young teenager was right, “Mick Jagger was a genius and it’s all starting to seep in now why.” It was really cool of them at closing time to sell me a 6 pack of Mich. for the room.
(Would play this song over and over in between Dwight Yokam’s “Ain’t Never Going Down in a Long White Cadillac. Oh both spaced out between other Classic Rock, so as not to be too repetitive.)
[Something about that song brought about a clearer head, which the faith I saw in Vallejo also had a part in.]
That night back at the Motel, opened up Jeremiah 23 for the first time I could remember. At that time, it was when I had found stuff, which backed up what I had come to conclude while drifting through space, these last 2 frustrating years. It was the legalistic part, which turned me off to the Church. Yet doctrinally preaching, had built an okay foundation, from my born again days of the late 70s. I was sure that there was truth in the Bible and other religions also. But along the road of life, the law had become bs to me.
It was my partying in the 70s & 80s, to my favorite music, which had an anti-establishment point that our generation could relate too, which still resonates, that kept a fire burning down inside of me. You all know, when the Boss at work says, “Shout That Music Off!” And we are all too hung over to unplug it, we turn it down. Then with the Boss gone, instead of working to the beat, we shoot the shit about how stupid that bird dog was. “We” all know down inside that we are the sultans of the swing towns.
I read in Jeremiah 23 about woe to the Shepherds who are destroying and scattering the sheep of his pasture. The words that popped out were, “I have become like a drunken man, all my bones tremble, on account of the prophets who are leading the people astray, leading them into futility and profit them nothing.” Jeremiah 23:18-20 made it clear those words were for today, “Who has stood in my council to declare my words to my people. Wrath will go forth and burst upon the head of the wicked. In the latter days you will clearly understand it.
Figuring I was the Branch in Zechariah 3 in dirty rags, the Branch in Jer 23:5 struck me much! Also figuring I was at least one of the Olive Branches in Revelation 11, thinking I was the Branch made sense to me. (Could not the branch be one of the olive branches?) But when reading Jer.:23:6, I had to think much for it reads, “He will be called the lord our righteousness.” Then I saw Jeremiah 33:16, where that Branch is called a she, (I prefer the New American Standard version though all are good.) which got me thinking it had something to do with Carol. I felt I was certainly somebody special for being written about in the Bible. The righteousness part of that branch started making sense when I read Jeremiah 23:33-40, where it pretty much says, “You will no longer hold to the oracle of the lord, for “they’ have perverted it and each man’s own words shall become the oracle. If you hold to the oracle of the lord, there will be an everlasting reproach and humiliation which will never be forgotten.
Many things became clear after that. For back in Leominster, turned into Lemontown from the Lemon-minsters, who I mainly hold to blame, was all right there in Chapter. Jeremiah 23, and has to apply to these latter days for you can find in Jeremiah 23:20 “In the latter days you will clearly understand the wrath swirling in minds until the intent of his heart is accomplished.”
I had already read Jeremiah 30:20-24 where their leader will be one of them, where in the latter days it will become clear.-with the same words as in Jeremiah 23,“the tempest of the lord will burst upon the head of the wicked… until he has performed and carried out the intentions of his heart.”
Back at Stan’s
The next day and night, was having a blast playing pool on the bar box. I was just banging the balls around to loosen up my stroke, and watch the balls go around the table. These kids in their 20s were impressed saying, “Wouldn’t you love to bet on him for 20 a game in a couple of weeks?” Wow, what a little encouragement could do! My head was clearing up from pin pricks bumble bee stings all over it. Overhear the bar-maids say, “He is going to be a different person in a day or so than when he walked in here yesterday.” Along with playing Sympathy for the Devil a bit too much, was playing Dwight Yokum’s “I ain’t never going down in a long white Cadillac.”-for no particle rhyme or reason.
(Please allow me to introduce myself, I am a ma of wealth and taste. I’ve been around for a long, long time, stole many a man’s soul and faith. I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain. Made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands sealed his fate.”-(which I was singing, “Their fate,” thinking of Israel’s leaders now. “Just as every cop is a criminal and all the sinners are saints. Pleased to meet you hope you guessed my name. Oh what is puzzling you is the nature of our game.” It’s gotta be a trap…lol and when it’s all said and done, we got “them.”)
Next day my head was perfectly clear, feeling as well as 2 years before. Thinking the sanctuary (Forty’s Club) that was trampled in Daniel 8:9-14 would end up being restored soon. For as what was kept secret in Daniel 8:26, was that the sanctuary would be restored after 2300 evenings and mornings. That is still a tough call, whether its 1150 days or 2300. But it was still under 3 years that I was driven out of 40s. The thing was though, that I was over 2000 miles away from home.
That night had some positive talks with locals who would drift on in. One (Never got his name.) in particular stands out for he says to me, “Nobody back there ever gave you a chance did they!” I say, “Not exactly for there were some solid connections in bar talk. The thing is, I was living on bar room static, that I had come to call cyber-space, and I blew up on the girl who had much to do with awakening me, right as my social conscience was stirring inside me.”
Then a perfect example on the pool table came up. While down on a long shot up the rail, this kid who was watching, runs up the long rail saying “He is going to make it he will make it.” I jump up saying, “No one can play with all that distraction. Sure it would be great to see someone play through the massive chaos at high volume. I can’t do it.” He was very cool about saying, “He is trying to help me.”
Oh what a fine looking little Spanish lady comes up to me while crossing the street to the Motel and says, “Do you like good head?” “Well of course”, I tell her and we head to the room. But wanting some pot ask, “Ya know where we can get a 20 bag around here?” And give her 20 bucks when back in the room, and she leaves her pocket book and heads out to get some pot. But m sometimes being stupid, put her pocket book outside the parking lot side door. She is pissed when she see’s it outside upon returning empty handed. So much for some good head that night.
Next night a whole new crowd of younger kids came in to see who the talk of the town in bars was. We shot the shit about regular stuff, while I was playing plenty of music on the Juke Box. As I was heading for the restroom to wash up, they all say, “Just don’t ever brag about it!” As I am in the hall way say, “Oh who are you guys?” Near closing time Sympathy for the Dragon was playing loudly, with me pointing my arms and hands around to the music to that troubled kid running around the pool table ealrier. “I hung around Saint Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change. Shot the Czar and his minister, Anastasia screamed in vain.” Then lifting my arms to the air sent out prayers to the heavens for this town while opening and closing my hands. I couldn’t have been scaring anyone for barmaids at last call sell me another 6 pack on Mich. for back in the room. Next day I read in the paper that the Hubble Telescope had just found a new solar system with the possibility of 6 earth like planets and suns. It was just a coincidence that made me laugh. For I was surely hoping these all new friends could have a fine home up there in the heavens!
By the 4th day at Stan’s, my mind was clearer than it’s ever been. It was Stan’s Club in Vallejo where it was restored to how great it felt to be Michael, as it was in 94 in Club 40’s before massive chaos of chickens running all over Lemon-minster. One thing though, was people would remind me subtly about keeping my cool. It was exciting but was a long way from home, even if my car had been my home for most of the last 5 months.
I had my Star Writer 3000 Word Processer and was sending snail mail of my story all over DC, including the White House. It was extremely angry words. Mainly from adding up how family and the X, and Churches-who had been sent the story too- were not reacting to a story which has not come around for the last 2000 years… or at least as recently as the Beatles. (lol) From those rotten fruits, I was telling them “Fallen is Babble-on.” Seeing the overworked and underpaid conditions others in my last few years of memories, could feel the pressures they were under, which I couldn’t recall to that degree through most of the 80s: so wrote a letter addressed: William Jefferson Clinton, The Wise House 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Washington DC 20500. I was telling him again more of my story of being Michael of Daniel 12:1. I also was telling him about setting up the Worker Ownership of the Mondragon Cooperative, of the Basque in Spain, on local levels here in the States, of confusion.
And that he could just start printing money for the people. At that time I had no clue that The Federal Reserve was neither Federal nor did it have any reserves, except by devaluing the dollar from printing fiat trash cash out of thin air, with its fractional reserve banking, which is lending money they don’t have.) It’s a good bet that none in DC liked the intro of my calling them headless dick-heads. Not that it was something I would personal do, nor get a thrill out of. But by the way they were acting, was causing much problems with the people I have run across, since being driven out on the road, and some of them people might get a kick out of it, if the powers that be did not change their ways.
But I did tell Clinton that I was afraid of myself holding to the oracle, warned against in Jeremiah 23:33-40; so that me being the Prophet Michael would not lead me to brag about it. Just my being here, born as a human being should go a long way towards straightening out the trash going on in the States of confusion. I put most of that blame on the Religious Right, that I call THE-MEDIA-RIGHT-STORM. Their stone throwing descended out of the TV into Lemon-minster or Lemon-town. As Jeremiah 23:15 talks of, “From the Prophets of Jerusalem pollution has spread throughout the land.” The year of their punishment whose Prophets are now much of the Church.
I was posting Business cards from all over Vallejo on this letter. One night in Stan’s with letter in Blue Jean Carhart Jacket, hanging on back of Bar Stool, a lady reaches in and pulls it out showing it around saying, “Look at this letter. To: The Wise House WJC.” I grab it quickly put it back into my jacket pocket. But we had a good night shooting the shit that night with some cool ladies.
At that point in time started telling them, “If Jerry Brown is not the next President, and Al Gore VP, this Country is going to pay!” (It may not be Constitional to be VP for more than 2 terms, but we all liked the idea.) Barmaid replied, “Oh Jerry wants to be Mayor of Oakland. Part of why he has a We the People non-profit for those who need Lawyers and other social needs down there. Jerry has a talk radio show here in California. Oh Gore is a smart man.”
None of the 20 dollar a game Black Ball ever turned up. Probably wouldn’t have helped me leave the town not broke anyways. I had 5 grand when I hit California in October, and had around 2 grand when entering Vallejo. So much for that living on my $1150 monthly check, I was finally feeling myself again, though things on the road can drive you batty, when alone all the time in your room. But feeling as I was, it was money mainly well spent, while planting more seeds.
I see a headline in the paper that there are lots of people in the street protesting in DC. I had no idea what about. But say to the shop owner when getting smokes, “that looks like a good start,” which got a smile out of him. I had heard through the Motel Office, and swear the lady tells me, “DC knows you are here Michael.” I shake my head up and down, and say, “good,” as heading to my room for an early night.
Next day head to Stan’s for a Cheese Burger and I order water with it. Not sure why but am walking around the empty Club saying to myself, “Is this judgment day?” I head outside see a white Limo with the rear door opened, and almost get in. But walk back towards the entrance, and 2 guys I had been partying with all week say, “They want to help you.” I didn’t say a thing but head to the phone to call Mom. On the way there overhear the guys ask, “Did you tell him you were coming? He looks pissed, and he is sober today.” I try and pick up the pay phone. But it’s like electricity is running through it, and I couldn’t get my left hand to lift it to my ear. It kept being forced downwards. I was trying to call Mom to tell her DC knows who I am. They batter act on it.
(Ain’t ever going down in a long white Cadillac, as had been played quite often on Stan’s Club Juke Box.)
Back at Motel
Some would call what happened next a flashback from acid, but it never had it happen before, so it couldn’t be a flashback. I am feeling totally empowered. Even though I had been wearing these cheap sneakers with no socks for a week, that I now had blisters on my left foot, that kept me from getting in that Limo, if only for the hell of it. As a walk down towards my room, I am feeling like I am in heaven, and smoothly say to other man checking in, “Welcome to heaven.” He smiles.
Get to my room and think on what I have sent to Pat Robertson from the 700 Club and plenty of others. I had been telling him and others, all the good things to happen in these latter days, when the good news of the gospel has been preached all over the world. Things like Isaiah 2 and Micah 4, where “Nations shall beat swords into plowshares and never train for war again.” Zechariah 3:8-4 where his servant the branch will reveal an inscription. And will remove the iniquity of the land in one day.” Isaiah 9:6 talks of a child who from his time on, there will be peace. (That child cannot be the Lamb in Isaiah 7:14, for that child’s time ends with a curse upon the land.) In Isaiah 11 a little boy will lead them when the lion lays down with the Lamb. Where are those with insight in the lot jewel of Daniel 12:3, who will shine brightly by leading many to righteousness? I was feeling empowered by that Limo, and couldn’t help think what kept that payphone from my ear, so as to call Mom and tell her what just happened.
I had had thoughts all week of little temples all over the place, of remembrance to offer thanks giving thoughts in moments of silence, to those who have come before us, and those who are to come after us, for am sure they are all up above us now. I imagined them around 10 feet wide, 5 feet deep and 10 feet high made out of Ebony and Ivory palm branches or maybe only leaves from local trees covering the top. I’m moving in a way counter clockwise around the room, always back to this little box which was a symbol of the little temples. It was a little weird. Yet when at a Terrible Biker Bar in Vallejo, which was a very nice bar as I was walking by got invited in. At the Biker Bar, I was looking at this match box, which reminded me of my thoughts while there in my room. And when I asked, “Can I open that?” The Bartender gave a stern warning of, “no!”
So here I am praying to Pat Robertson, go this way, don’t go that way. Talk about the good things to happen. We don’t need to scare people about the wrath that could happen. Let’s go this way and offer peaceful solutions. Don’t go that that way. Go this way”, and I start screaming it.
I go out to my car and open up the trunk and pull out this wet green leather jacket, (My Mom had told me was important before leaving on trip she did not want me to take 5 months before.) and bring it to the front desk saying “we need photos of my room,” while handing manager my wet jacket.
I go back to my room and was about to run out the door to car all excited that we were finally there. But small still voice told me, “lock that door. (I think it was my daughter Jade from above in the future.) So I lock the door. Am holding on to the corner of the bed screaming don’t go this way, go that way. Cop comes in the hallway door screaming, “What are you on?” He has to pry me from the bed. All I remember saying, “not out that door!”
Next thing I know I wake up in the Kaiser Hospital laying peaceful in my bed. Doctors are asking what I was on? I just smooth talk my way out of there saying, “I was very excited. You now have my blood tests and know there was no alcohol or any drugs in my blood.”
At that time Ken Sanders walks in. Ken was a Minister of the Church of the Open Door in Petaluma where I spent time with on a Jesus Farm in the late 70s after making it through High School (and we were high then) at 20 years old. As I am talking to him, my Brother Richard calls up. After telling him, his friend Ken was in the room, he says “You are getting bombarded Michael,” and nothing else.
After a day, while I do a sponge bath, with all these tubes and wires on me, the nurse says “I have never seen anyone recover from whatever it was so quick,” and give me my cloths and let me go.
Out of short Kaiser Hospital Visit
Take a Taxi back to the Motel. They let me back in without any questions, even got a smile from them behind the desk. That night, except for skiing on the Mountains Reno 18 years earlier, I had never seen snow in California before. I was out walking around the parking lot in a blizzard that January night. Thought I had connected with the Huskies another patron of the Motel was out walking in the snow. They are on leases and are barking at me in a funny way while running toward me. I bark back and for around 10 minutes we have a blast in the freezing snow, in central California. Walk away saying to the owners of the Huskies, “That’s a good start for the lion laying down with the lamb.” He nods his head and smiles, “Ya it is.”
Then next night back at Stan’s Club, drinking Michalob’s, and smoking Marlboros, while the Juke Box kept playing the Stones, “Don’t play with me for you are playing with fire” the juke box lost power right as those words were singing, as I walked passed it opening the door to the wash room. The 3 of us in there got a laugh out of that. When hearing the circuit breaker turned back on, by barmaid, it crackles so I say, “Oh it was only the breaker,” as they start laughing and smiling, while they thought it was me energy which tripped the power.
( I did think it was extremely strange why the Juke Box circuit breaker tripped while I was walking by it & am sure the people there thought so too.)
Next night in Stan’s it me, the tall blonde big boned barmaid, (who said out loud to the empty place first night in there, “Maybe on some ship sometime.”) and the costumer who said to me a week back, “No one ever gave you a chance back home did they.” While I am ordering another beer, the costumer is watching CMT and says this, “He is getting a message from someone right now.” Barmaid looks at the TV and shakes her head yes. I look up at the TV and these words in commercial are written in black on a blue TV screen: “Number 9, I should not hate you. What you know now need never be revealed. Marie, Marie, Marie, Marie.” I knew I was 9th in the family and Marie is the middle name of 4 of my sisters. I couldn’t say a word about it. But I did want to say, “Oh I know why Arlo would hate me. I said some mean things to DC.”
The Club starts to fill up, and I am getting way to loose with my money. I leave 600 bucks on the bar next to my Mich, while I am blasting the pool balls as hard as I could. But I am keep track of the cash being there. It wasn’t a trap to lead someone into playing for cash. I go grab it from the bar, right before someone says, “I was tempted.” The man who saw the number nine CMT commercial says, “Michael, we want you to watch your money in this town.”
Sadly Run into a Con Man while I was getting gas. Yes, even Michael has to pay for gas. lol
Old Timer Louie asks me for a buck while he is hanging out after a fill up; with his black friend Digaty. We get to talking and he asks, “You wanna get high at a party around the block?” “Sure man,” I reply. What a beautiful black lady from Oakland, at that party in some dump with an 8 inch TV, who caught my eyes. After a couple hits of Crack, Louie brings up that he can get an ounce for 500. Knowing it’s about all I had left, was hoping to double it. I have no problem giving Digaty my car keys, for I wanted to talk to this black lady who said to me, “You look just like Paul McCartney.” My mind was finally having the feelings back of it worth being Michael, which should be an honor, instead of feeling crucified… I didn’t need the crack. I had powdered aspirin which gave the same thrill to my nose and mind.
Me and the black lady head out in the morning for a walk along the Vallejo Bay where Liberty Ships, such as my Father was on during WW 2. Somehow we end up down by my Motel Room. We have a great cheap Chinese Lunch at nearby Restaurant, and head for the room, with me wanting to get laid. We get naked right away while drinking beers we brought along.
She wants me to take a shower but say to her, “I will just take a sponge bath.” While she is in the shower she says, “Michael, you should join me here, for am getting myself off.” Most men would but I didn’t wanna get wet. She is drying off and says, as I lay naked on the bed, “You have a beautiful cock.” Then she gets some oil and starts playing with my butt. She has me mourning, “Make me cum. Make me cum,” as she also goes down on my hard on. Never had reason and no need to stop her having fun, for she enjoyed it as much as I did. But then the Office calls telling me, “Someone here out front says she should not be in that room with you.” She gets dressed and I never see her again. (Through travels even lost her Oakland phone number.)
Digaty and Louie show up with the car and the ounce. Then we go party with some chicks in another Motel. I could feel my heart about to explode from the Crack. But that is not the reason I started quoting Jeremiah 23:33-40, where we will no longer claim the oracle of the lord for each man’s own words will become the oracle. If they continue to claim the oracle of being born again or that other legalistic dogma, we will take away the city we gave to their fathers. And that all is to come about when they will no longer teach as Moses lead them out of the wilderness, but were led them back from where they were scattered, as is written in Jeremiah 23:7. With my having chest pains from the coke, know I had had enough. I get in my car and leave them behind.
I could live with the stupid mistake of buying the ounce of coke with someone I did not know. I just wanted a quick profit even if from a drug that destroys nervous systems, though can clear your mind. And it was stupid for my mind was clear and body fair.
Days later on at my Motel Room: Surprise, Louie shows up in a Taxi, and needs me to pay the fare. I tell the driver, “I’ve got a solid gold down payment.” I go grab the $300 Star Word Processor saying, “I will have the cash in a few days at beginning of month when I get my check. Hold on to the Star Word Processor.”
But what a mistake it was to leave the 3.5 floppy in it. I had number of my letters on it, stating my story and solutions of local Worker Owned Cooperatives, for the economic mess people were in. There was also some stupid wrings no one would ever understand, including myself. At least I did have 100s of copies of what I would continue to send out to, after dropping into watering holes along the road.
Later that week I run into Louie telling him, “If you screw me you are going to pay.” Him and his black friend just say they want more money. “Do you understand who I am?” I ask. “I don’t give a damn, who you are. I want more money.” Owner of the Barber Shop is out having a smoke break hearing it all. One more time I say, “If you fuck me, you will pay!” I head off to buy a Walking Liberty half dollar (Which I o think is the most beautiful coin I’ve ever seen.) at coin shop around the corner, with my saying to the Coin Shop owner, “How can they call me a scum bag?!”
What sucks is, after calling Taxi Company find out the Taxi driver gave my word processor to Louis. Next day I show up near Barber Shop asking, “Have you seen the man around I was talking too yesterday?” He says, “He died of a heart attack last night!’ “You heard what I told him yesterday, did you not, I ask?” “Yes I did!” he replies.
Oh before leaving Vallejo, drop by the Relay Club for wanted to buy this 21 ounce house cue that hit the ball solid. What a trip? I had no clue as to the left hand turn by San Jose that went north to here. Moe of the Relay Club was cool. He sold me the cue for 20 bucks. Then he asks, “What do you think of this town?” I told Moe, “It was a relay in this town, from here to Stan’s and Popcorns, where no matter how drunk you get if you do not get rude it don’t matter. I met Jay Bozeman at the Elks Club here 8 years ago. Jay told me Willie Hopi said, “Stand up Jay as to watch where the ball hits the rails better, so as to see the tracks.” I find that intriguing for Stan’s is where my life attitude was rekindled.” I play Sympathy for the devil one more time…and where it sings ”I lay traps for troubadours who get killed before they reach Bombay,” leaning up against the speakers, “No they better not kill me,” my head shakes no while puffing on my Marlboro, trying to figure out more of that song. I changed the words to this, “I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain. I made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands, sealed Israel’s fate.” “Thanks a lot Moe, for the relay and the cue. See ya next trip,” I say as walking out the door. “Mike, just don’t come back here bragging about it,” Moe warns me.
Knowing I have a Ray Shuler Cue being shipped to my X’s in Rodent Park, there was nowhere to head but north. My mind’s eye was feeling as great as it should feel being the prophet Michael. Had thought it would never feel worth being me again. Oh did the bar customers at Kelly’s see a change in my attitude for, a sexy chick said to me, “You have your aura back.” “When did you ever see my aura?” I ask back with a grin.
First day pull up to my X’s and wait in my car out back, and UPS man walks out back with my Pool Cue. “Hey is that from Raymond?” I ask. “Sure is mister. Not sure what made me walk out back here,” he answers. Cue had 1 shaft for Pool with an Allen Gilbert European tapper, and a Billiard Shaft that came down like a pyramid tapper. It was beautiful bird’s eye maple and cocobolo joint and butt plate.
I went out to show the cue off to friends at Kelly’s Tavern, Star Billiards, 123 Billiards, Buffalo Billiards and Diamond Billiards. Diamonds, if I was smart, I should have asked for a job after the owner Dennis (Known from Star Billiards back in the late 80s.) hinted he was about to fire the man who worked the counter.
But living in my car made getting a job out of the question. Ed the manager of Star, (since its opening in the late 70s.) a beautiful modern room (With Theater Seats in the back room were the serious play was.) connected to a Roller Skating Rink, wanted me to get a job at Diamond, saying one night after some beers, “You need to get a job. That is how you will survive in this life. You are much too valuable to be just sitting here.” Even got encouragement from another friend working at Buffalo, with him saying, “Getting a job this Pool Room was the best thing I ever did. I now have a high run of 117.” (I had kept my Michael story out of all contacts in the pool rooms, for until leaving town.)
But feeling myself, again just wanted to rock the Juke Boxes in the Clubs with Sympathy for the devil and bad moon arising, riders on the storm type of music. Cue didn’t last a month before having to sell it to get out of Dodge. I got busted after getting hammered at a biker bar, when if not given a hard time would have slept in the parking lot. I made it down the highway from Santa Rosa to Petaluma, and got 2 blocks from my place of rest, when pulled over. I scream at the cops in the cruiser on way to Station, “If I go to jail, this country is going to pay.” Over and over I screamed it. Next morning they gave me a 2 month temporary California driver’s license and a date to show up for court. At least selling the cue got my car out of the lot.
I was eating at the Gourmet food kitchen, near the Petaluma Library right by the Fair Grounds, which held race cars, concerts and fairs, while sleeping at the National Guard Amory, when out of cash for a bottle of Wine to sleep in car on top of Sonoma Mountain. In the same parking lot Kitchen run by good Catholics, out back was a transient center where others traveling around would get help.
We all said to each other, “Have you ever seen a set up like this for those living the 90s, “Grapes of Wrath?” No, was the answer from us tramps. And I kept the Riders on the Storm and Badlands blasting from my 4 door in the parking lot. They would joke about my middle name of Cheverie…relating it to my 93 Chevy Cavalier.
The Library being right near by was great, for found some very educational stuff from the Bible and about Tom Paine which meant much to me. Paine had this quote which should really be applied too today’s society for we need to show more compassion to people while applying the corrective justice we need. “An avidity to punish is always dangerous to liberty. It leads men to stretch, to misinterpret, and to misapply even the best of laws. He that would make his own liberty secure must guard even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates his duty, he establishes a precedent that will reach to himself.” –Thomas Paine And was reading a version of the Bible I’d never seen before which had the word Adonia in it, so never having seen the word before I had looked up the meaning. The definition says it was never to be pronounced out loud, except when the music was at its loudest in the Temple, but was pronounced to rhyme with follow roy. With Carol’s last name being Roy, that really blew my mind.
At Church of the Open Door in Petaluma
I had sent my message of being Michael to The Church of The Open Door, which I lived on a farm at back in the late 70s. They had sold the Farm and bought a White Church down town. It was important to drop in there on Sunday. I met a friend Patty from the 70s who was a friend of my X and went to High School with my brother Richard’s wife Margie. Sitting next to her, with her being a Nurse, made the sermon interesting about there being different parts of the blood which are to cure Society. End of service Pastor Tom Wise asks the congregation if anyone has anything on their hearts?
I start reading Ecclesiastes 2:24-26; “There is nothing better for a man than to eat and drink and tell him-self that his labor is good. This also I have seen is from the hand of god. For who can have enjoyment without him? (Stressing this following part.) For to the person who is good in his sight he has given wisdom and knowledge and joy, while to the sinner he has given the task of gathering so that he may give to him who is good in god’s sight.” And I was implying that the man out in the street was the one good in god’s sight.
Pastor Tom says, “Don’t forget Ezekiel 38! (I knew Ezekiel 38 was about an invasion of Israel in the latter days and was the invaders were destroyed. But that has to be because they devise an evil plan as 38:9 says and somewhere else they miss understand the intent, which is literally to scare the hell out of Israel’s leaders.
For Luke 21:20 says, “When you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies you will know her desolations are at hand.” But it’s their leaders who are causing the people to stumble, as is happening also in America and the most of the rest of the world. “Woe to them from whom the stumbling blocks come. It is inevitable that stumbling block come. But woe to those who cause the little ones to stumble over them,”-Matthew 18:-paraphrased “The stumbling blocks come from thinking of selfish issues, instead of thinking of the betterment of all mankind.”-paraphrased from Matthew 16:23
After service Pastor Tom smiling allows me to bang my “Off we go to music land, training fingers, eyes and ear,” on the keyboards a few times.
Then Patty invites me out to her place in Marshal only 10 miles out as a crow flies to the coast, but with the windy hills and curves, is about 20 mile drive? “Great idea,” I say. I was a little disappointed there was no talk about my letters sent to the Church, but no big deal.
While getting in my car Ken and Mary Sanders come over telling me, “Michael. This is a great car.” Ken was glad to see me in better shape than when he saw me at Kaiser Hospital. “Yes it is,” I tell that wonderful couple, one a Doctor, the other a Nurse. “I should have a great ride out to the coast to talk with Patty.” “You play 9-ball Mike? Ken asks. “Oh ya. But I hate the new Texas Express Rules where no balls spot up, and there is no longer the important spot shot when object ball is behind the line on a scratch on break for the object ball needs to be spotted, if behind the head string.” “Oh? It more fun to watch this way Mike,” Ken replies. “It’s fine for the bar box Ken. Just not for Tournaments or matches on the 4.5 by 9 official tables. Good to see ya Ken, let’s have coffee sometime,” I say. Ken and I did get to have that coffee. Told him I knew friends of a man shot in the back of the head in Vallejo, who has these words on his Tombstone, “Bible means: Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth.” With me telling Pastor Ken, “That basic part should be in every News Paper in the Country,” and Ken agreed with me.
Then tell her, “Four days after that awakening a friend on the phone asked me, completely out of the blue, ‘Have you ever heard of that war in heaven which dragged a third of the stars out of the sky?” “As soon as I got off of the phone I went to look it up, and saw the 12 stars on the women travailing to give birth. There are 12 stars on the women’s women’s head Patty, and my Mom had told me just 2 weeks before that awakening that I took 4 days to be born. And the child was caught up to god and his throne, and back in 82 I had 277 volts go in one hand and out of the other, with me falling off of a 6 foot ladder landing on my head. I came to when the sun hit me as they were taking me out the door on the stretcher, with my saying I am alright. (They told me to stay down.) For months after that Patty, there was this imprint in my mind like a memory of Lincoln at his Memorial in DC.” I tell Patty, “Since I had recently left the born again church in 81, thought that I had been judged. I kept saying to myself, where did that throne come from?”
Then I tell Patty, “I stayed at Thyatira when we were in the Church of the Open Door, and in Revelations 2 letter to Thyatira it says to him who over comes I will grant authority and you will rule the world with a rod of iron as the vessels of the potter are shattered, like breaking a rack of pool balls Patty.” “Yes, yes”, she says to all of it.
“And Patty, I say, I’ve just remembered that 2 men who had come to Littleton in 78, had told me I was Michael the arch-angel, which made it time for me to join the Church of the Open Door. When I had told people that back then they would say, “Wow that is just like what happened to your borther Richard when he was crashing on speed and thinking he was god before he headed west for here.” Well her live in boy friend comes home and its time to give them some space, with my feeling fine that I had finally told my whole story to someone who understood, and head out the door.
Back at Lunch Kitchen
A few days after being back there, this lady I nicknamed Patches asks if she can put her bags in my car, since her husband had thrown her out of his car. Thought I would get lucky… Patches needed to file a Restraining Order on her husband Al, so I had no problem taking her to the Police Station to file for a court date. Officer knows my red 4 door, and comes out to say, ‘Michael, I am glad you are doing this.” Tip my head to him, “No problem.”
Me and Patches pick up some cheap cartons of White Zinfindal Wine and had up to the top of Mount Sonoma for the night. We just listen to what is left of my Classic Rock, while drinking wine, shooting the shit with me asking, “Would you like to head back to New England?”
After Starbucks Coffee in downtown Petaluma the next morning, we pick up a 10 dollar gas voucher for her at another local agency, and head to see the Judge up in Santa Rosa. Waiting in my car, smoking and drinking McDonalds Coffee, am surprised when she comes back upset, “The Judge turned me down. Why did he do that?” Nothing I could say.
But we had time to make the free gourmet lunch back near the fairgrounds, and social service center. We loved that salmon the good Catholics served on regular bases. The sandwiches we could pack for dinner sure did help out too. And their cheese cake would have been great even if not free. Hey those travelers were savoy about telling me, “In California you better watch out, for the down on their luck will rob from even others down on their luck.”
It sunk into me that year of 97, that somewhere through time, we had lost the hobo code, which grew out of the depression of the 30s. Memories of the thieves, I should have avoided in Vallejo, are in my mind’s eyes. I must stress that Vallejo had many great people in it. So many so that I let my guard down, and instead of hooking up with those who were 100% sure of who I was, I got sidetracked by being too trusting. But getting to feel myself again (A little too much for being on the road alone.) the month spent there, it’s stupid I did not head east right after, to see how things were with Carol in Lemon-minister, for she would have seen right away it could all workout with only a talk alone together.
I take Patches for a ride around the old home town of mine, Petaluma-city of little hills. We pull into this Baseball Field for little league. We get out of the car and walk around the empty field. “How in the world did you know this place was here Mike?” Patches asks. I just kiss her, and after she sticks her tongue down my throat as no one has ever done before, feels like I got my first real french kiss at age 38. “Don’t you ever kiss me again like that again”, she says. But what a scare I get when throwing the wine cartons into the trash. When after putting my hand in the barrel this huge hiss hiss hiss strikes at me hand. I turn round and see a 4 inch rock, which I pick up and throw into the trash can. A bit shaken I tell Patches what just scared the hell out of me. “Hope you killed the vormit,” she encourages me while calming me down.
Payday comes, (A reason I am still alive was coming on the 3rd of the month.) so tell Patches we are getting a room tonight. We loosen up drinking at the Buckhorn, a short walk to Motel. She got totally hammered and she got shutoff before 11:pm, hours before last call.
But she had sense enough back at the room to insist, “We do not belong in the same bed together.” Damn it, did I want to sleep with her that night. I had told her days before in the car, “You remind me of Carol. She is prettier, but you are better looking for you know what it means to be down on your luck. You have been around more. That makes you very attractive to me. You are like a sheep in wolves clothing. Guess Carol is prettier for her golden blonde below her shoulder wavy hair, while yours is dirty blonde above shoulder hair.”
In morning we head to the south side of town Restaurant where Truckers always take a break at. While enjoying our morning breakfast, and bottomless coffee pot, Patches husband comes in and calls me out. While the two of us our outside, me avoiding getting close to him by dodging around the pumps, while he is screaming, “Punk you are sleeping with her!” Then cops show up with me probably still drunk from night before. After Cops talk to waitress, they get Al in his car to drive off. They ask me “Why did you come here for coffee?” “She said it was good cheap bottomless cup,” I reply. They ask her if she had been drinking?” I think that was because they would rather I wasn’t the one to drive off.
Back at the social center, where I had addressed as a return address, after lunch, the Police are very polite in telling me, “We know people get mail here. But they don’t want to get yours coming here.” “Ok I will change it to General Delivery.” “Yes that is how to do it,” the two Policemen reply. “Michael, you know the letters you have been sending out about these being the end-times?” they ask. “Hey, I’m just been trying to do what I think is the right thing to do about my story.” “Yes that is right Michael. But people have to do what they need to do.” Then the cops hand me 2 envelopes turning out to be bill collectors. How they got this address have no clue or idea. Damn was I glad to not have a phone for them bill collectors are mother fuckers when they call. They don’t treat people as if we’re human.
I head up to the X’s and Jades, for need to get Patty’s phone number, which had skipped my mind on my visit to Marshal. The X says sternly, “I don’t give out phone numbers.” “You’re a cunt,” I scream. “Get out of here Mike”, she yells as she heads into the bathroom. I kick this pink bucket of laundry which goes a couple feet up in the air a couple feet from Jade’s head, as Jade’s eyes going both left and right and up and down as she watches it fly by, and then she smiles up at me for the last time in a long time as I walk out slamming the door.
Head down to Penngrove, where I had scared one of the locals and the lady Tavern owner by leaving my story there a month earlier, before heading south. It didn’t help that I had bought a co2 dart gun that looked just like a real 45. This one guy saw me shooting darts at a tree, and got me chased out of the Tavern. He had my head running around from his screaming at me out back where I slept in the car by the railroad tracks, and hardware store shipping and receiving yard.
Damn, should have talked to Big Bosom Patty and her sexy good looking dark haired friend who did tend bar there at Kelly’s who were watching this moron yell at me. They asked “You need any help Mike?” No, just tell that moron I am just a guy after heart of Steve Miller’s Swingtown and John Lennon’s Imagine a Brotherhood of Mankind.” Both girls smile.
I rev up my car too fast, not knowing I had a cooling system problem, and only make it around the block before steam is coming out from the hood. Bang a left into a residential neighborhood and pull over for the night. New neighbor was alright when he said, “Ya, you can park that here, though, others on the block my get upset.” With Patches husband having scared the hell out of me the day before, and this other moron the night before, I put together this brass knuckles that had 5 short nails sticking out right out of in-between my fingers!
Next morning I hop on a Sonoma County Bus that goes through Penngrove to Petaluma gourmet kitchen for lunch. Ya I was worried about my car, but too hungry to stick around. I wanted to see what Patches was up to, and find her driving her husband’s junk car. She gives me some advice, “Michael, I only have this car for a little while. I want to see you not trust anyone for 3 days. I will see you after.”
I get Taxi ride up to Penngrove Pub, hearing my name Dewey on the Taxi radio. Sheriff comes into the Pub and arrests me for the driving under 2 weeks earlier. He says, “We are doing this for your own protection.”
At least we could go outside to smoking area in that jail. Found it interesting in that bunk bed holding place a man tells me, “Don’t forget about Frieda.” Never bothered to ask how he could have known about the blond bombshell Frieda of family of 11 when growing up in Littleton. And then some kid, makes the same left hand movement 5 times, of when I had tried to lift the payphone to my head in Vallejo but it wouldn’t get close to my ear or lips to make the call home. Those 2 instances gave me confidence that my story had been getting around through word of mouth.
I get a court date and they let me go, so hop on a bus south out of Santa Rosa back to my car to sleep. I get woken up in morning by Police officers, 2 Highway Patrol Men and a Sheriff in 4 Cruisers. Say to me, “You can’t leave your car here.” I say, “It’s got a blown hose. I can’t drive it.” “Yes you can,” they say. “Interesting brass knuckles you got in the trunk Michael. Hope you never need them,” they say. They all head down the street in same direction.
After I get 2 gallons of water from new x neighbor, I head off in other direction, as I over hear a father say to his son, “You see that move of his?” I only needed to stop twice to fill up radiator to make it to Diamond Pool Room without the major incidence of the engine blowing, as was I worried about. (Reason engine didn’t totally blow must have been from the Slick 50 Oil, which is suppose to coat the engine, before had left on this mystic journey trip.)
Park the red 4 door home out back, but unknowingly on Kmart’s property. Denise was cool enough to point me in direction of nearby Auto Supply, saying, “Think you cracked your head.” While implying my mind was cracked. Cop shows up the next day and asks, “What are you doing parked here?” “I got sort of friends at the Pool Room.” “This isn’t their property,” he tells me. Then he puts me threw the 3rd degree, even after showing him the blown hose in my perfectly arranged trunk. He proceeds to put me in cuffs in back seat of cruiser while he throws stuff in my trunk all over the place. “You are clean but your car is a mess,” he says while un-cuffing me.
I pull up right to the parking space next to back door of Pool Hall. Hey, the people I knew there were not impressed that Shuler Cue only lasted a month before selling it. “Oh, I have a house cue that will get me through.” There was no action in there.
Late at night am sitting in passenger seat of car, since I had glued the key into the ignition, (That is a tricky job for ya need to keep moving the key or you lockup the whole ignition!) while drinking my fill of beers. 2 Sheriffs show up. One gives me a hard time about being parked there, yet they can clearly see the beers, and smell it on my breath. The other Sheriff gets me a break by saying, “He is just doing the best he can while sleeping in his car.” “Alright, now I can understand,” the one giving me a hard time says. Then he says, “Don’t let me see you driving tonight for I know you are drunk and I will pull you over.” They didn’t even ask me for any identification but did say, “Is you driver’s license under the seat?” They didn’t answer how they knew that.
I head out of dodge at sun up, hoping to make it to Santa Barbara again, hoping to meet up with some IBEW Wirenuts I had met during my wiring days on the west coast. Probably still drunk for hadn’t stopped for more than 2 hours. I jump on 101 south and make it over the Golden Gate Bridge again. No problem at all during daylight. Yet by the time it got dark, drinking all the way with Arlo Guthrie singing in the cassette deck, “Someday I’ll be there with you. When your there I will be there too. If you only knew I’ll be there with you,”
[Arlo wrote this song two weeks before his Mom died but I applied it to my life hoping someday me and him would be together soon.]
When nightfall came, I was playing wingman with one car who guided my safely to Truckers rest stop and 4 more hours from exit to Santa Barbara. Waitress enjoyed the wing man story, and walked out back so I could steal their coffee cup for my collection of stuff with names and addresses along the way of this trip.
I don’t get very far. It might have been 20 miles before car runs out of gas. Sit there on side of Highway 101 in passengers seat again, mellowing out on some cold beers until morning. Well what do you know a Highway Patrol pulls over to see what’s up? “Just ran out of gas,” I tell him. “Well a couple miles down the road is gas,” he tells me. “Alright sun up I’ll will be walking down there,” I tell him.
Officer must have been laughing inside at the old days he saw this rebel living, for could have brought me in for being drunk. But since was in passenger seat, he couldn’t arrest me for my second DUI in California that month.
What a break, after walking less than 100 feet I get picked up by car which not only drives me to get the gas, but goes out of his way to drive up north bound Highway and back to my car. All happened faster than I could remember.
Hit the Santa Barbara exit with no problem. Stop at first bar I see for late afternoon lunch, and beers for breakfast. All is fine for around an hour, until this jerk says I have to play a game of pool in there. He really gets on my nerves, for didn’t want to play, thinking it wasn’t worth my while. He speaks loudly, “This guy has to play in here.” Knowing it’s time to run, but wanting to stir up the revolution say loudly back, “Massachusetts will start the revolution but hope you all are ready for revolution number 9, which is maxing out credit cards while sticking them too the Banksters and landlords.”
Driving right into the sun get within 45 minutes from destination before next stop at bar on way there. Quick stop when they tell me, “Oh Santa Barbara is 45 minutes straight into the sun.” I decide to change my plans and head out of this State.
What a blast it was for an hour heading north. This beautiful black haired chick in fast red car would play with me. I would catch her doing 80, with her flying by doing 90, and vis versa for almost 2 hours. She slows down beside me and is putting lipstick on. But damn it, the Highway Patrol Man from night before pulls us both over. As he is walking to car, put my glass of beer under my seat. This time he does take a look at my license to pursue my happiness until hurting anyone. He gives me a ticket for driving 75 in a 60, with him saying, “You got in some trouble up north didn’t you?” “Where’s the other car?” I ask him. “She is right behind mine, and she isn’t leaving until after you are up the road for a while.” “Oh, you realize there is an exit right ahead we both were going to pull off at? I ask the Officer. He smiles and says, “Get out of here.”
It’s time for no more chances like that, since am 6 hours from Reno. Yet I do get lucky picking up a hitch hiker who sells my a few joints for 20 bucks. But am still feeling as much myself as 2 years ago in 94, when getting the shock of my life with me being the prophet Michael being revealed at worst possible time, when it looked like me and Carol were going to have a great life together, with her son, and my daughter Jade at least a few months of the year, seemed right to be heading back home.
Right on the border of California and Nevada pick up a man hitching and his 12 year old son, both named John. “Where are you heading?” I ask. “Michigan to get back home to get a Trucking job,” he tells me. “That sounds complicated so I will not bother asking how you got here with your son?” I do ask, “Are you a cop?” “No I am not a cop,” he answers. “Good, then you won’t mind if I smoke this joint. “You feel like driving for a while?” “Sure,” he says.
Wow, was that great pot, or was it the high road, or memories of a trip that cured my mental state of complete frustration since right before being arrested for lettering and charged with stalking, with no Christmas Carol jumping out of that stalking.
We make it through to last stop in Nevada fine, with each of us taking our turn driving. We stop at last stop, where I go into Casino to try my luck at Craps. Win $200 in no time with no loses. Twice opened with a 4 roll, and hit my hard bet, 2 2s. Time to try Black Jack and see they are only using 1 deck, which really blew my mind, while hitting another $100. It was time to hit the road after rounding up my Hitch Hikers. Next rest stop we pull in so I can record on tape with my Boom Box low on batteries, plugged into a wall socket, so as to record Steve Miller singing, “Your cash ain’t nothing but trash, but I am sure gonna get me some more.
There was nothing but road a head through Utah and Wyoming, until breaking down right before Cheyenne. John had said he had smelt eggs when getting in the car, with him thinking it was the battery. When we had to pull over for a piss, it wouldn’t crank. Luckily a Patrol Man stopped and gave us a jump. Picked up a new battery at next stop and heading for Nebraska.
Then I tell John, “I got friends in Red Oak Iowa and think I will take a break to see how they all are?” He says “Ok, then stop in Omaha and I’ll see about getting funds for a Greyhound home.” We part out ways at the Bus Terminal in Omaha. But I don’t leave until checking out the bars around town. They are too depressing for me for that to last long, being only an hour or 2 from Red Oak.
First stop is small town of Hastings, where I find they have torn down the chicken coop shack we had stayed in a couple years back. What a difference felt in my mind, from those dark times. Hang out at the Tavern and hear there is work in Kansas City, a few hours south east of there. Should have could have taken that advice and been closer to Memphis, where my mind did want to go.
I park out outside of a family known from the 2 years earlier, and blasting full volume:
“Your cash ain’t nothing but trash (Take 1).
Here we go.
Yeah, you may have heart about the gangster of love and the space cowboy,
but I’m gonna whip a cat on you right now who’s had more trouble, trials and tribulations.”
Red head 19 year old comes out, from this 2 story dump, yet was a home, “Oh I know you. Come on in.” 3 teen red head girls with 3 kids. Their Mother was at work, but son was cool enough to help me try putting a thermostat in to see if it would fix my cooling system. They ask if I had been the one sending the letters to their Mother? Since I was scared of what they may have thought about it said, “no that was the other guy.”
Then when their Mother gets home she didn’t want to talk to me. She had said the last visit, “Michael, I am not that bad am I?” Almost had a little thing going with her oldest daughter who was pregnant at that time, but red head daughter called it off.
Had I known some of disciplines of the road better would not have been driven out by them, the night of pool tournament in nearby Shenandoah. It was stupid walking into the house from my car out back to take a shower, with limited water supply there, and doing laundry. As others along the road had warned me about, even the son had warned me to be careful about that stuff.
After 3 days local man in front door of house who did have the hot’s for the Mother was fair enough when he told me, “You are scaring them. You should checkout Jason in Red Oak.” I tell him I had been planning on doing that the next day. I had hoped to get his address. There was nothing in that town for me, which was is said of it, “You do not mess around in Hastings.”
I do wish he had not unnerved me, for left my clean Laundry on the porch as leaving. On way out of town blasted “Your cash ain’t nothing but trash around the 6 block little town, with little Post Office from the late 1800s. I hope my worst suspicions are wrong about them be afraid of me being a pedophile or worse. They had to have thought I was crazy for sending them my story of being Michael. When Bad Moon Arisen was playing the 2 years earlier had thought there was a connection when the Mother shook her head at, “I know the end is coming soon.
Still feeling the 3 days of the road behind me hoping for some good luck in bar where I had thought they knew me. I had won 5 straight Tournaments the couple years earlier and won a couple more after that. I was sitting there singing a song to myself and about to play it on the jukebox, when I stand up to play it, they throw me out. The bitch bartender, who controlled the owner who ran the Tournament, didn’t even let me finish my Southern Comfort on the rocks, while sitting at table right next to Juke Box, which this nut should own a few of by now after all the trash cash put into them. I wanted to play Hurricane Carter by Dylan which I was feeling like, “At one time he could have been champion of the world.” I was feeling as if I could have won a New England Major had gotten a break at 36 in 94. Thought for sure the owner here knew me.
I head over, pissed off, to the down stairs Snooker Room, sticking my head in the door of empty room, yell a battle cry from of old “Does anyone in here play for money?” The manager shakes his head no. Walking back to my car to get out of town, got my walking stick, one piece 21 ounce cue from Relay Club of Vallejo, and the Cops arrest me.
It was a smoking jail who’s one other prisoner had enough smokes for me too. Wasn’t one of those dark gloomy steel bars jail, it had 2 open rooms that would sleep 10 when maxed out. Sheriff who took me to the Magistrate was a rotation pool player who asked me to drop by to play him sometime. Pled guilty to the drunk in public but wanted a case heard for disturbing the peace.
Next day female Sheriff says, “Your brother is here.” Takes me down stairs to see him and she says, “We are not letting him leave here unless he flies back with you.” Other Sheriff says, “Your car is in parking lot you left it in. Think you are lucky for that key won’t come out of the ignition.”
2 Week Trip to Waltham Massatack
We need to fly out of Omaha, so figure I’ll have my car looked at in Hastings Garage, since it was losing water. Richard follows me there, watching me pack up mess of front seat while driving. After getting bag packed for trip in a flash Richard says, “Oh you are alright.” I leave the door key with attendant and tell him I’ll be back soon.
Oh boy did that glass of White Zinfandel taste good on flight into Chicago, while sitting next to brother who shows me a magazine photo of man on a tightrope asking, “You want to be him?” “Of course not,” I reply, “but am stuck with it for now.” Glass of Southern Comfort on the rocks was better than the Wine, while we set in different places of the 707 flying into Boston.
I talk some nonsense while Richard is driving to Waltham and he gets a little lost. I tell him, “Loose lips sink ships, and my story must get out through grass-roots word of mouth.” I never was told why Shenandoah Cops wouldn’t let me go? Must have had something to do with being on SSDI and the combo of drinking and having a nearby car.
This was a descent Mental Health Half Way Type House
Hey it was a descent wide open place with couches to watch TV on, with good food served at nice dinner tables. The 6 of us there had separate bedrooms also. It had a stereo for me to keep recording tapes I was sending out with my story to business cards picked up on my trips.
I even knew one of the men, staying as part time patient and volunteer. The two of us had met when we were both patients at a Country style Hospital my Mom had gone into after a nervous break-down decades ago. (10 kids can do that.)
After check in, with the staff man, I am free to go for a walk around town with man telling me, “Just don’t go to a bar.” Well after seeing Michael’s Tavern right around the corner joke about it not being a bar as heading in for a few cold beers, after long flight and drive to there, they went down good. (How the hell did I get here?) It was a big time dart playing place, made for throwing Darts. All the boards set up separate, with no distractions, and score board right near thrower.
While in Michael’s, am thinking of lady I nicknamed Patches out in Petaluma, first time ever see Patches on the old 45 record style juke box. All 2 weeks am singing, “Patches I am depending on you to see me through.” She had known about all the mail I was sending out saying to me, “Mike, I think you are going to help people be better off than we are now. It’s not why me? It’s why anyone?”
There were 2 friends I knew lived in Waltham: musician Al A., who got organized into the IBEW with me. He was the only one of 2 dozen apprentices from the shop, who made it all the way through the 4 year program to be a Journey Man Wireman. I found his name in the book and his wife says, “Just call yourself Dewey for you’re a household name over dinner talk in this home.” It was good to check checkout the places Al played the blues at, while having beers for breakfast lunch and dinner. Though, I found it weird when he said, “B.B. King is king of the blues.” I had to bust his balls by saying, “The blues doesn’t have any king. That isn’t what the blues are all about.”
Then there was Rich Banks, who looks just like Prince Charles, who we would joke at 40s about him being on a matchbook-which I found it a coincidence that Princess Diana on same matchbook, looked very much like Carol.
Rich being tough to talk to was part of the reason for my divorce. When talking about how we needed a 32 hour work week, he couldn’t understand that credit cards and rents needed also to be cut 25%, which would then be like getting a raise with more time for ourselves. After having enough of him once, on this subject dear to me, I walk into the bathroom and smack the wall with my fist. I wake up the next morning and just about faint from the pain. The x thought I was getting violent so takes a 2 week vacation to family in California, which she never returned from back in 93.
Being in Waltham, I call a Taxi for ride to first class pool room figuring Rich may be there. “How the hell did you know I would be here Mike?” he asks. Some things never change. What a good night we had joking about how I would crush him all night long, while he is constantly says, “I am going to be your nemesis.” It’s turning out that rich banks are everyone’s nemesis these days. Too bad the bar maid was a bitch and stopped serving me, even though I was not driving!
After checking out every bar in town for a week and a half, had only one run in with a jerk cop who ruined the start of one afternoon. While walking out of package store with beer in paper bag, sit down on the bench to enjoy it, as cop on bike drives by saying, “No drinking in public here. So pour it out and I’ll let you go.” Didn’t have the balls to take man’s advice driving by who saw it all and yells while driving by, “Don’t worry about him, go get another one.”
Meeting with Mom, Dad and Richard is coming up. Long dark haired Beautiful Staff lady says, “Michael we are not going to talk to them about your drinking.” First thing Mom asks me is, “How are you going to pay off your debts?” Only way all of us should answer that question is with these words, I answered, “They can to Helen Wait.”
It was understandable Family wanted me to get a job. Could only tell them, “When I hear of a good IBEW Wireman’s job will take it. Thing is in these 90s, if you get a job for 6 months you got a good one.” The staff listening to this must have been laughing inside, for my SSDI was as good 15 bucks an hour with Health Care.
I couldn’t believe the other stupid question they ask: “Do want to stay here?” I say, “my car is in I-owe-wha?!”
At least Richard went a little nuts when I answer his question of why did they arrest me? “I was walking across the street with my one piece pool cue as an Indian walking stick. “I flew all the way to Omaha for you walking across the street!” (“What has this country become he says to himself?”)
Oh I did love the Waltham Gold Pocket Watch (Waltham is famous for them.) and a heavy duty blue denim Jacket so as to always keep Waltham on my mind’s eyes of good memories. The 3 inch sliver cigarette holder did make a great pot pipe too.
Council Buffs Iowa after flight
(How the hell did I get here?)
After short Greyhound Bus ride from Omaha, check right into Motel for a rest. Head out to checkout first dumpy Bar I could find. What a blast this whole crowd was, especially one of the three barmaids, who would throw darts with me, while also working the bar with style and grace. (How the hell do I get her number? Why didn’t I ask?) What a mile and half walk back to room in a wind blowing blizzard of a foot of snow that spring time night.
Next morning near noon time, while sitting out front with my red Marlboro bag, bought from cashing in cigarette packs, a man staying there asks me if a need a ride? “Yes” I say, “I will give you 40 bucks for a ride to Hastings.” “He says, “let me check with my wife.” Turns out his wife didn’t like that idea. I stick my head in the window to try and plead with her. She calls the Cops who come and arrest me, for what am not sure, for had yet to have a drink. While hand-cuffed behind my back in back of cruiser start yelling, “You morons, all I did was stick my head in the window to try and talk them into a ride I was going to pay them 40 bucks for.” So the bastards add another charge of being belligerent or such crap as another charge.”
This is a none smoking jail. In the holding cell I go berserk yelling, “You do not know who you have here. I am not John the Baptist who had his head cut off by the Jews.” This goes on for an hour or so until the pig comes in and holds me face down with him saying, “You want me to take those blue jeans off?” So I settle down knowing that he just threatened me with his billy-club.
After 3 days in there tell the Jailer, “OK, I will plead guilty. I need a smoke.” Pay a $40 fine downstairs and fine my way to the Greyhound to Shenandoah, since it didn’t stop in Hastings, where my car was. But knew a trick, since Bus wouldn’t stop for a minute in Hastings to let me out, I walk up front with smoke in my mouth and lighter in my hand telling him, “Its time for me to have a smoke.” He was nice enough to let me out.
A Couple months too long in Red Oak I-owe-what?
I pulled into town knowing my car needed cooling system work or more. Remembered the diner Bernie, my friend Jason’s Grand Pa, use to buy me and Walter breakfast of over easy eggs, bacon and trashy home fries with cheap toast, so pull in for my lunch of a cheese burger and greasy fries. Turns out after, that they tell me Bernie and his daughter Delores live with her son Jason down at the end of the road.
(I’m still feeling emotionally strong, from the encouragement of connections made out in Vallejo.)
Tell Jason, “I did not mean to show up here broke. It’ just that I had 2 wasted weeks back in Mass, after getting arrested in Shenandoah after getting thrown out of the bar that fed us, from my winnings, on my 1st visit here. Then I get arrested in Council Bluffs for trying to pay for a ride to my car, which was supposed to be getting repaired in Hastings. I noticed they destroyed the chicken coop we stayed at during last trip.” “Mike no problem.” He says. “I know you got money coming every month. I am on SSI now myself. We will talk to mechanics about what your car my need. Its good to see you looking more yourself, then I have ever seen ya. I’ll sleep with Grand Pa and you can have my room upstairs across the hall.”
It was depressing that his Mom was just about bedridden on the downstairs couch, though she would cook diner after our days of collecting scrap metal around the area to sell in Council Bluffs. Even she says this to me after a week: “Your drinking more but you are not the same person who was here last time.”
Red Oak has a block long square down town, typical western look, with 5 bars one street, a couple blocks walk from my new home and family. Checkout out each bar as soon as paid again May 3rd of 1997. Would always hear good talk from when I got to play the juke box, instead of the old depressive country style blues. Always the bartender would say, “If you are going to play Steve Earle and John Anderson’s Siminole Wind, the juke box will be full blast. While throwing soft tip darts to Earle’s “Last of the hard core troubadours” A man watches me throw 2 ton-40s in a row and a ton after, says this to me, “Yes you are the last… I can tell.”
Jason even had a decent pot connection and would fill my silver pipe up every morning I was too hung over (which was at least 3 times a week.) to help him and his WW 2 Vet Grand Pa collect scrap metal to make ends meet. What a way that we treat our Vets. Man 80 years old, looking 90 has to scrap through collecting metals or junk cars to get by. That is sick, through no fault of his own. Bernie is concerned enough about me to asks his daughter in my presence, “Where is his family?” “We are his family now,” she answers proudly. “Yes it is,” I say thankfully.
There was even action with one bar owner who would play 20 bucks a game, which I won a few 100 at before depression made me stop playing him. I was becoming like this other drunken man I saw walking through the back streets right behind downtown. At least I still felt my 94 self for a couple months. But while I was writing letters back to Family telling them the importance of my awakening…without one reply at all, it very much frustrated me and brought me down. Same no reply sent to Carol care of Club Forty’s, which had become part of me before it exploded over no replies from Carol, and a few morons who couldn’t mind their own business, and budded into mine and Carol’s romance that never got anywhere. At least my neighbor, Jerry, from Abbey Road wrote me near the end of my stay in Red Oak that Forty’s had closed for good, and that Carol had gotten fixed up with our Bartending friend Buddy.
There was a revolution spirit in the Red Oak folks: like the Electrician whose shop was next door would say, “You know what would happen if everyone in town stopped paying taxes, what could the Government do?” All the kids Jason’s age we would party with over old time rock and roll would say, “Boy do I wish I grew up in the 70s like you did.” “Hey kids, you all are partying to the same kind of music we all did growing up,” I would tell them. Jason had it right when we watched Smokey and the Bandit and then Convoy after, when he says, “That is how it’s going to happen. The truckers are going to shut it all down.”
Wish I could have told Jason my story, when he said, “Let’s go listen to your Arlo music, for I am ready to march right now.” I just couldn’t tell him the whole story… Soon after that had wished I had hidded the words of these 2 ball busters in their 20s, in a bar, when they said when hitting town, “You are going to crash man.” Knowing my story was true and now feeling the way Michael should feel, great, didn’t see the crash coming. It didn’t help we got ripped off of 400 bucks when looking for a pound of pot in Omaha. Times suck when we can’t even trust drug dealers.
After collecting scrap metal from a Farmer, which there weren’t many Farms left in Iowa, he told me that liquid ice could seal my leaking cooling system. Figured if it work would be out of dodge around pay day of the beginning of July. Wanted desperately to talk to Carol, and now with her Boyfriend an old Buddy of mine, seemed like I would get my 5 minutes with her, to tell her how important the spring of 1994 was going to go down as being. I couldn’t (though wanted to.) leave Bernie and Jason Albright stranded on the rent so gave them the 300 for July, and hit the road after a few hugs from all 3 of them.
Heading East from Iowa with Bumble Bee Memories Stinging Again.
During a hot July there was no other way to go but to pick up ice to keep the beers cold, with cooler in the trunk, for a cold one every stop. There was not a Bar worth stopping at while driving through Iowa. I would pick up all the business cards I could for more addresses for my mailing list-nearing a 1000 by this time. I got Arlo Guthrie’s Mystic Journey playing full blast all the way: “Just me and a friend roaming around, him a magical musician, while I was a clown. Playing the streets for a dollar a day, waiting for the right time, and a sign to lead the way. Crossed over the border to a mystical land sort of unexpected didn’t quite understand.”
Vallejo will never leave me when after many seeds planted to powers that be and stops along the way, was sure it would feel worth being Michael sometime ahead. I mean I saw a commercial on CMT addressed to Number 9, with 4 Maries in it, the middle name of my sisters. And it was a man who saw it first, who had said to me days before, “No one ever gave you a chance did they.” So only looking for a chance from Family or Lemon-town, was hoping there was a chance to be given a chance about a rude awakening.
Knowing there is a Motel in South Bend Indiana, walking distance to a great Sports Bar, I had not yet found a game during other trips, it was where my mind was set at before needing a rest from the road. No action again, so got drunk in my room. Toll road after toll road through Illinois and Indiana, with my sights set on Driftwood on Lake Erie in Geneva Ohio. From having been left drifting through life, right when life seemed like it would be worthwhile living by making a difference. (It was cool to be able to feel at home on the road, with Arlo only a tape play away.) But the Moody Blues words from question and Driftwood, were a pain in the as to be living instead. “Time waits for no one my love. No not even you. You thought you’d seen it all before. Now that I’ve known you, life can never be the same.”-Moody Blues Driftwood. “Why do we never get an answer when we are knocking on the door? I’m looking for a miracle in my life. I’m looking for someone to change my life. (Which Carol did.) Between the silence of the mountains and the crashing of the sea, there’ a land that I once lived in and she is waiting there for me.”-Moody Blues Question
Less than 24 hour drive from New England am feeling at least close. Up state New York you can fly through if ya want to. Pennsylvania with its green hills and white church steeples was my pick. Got no particle place to go, except hoping to find that VFW from 94 trip, when manager had figured out who I was. No luck remembering that exit.
I pull into Springfield Massatack, knowing to me from Pool League playoffs a couple of times years back. I had to check in to see if western Mass has anything going on. Only loose connections of head shakes, knowing this stranger had been on the road for a while. Mainly from people looking at me while throwing darts, while the Moody Blues song Question, (I would lip sing while head was up.) “Why do we never get an answer while we are knocking on the door? In a world of persecution, they have us fighting among ourselves.” I found that miracle in my life that gave me a reason for living, and got left driftwood on the shore. (Something about me leaves my feelings on my shoulder, while looking like a puppy dog in need of help.) “But in the land I once knew she is waiting there for me.”-question
Figuring it’s time to get closer to Leominster to see if there was anyone who would talk to me there, and hopefully being able to at least talk to Carol, I head up the back roads north through nice country, on way to route 2 with stops in Orange and Athol, hoping coke dealer who once was good pool action was around. No luck on that. Biker man in bar says to me, “Why do you look so damn depressed? Jesus is lord.” I look around at the younger crowd trying to understand the music they were rocking to, and say, “These kids here are the lord. That is how the Lamb would do it.” That gets a grin out of him and the Bartender. At closing time I tell the Biker, “I’ll tell ya about the Pearl’s of Thunder for a place to crash tonight. It puts meaning to the name credence clear water revival.” Make it inside his house after driving him home, and his girlfriend starts bitching about me being there. So much for trying to turn him on to an important truth, while crashing in his driveway for a couple hours, for I was in no condition to drive anywhere.
After driving around Mass for 2 weeks hoping to make some connections from anyone I may know from another lifetime, Littleton, was the only place to go. Hell almost got safely (avoiding the cops.) to my family home there. It puzzles me much how I had driven cross country with a cold beer in my hand, and be welcomed on the north bound 495 highway by blue lights of the law behind me, right after my not taking the first exit for Littleton, for 2nd exit was a back way home? “Oh damn it.” How can I ever get to anywhere from here now?” went through my mind. Car being on cruise control, surely felt safe enough for that 15 mile, 1 AM in morning drive, or would have slept in car at parking lot of the Hill Top down there in Malboro. Why did I not heed the warning, “be safe” from man who loved the music played on Juke Box by me? Bar Tender even smiled “come back soon.” as I walked out the door.
State Trooper (In a Commonwealth?) was polite enough after failing the tests to say, “You walk that Line I’ll let you go.” Blue strobe lights blinking did not help for didn’t get too far before saying, “Can’t do it. Johnny Cash walks the line sir. This is how I do it. Shut them lights off… and follow me around the block to my family home.” “You shouldn’t be driving in that condition you could hurt someone,” the Officer says.
My thinking was, “People in power who are intoxicated by the authority they have, should be the ones you should be arresting Mr. State Trooper. You should be a Taxi service for those screwed over from who runs the Govt, driving the people into states of confusions. Sure there are a lot of cars on the roads. That is why I drive at night. Tell mad mothers and such not to go out after 10:PM unless too drive brave souls, looking for companions, home from the bars. I’m gonna start DDAMM Drunk Drivers Against Mad Mothers.”
“Thanks for nothing mister gas station owner who called the Police.” Trooper had drove the 15 miles down route 2, another 15 down 495 and 15 back up, on account of having been too stupid to not fill up earlier. Heard a bad moon was arising but nobody had told this traveling pool player nut there would be times like these.” Down inside were these same feelings from Jack Kerouac’s On The Road- “Somewhere along the road I knew there’d be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the road the pearl would come to me.”
Judge gave me either 90 days in Country Club Billerica or 2 weeks in an Alcohol Education Program, and 2 years’ probation with 5 years right to drive taken away. 2 weeks sounded better than 90 days.
After Court, rather than walk over the bridge for a cold beer at Carlin’s Tavern, decided to hitch hike the 5 miles to home. In no way was I going to show up there even the least bit drunken. Sister speeds by while my thumb is out. Man who picks up encourages me to give her a hard time about that. Sounded like a good idea but if we had been talking at all, I would have just dropped by to say hi, for she lived right on the way.
Knowing from un-answered letters from family that they were no closer to any understanding of the truth of these latter days being played out in the flesh, it was a nightmare to walk in that door. Didn’t help that they had no clue some of what I’d written was only trying to have some fun with my writing. I hated writing. Just ask any English Teacher I ever had. Only reason I wrote was I didn’t have anything else to do, when at age 36 had something to say, and then had nobody around who would listen.
In no way was I trying to be funny when I saw that the 4th and most dreadful and terrifying beast of Daniel 7 was the established church itself. It was perfectly clear to me that the 10 horns were the churches that came out of Rome in Europe. Oh were they right to say on me last IBEW Job turning the lights on at Lord Taylors, “This is gonna be a bitch!” “The bitch is back. No more mister nice guy”-Rock and Roll for the battle ever more.
I had certainly read about how religious leaders 2000 years ago reacted when the lamb was born as a human. Seeing it all as a trap, set for them, for them to do it again, there was a sad smile inside of me that gave me enough hope… How do we explain the nature of the game today that the Stones sing about in Sympathy for the Devil? Reality is, “Just as every cop is a criminal, all the sinners are saints.” Who comes as a thief, and who is an angel of light?
Had hoped my anger would not come out in my writing as it would boil over after 20 seconds of my speaking to brick walls, though knew full well they were not going to like at all that their beliefs had turned into the very IMAGE OF GOD talked of in Revelations 13. Just take a look at how Authoritarian The Church and State have become, while trampling the free people of the promised land, telling them to do this and that, don’t have abortions, (With the only thing that their babbling-on accomplished was a way for them to sooth (As an illusion.) their guilty conscience.) wear seatbelts (To save insurance companies money.) don’t smoke,(we don’t ever want you to feel cool for you are all sinners.) don’t drink (If you drive after 1 beer in half an hour you are a danger to others.) or don’t do drugs so you can no longer feel your pain from “our” lies told with words once true. This Space Cowboy does see wisdom in Proverbs 31:6 “Give strong drink to him who is perishing and wine to him whose life is bitter. Let him drink and forget his poverty, and remember his troubles no more.”
For all competitive purposes my pool game was shot. Sure it was still a good feeling to run a rack of Black Ball on a bar box table to get a nod or smile from an opponent. Without the South West that was laid down at Club 40’s door, my mind’s heart was out to lunch for that discipline. I mean, when you can only play around 70% on a bar box, when before massive chaos at high volume descended from the slime oozing out of the TV set down into Forty’s and Lemon-minister when I had beaten Mike Zugland in a 91 New England Tournament to finish 7-8 and cash out of over 70 players.
This pool nut with Social Concerns awakened back in 94, wanted match play in the Local A 9-Ball competitions. Sure in 97, there was quite a bit of that Bob Dylan song about Boxer Hurricane Carter. Dylan was disgusted at what Justice had become… “At one time I could have won a New England Major.” (A player my age, who I had beaten 7-1, 7-1, with me only missing 3 balls max, in 2012 got put in The New England Pool Hall of Fame.) Well, just for the chance to compete at the top of my game at time when my life felt “completely there” which was only a break away in 1994, but breaks never happened in Lemon-town. How there was a yearning to stir up the A Players about the currant afflictions of America while winning matches, was much more the story I wanted to live to tell about.
Saw in my family what the Lamb had to have run into 2000 years ago, when Israel was waiting for a superman to come flying out of the sky, that I had once thought myself. It hurt me so much that neither, me nor them, could discuss a thing of my awakening. Why should I even bother saying anything, when it was evident that I would be was no chance of breaking through their beliefs their Church had taught them could not be questioned? This visit home had to be as quick as possible.
At least Dad had an internet connection as the Rubin Hour Library down the street also did. So I kept hoping to connect with Arlo Guthrie while picking up as many email addresses as I could. Knowing the truth kept me planting seeds of The Mondragon Cooperative, as a better way to work. Who would have ever thought that the words of a prophet, in times like these, would be about workers earning an honest day’s pay and enough time to spend on what they wanted to?
While 40 hours a day I would was listening to Arlo’s Someday and Power of Love dreams: “The power of love burns away the pain, while scorching out the doubt. Hoping for that day when we are making the news today, with people all over the world holding hands, and signs of Imagine a Brotherhood of man sharing all the earth.
Kept attacking what I will always call “THE-MEDIA-RIGHT-STORM” who took hold of DC in the 80s, over the abortion issue, while preaching their prosperity theology of only the strong survive. The Religious Right of the 80’s, is who I blamed for why hardly no one in 94 was minding their own business, by letting everyone else be. I drew the line at allowing people to live as they pleased while trying my best to reveal truth about thing, with feelings of, “The powers that be are regulating us to death. And its becoming clear that 99% of them don’t care about nothing but corporate profits.”
Though my Mom would agree with me when I’d say, “We don’t need DC to tell Massachusetts what to do.”, she would always say, “You can’t do anything about it, for money is power and you have none.” It’s amazing that the frustration didn’t kill me. But I knew that the mess started from at the top, and was not the peoples fault. I saw the fruits of the R.R. stone-throwing descend into one bar after another. Living on positive vibes from the bar room static that flies through all bars, went a long ways, but a baseball bat had struck the bee hive, bumblebee-ball busting people kept stinging me in public.
Maybe I did feel a little ahead of my time: for the 90s were pretty good economically for many, that they were comfortably numb to the downward spiral society was heading.-What backs that up is friends in Lemon-town knew my claim of being Michael (Number 9 from the Beatles song Revolution #9, where Lennon says near the end, “Take this brother may it serve you well.”) Yet not one of them thought that good enough news to bother checking out. Only one I know of was Jerry, the other outcast from Abbey Road, who lived across the hall from me. Jerry was the only one who every answered a letter of mine. In it he told me Carol had been hooked up with a Bartender named Buddy, who him, and his wife always treated me 1st class. When I got that letter out in Red Oak I-owe-what? Figured I had better show my face around old hometown, hoping and hoping for a conversation with Carol.
(It may as well have been winter that July day of 1997)
Mom was nice enough to offer me some food when I got in the door. Told her I had just come from court for getting pulled over on 495 here in Littleton, the night before. Went and laid down on the very uncomfortable 4 section couch in central living room, with a fireplace in the middle and three windows looking out on wide drive way with trees all around it. Found the Cartoon Flinstones on the TV and sat back to find something to laugh about. Brother walks in screaming, “What is Michael doing watching cartoons in the afternoon? Why isn’t he working? “He got pulled over last night.” Mom answers.
At least after that John had asked how long I’d been around the area? (Couldn’t tell him I had been searching around Western Massatack for anyone to talk to.) It was cool of him to bring up getting an international driver’s license. After we checked it out we found out it would be no good without a valid State Driver’s License. John did have a great 1890 book, about how the banking money powers took over America from its start: “The Coming Battle.” That book gave me much more to think about while trying to add up our times.
I would have loved to still be wiring in the IBEW. Yet Unions were in the decline since when I got in, partly their leaders fault and big time, the fault of Corporate owned DC breaking them. Could have have got on a job out on the road. But hell, on way out West Coast was in no mental condition to even try. I was just so sure my story would pay off better for all, than working with them cool Wire-nuts again. I would have always wanted to earn a living as an IBEW Wire-nut whose livelihood was to work ourselves out of a job. That is construction work in a nutshell. Finish building, and hope there is another building project close to home. My good friend Joe had always thought being an Electrician was a good job for a pool player for there was always a few months off to play more pool. God knows how much I could never work, week after week, for 40 years in the same building.
But as I told Townes at the VFW what I was doing for my country was collecting up email addresses and sending out info about the Mondragon Cooperative in the Basque country of Spain. I didn’t tell them then all about the 911 coincidences that had come my way. Most of them thought I was already nuts enough having a job of putting money in the jukebox. Nor did I bother telling them that the 911 revolution dream of mine was everyone calling 911 and saying, “You can get anything you want at Carolina-Nickel’s”
Brief Stay at Alcohol Treatment Center For DUI Offenders
Time came for the 2 weeks in an Alcohol Treatment Center for those unlucky enough to not dodge the cops on way home from blowing off steam with other people brave enough to risk their livelihood to shoot the shit with old friends who still like cold beers and Rock and Roll on the Music Machine in the Bars.
While John drove me down the 40 minutes to Worcester, found it cool as we got on HW 495 South, he turned the radio up full blast as the Rolling Stones started to sing Sympathy for the Devil. Had a feeling that the nature of the game…in the song, in the end up above, is going to catch a whole lot of people in Authority, who claim to know Christ. (How often does the Bible say, “Did not we do this and that in your name? With the Lamb answering, “Depart from me I never knew you.”-paraphrased a bit
When John and I show up at the brick building Clinic, John was smart enough to walk me into it with my 2 weeks of Marlboros and cloths. I could have easily hit a local open bar that morning. Makes sense they check my baggage, as they check all out, to see if no booze was in it; for the gods up above know I would have snuck a bottle in.
First thing after check in I ask, “Where can we smoke?” Pointed by Staff to the clouded room where I started to stir up the other morons stupid enough to get caught. First words out of my mouth where quotes from Winston Churchill and WC Fields: “Women told Churchill at a party that he was drunk. Winston replies, yes, but I will be sober tomorrow and you will still be ugly.” WC said he wasted half is money, but the rest was spent on booze, and that Alcohol not the dog was man’s best friends”. Through those 2 weeks those jokes were all in vain!
All I heard in the classes that separated our smoke breaks was technical mumbo jumbo, while I would keep trying to tell the rest that this is bullshit. Things like, when I had a Condo and good IBEW job, I stayed close to home, always driving the speed limit, after my fill of pool and beer, while trying to avoid the jerks, which can send you on a bad trip. I could only recall 2 instances since the wild 70s where I ever felt I was a danger to anyone, after driving home from playing pool at bars or Pool Halls. Thing is those 1 of those 2 times, while on the road working IBEW in Tacoma, there was no one on the road; the other it was raining so hard in Leominster, no one should have been on the road.-couldn’t even see the Red or Green lights a quarter mile down the road from 40s, where my y-turn off to the right missed either light, but turn 3 times to the right in the fog and back on the road, with a car going the other way, blinking his lights at me
There was one connection made with one good looking Class leader when I said, “My problem started when people in a bar, while playing the best pool of my life, could not mind their own business over a romance that could have taken me to the top of the New England Pool. That it was them who were brainwashed about it all… while they still hung out in bars. I call them kind of folks morons, as Forty also did.” She was sincere enough to say, “You’re making connections.” She was also stupid enough to let me lead a class she couldn’t make, which I just let the people shoot the shit-with only a little blow back from her, “I HEARD about the class I had you run.”
Oh boy, while at the morning meeting in the basement gym, which everyone had to attend, for some reason Moses and the burning bush kept coming to my burning mind. My self-conscience mind, as it’s always been, was thinking Moses saw himself in that burning bush, and now it was me.
(The whole 2 weeks gave me the major blues, which Arlo sings about in this video, with him singing near the end, “Someday when this country needs a helping hand, I’ll tell him buddy just get in line. When my baby comes back crying cause her lover is no longer around, I’ll kick that smart ass out of the door. Off Arlo’s Someday album of the 80s, which I had to make a video of winter of 2011 before flying to Belgium. Still being hopeful for Arlo to kick them power trippers causing most of the trash out of the door, even now in 2014.)
And one night while sleeping I swear John Lennon said this to me in a small still voice inside my mind, “I am John Lennon. Your only sin is adultery on your wife. And you know!.” Those words came from somewhere up above, for though know I had sinned, at that point figured most must have been covered by the lambs blood when he took away the sins of the world, for no harm had been done, that had been possible for me to try to make up for.
(I saw all these email connections going through my mind hoping people would connect and call 911 singing, “You can get anything you want at Carolina-Nickels,” so guess, while in that so called clinic, I was the first one to call 911 singing that.)
I had had enough when the last night came. I packed my bags at 4:AM and walked out of the place, while the lady staff said, “No, no, no, ”as I headed down the steps to the street. I sat out in front of that cold city, looking at the buildings, saying “Screw it all.” Staff comes out and asks me to come back in, and since John was coming to pick me up, figure I may as well.
(We heard John Denver died in a plane crash while in there. From hearing on the news about him losing his right to drive a car sober, wondered if he could still fly legally. Sometime after heard Arlo say about Denver, “Such as nice guy can’t believe he is not still on the planet.”)
But after not being able to sit through another of their bullshit movies after walking out of the room a number of time they ask me to just leave. But it puzzles me when the staff said I went outside yelling “the anti-christ is here,” which I answered, “Who ever told you there was an antichrist? The spirit of the antichrist is saying the same thing he was saying in Apostle Paul’s time: that the Lamb did not come in the flesh and today says he is not coming back in the flesh.” They almost checked me in to the mental clinic downstairs but talked my way out saying “I just need to talk to my family.”
I took off down the street, pissed off and worried, and threw my bag of cloths over a fence and headed downtown. After grabbing a Dunkin Doughnuts’s Coffee and walk around the brick downtown square, until figuring out it was time to call home and ask Dad for a ride.
Whew, on ride home they say, “You got a problem. We heard about your phone call to 911.”(I lied when telling parents I didn’t call anyone.) “Yes I do need help, but it’s that no one will ever bother to think about the coincidences that happened to me,” I tell them. Then, while heading north on HW I 190, this vision of JFK and his Father, came into my head. I could see them both in my mind. I could understand through thought, JFK saying, “Dad we screwed up. This is not heaven. We have Michael down there in Massachusetts and he is going through hell. We have to do something.” At that the vision ended. But in my mind it struck me of how in Daniel 10:13 when Michael came after 21 days, the Lamb still had to go off and wage war with the heavenly Prince of Persia and Greece in Daniel 11:20. These are things that went through my mind of the powers above us.
Cold Cold Winter back in Lemontown
First thing I do when at family home is arrange a ride to Leominster, hoping to get to talk to Carol, while also checking out rooming houses for a place to live. Stay at the Leominster Motel nearby 40s but did not have the courage to go in there, which had just reopened with Dave and his wife Carol as new owners. I got drunk for a week taking Taxi’s downtown and back at last call. But I did connect back up with Scott T at the Pool Hall while also finding a room for $300 a month, even if it was up on the 3rd floor, up 3 flights of stairs.
On the day I move in my friend Joe O. had a wiring job for me up at the Gardner Pool Hall. Joe had finally got this 3-d video WW2 war game Wolf-something altogether on these old steel frames we had picked a couple years before. It was a fun night driving up with his brother-in-law and a friend, and the hookup went smooth. Though me and Joe beat them at pool over beers (Me and Joe had always done well together at bar room pool.) after the simple wiring was done, my mind was on 40s. Best part was when he drove up Grant Hill past his completed sold house I had wired and spent a few hot summer months, writing away at, and hitting a side pocket shot over 10,000 times finding every way you could around the table from the hitting the bottom rail first. Would tell Joe, “The Europeans hit that shot extremely well at 3-cushion.” “As we drive up the Grant Hill, “Damn Joe am I glad to see that place finished,” I tell him. “You can drop me off at 40s,” I tell him. That got a smile out of him while he says, “Yes Mike. That is the place you need to start over again,” he says back to me.
Though I knew Dave and his wife big Carol (My problem was little Carol.) well enough to know I could go in the Club, was very worried about how the crowd might accept me. I grab my seat at the bar. Was cool Wayne B. from the times I worked at Scott T’s Pool Hall comes up and says, “Michael Dewey, how the hell have you been?” Shake his hand and just say, “Good to see you too.” Look down from the corner of the bar and see Carol. Knew she was with Buddy. Carol goes out the door with Laurie (Knowing they are saying it’s Mike Dewey.) and they come back 5 minutes later. Say to myself, “Why did she get those beautiful slightly curly more wavy blond hair cut above her shoulders, with a straight look to them?”
Owner Carol was glad to see me also. I say to her, “You gave me a huge compliment back in the day.” (Telling me in 94 that I was the only other man in the bar she would have married besides Dave.) “Yes I did!” she enthusiastcally answers back. She backs off and leans against the bar the bottles are on. Then Carol says to her, “I am an emotional wreck.” A few minutes later Buddy drifts down to me and says, “Michael Dewey how have you been? Good to see ya.” All I could do was shake his hand. (Longing to ask if I could talk to Carol, but couldn’t. Then a man comes up to Carol R. and says, “You better do something about this.” “I am going to,” Carol responds. (That might not have been about me, as this cold winter goes on from that cold November night, hear latter on, she broke up with Buddy.) But what was I to think about it?
Club 40’s, where it rained and poured for 40 days and years in the wilderness, as Christ went out in the wilderness for 40 days to be tested.)
It was time for me for me to catch a Taxi to Liquor store and to my 3rd floor room, 3 flights of stairs up, so as to get to know the other men who always had money for beers, but hardly ever for food, which we got from food pantries. Up on the 3rd floor was John who had had 3 wives die on him of a heart attack while they were making love. Jim who didn’t last long as a friend for he thought my knocking America meant that I didn’t like America. Fred from Canada who gave me a cool threaded silver chain my copper arrow head (From Red Oak I-owe-wa..? looked beautiful with. Then there was some Hispanic guy who didn’t mind a bit to run down to the Liquor store for us when we were getting close to empty. They all knew when the owners Maryann and Ron would be around the house so it to be safe to light up a joint. I get in trouble the 3rd day there, when after seeing Fred open up John’s room without knocking, I did the same. But had no problem talking my way out when I mentioned seeing Fred do it first.
Scott’s (T’s) Billiards was walking distance right above a family like bar J.C. Fenwicks. Figuring I had to give my game a shot, had to clear things up with Scott for his back rent. He brought it up. Tell him I would settle for a $300 Josh East Cue which he ordered up. Mother of his kids Sandy, happened to walk in to witness the deal, while she was looking for money from him, as lots of the town was also. (Smarter men would have settled for a grand, for he owed me about $2500) Hell, Wayne B. beat me to the deal I was after, taking Scott’s 60 inch (2-3 inches longer than normal.) Black South West which I had Dick Reid, National Class 3-cushion player, put a black leather wrap on. That broke Scott’s heart as a girl had done also, as happened to me.
Thought I was gonna get lucky when this hot looking blonde comes into Fenwicks and asks me if I want to go party with her where he was staying a short walk down the street. She tells, me that cold night walking to her place, “I am going to take a shower with you tonight.” Place ends up being what would be called just above a dump. With 5 trips next door to the dealer of the crack (only a drug I have done but a handful of times when it may help clear my head up.) end up spending over 300 bucks. We do take the shower together but don’t even get any head. At end of night her cousin who she was staying with tells her, “I want you to suck him dry.” Oh did I see the damage the crack was doing to her nervous system. The cousin seemed able to handle it. (Since being broke now for the month, so much for that Joss cue from Scott.) Head to Scotts when it opens the net afternoon, and tell him I need the $300 rather than cue, to get me through the 1st month.
Thought it was very cool that the Library had free internet and would start my day collecting emails of Mayors and City Hall Officials all across the land, for me to send my story of being Michael to, and my hopes for the Worker Ownership of the Mondragon Cooperative to be setup here in what was looking to me as being a broken Promised Land.
I was also studying up on different religions, which I had figured they all had to have their points. Most do have core principals in common, like do onto others as you would have them do onto you. One point which stood out to me to this day was in the Talmud of the Jews: “If the world continues to insist on strict just it will not endure.” That quote has so much in common with the Tom Paine quote I had found on the last page of one version of Common Sense: “An avidity to punish is always dangerous to liberty. It leads men to stretch, to misinterpret, and to misapply even the best of laws. He that would make his own liberty secure must guard even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates his duty, he establishes a precedent that will reach to himself.”
Forty’s Club went sour on me quick. See blonde Kelly, who tended bar at Cornerstones (Right by my Abbey Road condo.) back in 94 who had always been nice to me. When asking, “How’s Michael doing,” “I broke up with him, she replies. So I say, “Oh I am interested.” Then she runs out the door. Then half an hour latter, see Laura there, not looking half as pretty as she did in 94, so ask her, “Are you Laura?” “Yes,” as she also runs out the door. Dave comes up to me after witnessing what he thought was my hitting on his costumers and says, “After what I just saw am not sure I want you coming in here anymore.” “No problem man,” I tell him, “But can I have a couple beers until the Taxi shows up?” While sitting there drinking them down over some smokes, Ken (A long time regular.) sitting next to me sees me looking around the bar and says, “Mike, I know what you are looking around the bar for. It’s never going to happen.” “Hey Ken. If we had ever gotten to talk I think it would have worked out,” I say while holding back tears. Ken says, “Mike I think you are right.” “Who in here called the Taxi?”, the driver yells out. “That would be me,” as I guzzle down the last half of the beer.
There was still the Dumpy Tankard, I would head to for cold ones and Darts, a close walk from Library, after finishing up spamming emails all over the Country. No one in there seemed to know me so I liked that idea. Except there was one guy saw a sucker, and asked if I wanted to buy 40 bucks of pot. We get in his car and head to an atm to pull out 40 bucks. Then head down a back road off a back road where he tells me “Dealers up the street but have to go there alone, so give me the 40 and wait and wait there.” What a cold walk back that was to civilization.
At the rooming house, had made friends with John who had a new room with a real stove instead of cheap microwave. After that ripoff story he says, “Mike you never give the money until seeing the pot.” John knew how I felt about what he called, “Lemontown.” I tell him I still call it “Lemon-minister” Says to me once over a can of pork and potato and carrots dinner, “If I had a gun I would give it to ya, for can tell you would like to get it over with and blow your head off!”
After months of getting shut off all the time at Rocking Club Legends, across the parking lot from JC Fenwicks, the cops finally see me walking home down the snow covered side walk, and put me under pc for 4 hours in their cold steel barred jail. Shrink shows up right as they are letting me out and says, “You want to talk to me?” “I would have been sleeping by now had they let me walk home.” He laughs. Next day walking home early these 2 guys ahead of me turn and say, “They are going to get you. They think you really were stalking Carol.”
(Downtown Leominster or Lemon-minister, where am now feeling like Johnny Appleseed born here, but never returned.)
Since there was a live Rock Band at Legends on the weekends, it seemed worth it to put up with bartenders that didn’t realize I was there to try and connect with people who were once almost some true friends. One night ran into Crispy and Bruno, of which the latter looked almost in as bad a shape as I was in, inside and out. Was cool of Crispy to say, “It’s not going to happen,” Which when I said, “It’s important that I talk to her,” and replies “I know it is Mike. She did break up with Buddy.” That only got my hopes up to be broken again…
End of January tell the landlord “I’ll be out of here the end of February. I’m going to Nashville.” “Alright,” he says, “You are going to use the last month’s rent, since you paid 2 months ahead when you moved in. You only had one bad night here, and you are no problem.” A town that once was my home had turned so cold on me. Should have known you don’t get a break in this tough little city.
Almost thought a break was coming, while hanging out one day at Fenwicks, when Buddy walks in. “Carol broke up with you”, a bar fly says, “That asshole. Well you fucked her for a while.” Then someone else says to me, “He is not talking about you.” Another lady says to me, “This is a family like bar and we figure out what is going on with people.” I get up and play Journey’s “Wheel in the sky keeps on turning, don’t know where I’ll me tomorrow.” That gets Buddy to say, “What a hot shit.”
(With her ending up with Buddy gave me a bit of a laugh over the coincidence of a long legged blonde back in the 70s which, though saw her most every afternoon, only made it with her once, (When we could have everyday!) and another time was so excited I exploded cum right before going into her. She told me she was melting with me saying, “I am too.”-which gave me the nickname of melt when end up going back to the regional Tech HS, after quitting the year before. I ended up giving another Buddy her phone number, who ended up marrying her after knocking her up. Breaking up has always hit me very rough.)
(Here in Antwerpen Belgium during the year 2013 and married, found an old Rock and Roller on facebook who summed up how I felt about Lemontown, and he said it was ok to use his writing in this story of mine.)
“I felt dead alright, dead, like a walking zombie, set in motion as some cosmic joke. Given a gift, and never allowed to experience anything but misery as a result of it.
I even had a name for it. The van Gogh syndrome, because Vincent had painted with his heart, his emotions. He’d thrown himself completely and utterly into his work, but had been rejected in spite of his commitment, shooting himself at thirty-seven. His last words were, “There shall never be an end to human misery.”
I too felt rejected by the world, and felt my work had been rejected as well. So now I was rejecting myself, the creator of the work.
I had tried killing myself numerous times in the past, only to have failed, so I was not willing to test that path again. But inside I was as good as dead.
The excited kid with the big smile was nowhere to be found. The tough “live through it all to fight another day” individual had all but disappeared. What was left was a shell. A desperate remnant of what might have been.
The sadness, and sense of complete and total loss, was extravagantly heaped upon my psyche in those moments. All that I had ever known, or wanted, was abandoned on the hardwood floors of Carol’s apartment as I headed out the door.
I was too exhausted to be angry, too broken to mount a counter attack against the tides of change. They swept over me a if I were not there.
That dismal day in 1985 seared its way into my soul, branding itself, and its destructiveness, on me forever. Like a life-threatening wound, turned to a scar, it remains with me to this day.
I don’t remember whether I talked to Carol on the day (I never got me 5 minute talk with my little Carol for us to even just be so called friends.) I left, or not, but I know I didn’t speak to anyone else, except my brother Bill.
Maybe it was because I was afraid that more misery would be inflicted on me if I asked for help and got none. That fear of further rejection caused me to close off the world and retreat into a self-protective cocoon.
The only other human beings I would deal with, at that point, would be my brother Bill and mother, and even that was something I found incalculable, as the next possible threat.
I drove through the streets of Hollywood, and onto the Sunset Strip, on my way out of town. I passed by each place where I had attempted suicide, each place where my body and mind had been maimed in the past.
It was around ten o-clock in the morning as I drove past each memory-soaked location. The bright sunlight beat into my sleepless eyes, causing added distress to my exhausted mind and body.
With each landmark I passed, came the flood of emotion-filled highlights of the event. The day, the reason, the weather, the street, the building, the drug, the tower, the year, all of it. It just kept playing in my head.
The history of Bobby Jameson was written on the streets and buildings of the town I was leaving. I had given myself to it in a way that is indescribable in words. I had been a part of it and it a part of me, for what seemed like forever.
I had gone to grade school in Laurel Canyon, and then left as a child, but vowed to return, which I did. Wherever I was, I was in L.A. in my head. I could always see it, feel it, want it. If I left I was coming back, if I was there I was home.
Bobby Jameson and Hollywood were not two things. Not a person and a place, not a mere town with a resident, they were one thing, a single unit.
They existed as a reflection of each other, like a mirror reflecting the image of the observer…the observer seeing himself not only in, but as the thing reflecting.”—Bobby Jameson
(How the hell did I end up being married in Belgium? Well hang on for there were quite a few trips from Lemon-minister in 1997 to playing 3-cushion in Antwerpen Belgium and married to Marie.)
Oh I was doing my once a week of probation aftercare duty in a silly crowded little room. I call it silly for I was not speeding nor driving to endanger when they took away my last chance of working, while my right to pursue my happiness was taken away, without ever having harmed anyone! When you can run racks of 8-ball after as many as it took to fill my belly, driving on cruise control in the right lane of an empty highway, where I made it to my home town, is not endangering anyone. (One stupid mistake I made from here was taking out the max of $750 for the senseless fear of the State taking it, which was a senseless fear.)
Bert Freedman, we all nickname Big Bird for he was 6.6 feet tall 250 pounds with no fat, showed up just on time to give me a ride to Grey Hound Bus down south in Worcester. Bert had a bad left shoulder so would play one handed pool. The shots I had to stretch our for with both hands, Bert would come down like a spear with butt of cue up by his head. He would show up at Pool Halls all over New England. He even broke up a match of his friend, a 3 time New England Straight Pool Champion, and 15 time Fitchburg City Champion Roger B, that Roger was cleaning up at in Lynn. Bert walks into the Charlie Horse in Lynn (Lynn Lynn the city of sin, you never come out the way you went in.) and while Roger is cleaning up with a player who kept wanting to raise the bet says to Roger, Bert says, “Congratulations on your 3rd New England Championship.” The loser walks away from the game claiming, “You were hustling me!” Roger calmly responds, “You are the one who want to keep raising the bet. (Roger is the perfect gentleman champion.)
The Charlie Horse was a cool 80s sports bar with dozens of TV and 8 bar tables, with even a half a dozen dart boards. I would drive there every Sunday for its 8-ball tournament which I never won but had 3 seconds. Owner of that ended up opening over a half a dozen other Sports Bars just like it when pool took off in the late 80s, after the Color of Money with Tom Cruise and Paul Newman, the sequel to The Hustler.
Had met Bert in my Saint Joe’s (in Fitchburg a twin city of Leominster.) days of the 80s during my 20s when trying to learn 14.1 straight pool in the Fitchburg City round robin tournament. I would most always run in the 20s every game, but went after too many fliers out of the rack, living table wide open for the opponent, with also missing far too many easy shots. If I could have consistently play at my best, would have been able to compete in the As, and I never even won the Bs there. Looking back I say, what held me back was that my head was in a cloud during my 20’s from subconsciously knowing things were wrong in America, but not totally understanding it all until 94.
By my time in “The City”, there were only a handful the old timers left, of glory days of the Fitchburg Cities round robin, played in a dozen Clubs around the City. At my time there, it was only Saint Joe’s and right at bottom of hill, the Franco American Club. But the Bs were going strong, and I was told I was the one that kept it going for another 10 years. Not enough can be said about getting match play such as a Round Robin will give you. I won my share of B 9-ball tournaments around New England because of the discipline learned from The City… When after the movie The Color of Money, literally 100s of pool rooms opened up in New England. There were dozens of us so called Killer Bs, for we got more match play than the As and could knock them out of an A Open. I felt at the time these are meant for me, but know they were meant for all of us.
Flashback to the future: while living here in Belgium with my wife Marie in 2013, while trying to write this story. This was not an easy 67 thousand words to write being newly married, with all the memories it has brought up. And since I hate Bus Trips it’s taken me months to get back to writing.
Marie and me met on Facebook in 2010 and she visited me in Ayer, town next to Littleton, for 3 cold New England weeks that fall. She had been a Muslim for 26 years until after that trip to meet me, she decided to go out in public without here Hijab. Marie was born a Catholic but after a wild life at 32, she opened up the Koran and found insightful truth. I look at her as my Yoko, and people in bars had said to me, marrying a Muslim would be what John Lennon would do today, as he hoped to find common ground between the east and west…well John and Yoko relationship were about much more than that.
After my Greyhound west in 78, to an Open Door Church which owned a farm my brother Richard was living on, feeling like I was moving for days after, swore I would never get on bus again. That was an interesting time for me, getting cleaned up of wild youth, when at 20 I got out of High School to be an Electrician. But the born again stuff never brought me the joy that I saw so many others praising god about. An older couple did turn me on to some social justice issues such as Amnesty International, but packed my bags and hoped on another Bus east, buying a hit of acid on the way, which got lost by time I arrived with a 100 pound tool box in Ayer, and hitching home to Littleton with it.
How the hell did I get to Belgium? I know better 3-cushion players than me who would sell their souls to be playing here. Have played alright off and on in the Antwerpen Cafe’s smaller tables. Felt good about a run of 9 from the break against the best player in the Club winning 20-8, and then beating him again the next week 20-8 in 17 innings. A 1 average use to be world class on 5-10 size tables but now you need to average 2 to win. But overall have too many long games to be happy with my play. A bit too much beer drinking, and not enough exercise would be part of that problem. But have been told to get some personal instructions from a Champion and my game would be solid, at least to compete in the States.
It was back in 2006, that my Father past on, while working part time for my Brother Richard doing electrical work with our good friend Kevin a Navy Veteran, who knew all of the Technical stuff about Electrical work, I never figured out. That work gave me enough money to buy a fairly high powered 4 gigs of ram, 500 gig hard drive PC with surround sound speakers, which could shake the large white house.
Boy did the updated internet give me great hopes for getting my message out, but not many, to this day in 2013 have given it a chance. Spending most online time blundering around on arlonet’s group W Bench, was cool to learn how to copy and past while getting turned onto Youtube. There on arlonet found Yoko Ono’s Imagine Peace Tower site, which is a light shining into the sky sending peace in all of the languages of the world, in honor of John in Iceland, where I found Care2, which had a few million caring members mainly about animals and nature. Then I got my own Youtube channel which took me 2 weeks to properly sign up for it, with forty911 being its handle.
(The tower is turned on from John’s birthday in October to the day of his death in December and other special days through out the year.)
It made me wonder why after a year and a half of what I called a spaceship music machine with 20 gigs of classic rock on it, that it took me so long to sign up for youtube, my favorite way to battle back against the nonsense of our war like greedy times. Now since right after meeting Marie, made a few videos explaining my whole story, with partial clips of music from Little Texas rocking down angels, to Arlo Guthrie’s doors of heaven where angels come to live among us to share the darkness with the light, and then welcomes all to earth with Joe Diffie’s 3rd rock from the sun. and then blasts Steve Miller finding of a new way in Space Cowboy and ends with Miller’s don’t let nobody turn you around marching to the freedom land.
I feel like a Cyberspace video DJ who also posts many OEN and Truthout articles about possible solutions for our times to get a bigger piece of the pie for the regular folks so we can take care of ourselves. Lots about the worker ownership of the Mondragon Cooperative of the Basque in Spain. Then to Public Banks to help fund those Coops at State levels, while also being a step out of the Federal Reserve. It was Care2 where I got informed about the Fed being a private Bank, and it also was Care2 where found another way out of the Fed with printing debt free US Notes as Lincoln did to fund he war: (With these 2 quotes to follow both posted on my Care2 page)
[The bankers had Lincoln’s government over a barrel, just as Wall Street has Congress in its vice-like grip today. The North needed money to fund a war, and the bankers were willing to lend it only under circumstances that amounted to extortion, involving staggering interest rates of 24 to 36 percent. Lincoln saw that this would bankrupt the North and asked a trusted colleague to research the matter and find a solution. In what may be the best piece of advice ever given to a sitting President, Colonel Dick Taylor of Illinois reported back that the Union had the power under the Constitution to solve its financing problem by printing its money as a sovereign Government. Taylor said:
“Just get Congress to pass a bill authorizing the printing of full legal tender treasury notes . . . and pay your soldiers with them and go ahead and win your war with them also. If you make them full legal tender . . . they will have the full sanction of the government and be just as good as any money; as Congress is given that express right by the Constitution.”]
[(And this Attributed to Jefferson)
“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake-up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.”
Thomas Jefferson, (Attributed)
3rd president of US (1743 – 1826)___
Lincoln’s Monetary Breakthrough]
[(And one from Madison on Care2 also)
“History records that the money changers have used every form of abuse, intrigue, deceit, and violent means possible to maintain their control over governments by controlling money and it’s issuance.” James Madison (1751-1836), President]
Then after getting turned on to Facebook thanks to Care2 and OEN care of the Huffpost, started learning much about what can only be called America’s Imperialistic Foreign Policy, since at least right after WW2, which favored Corporations going into poorer countries promising them much for their natural resources, but mainly leaving the countries in debt to the International Banksters and slaves to the US at the United Nations. Reading John Perkins’s Confessions of an Economic Hit Man can explain much of that. Reading Howard Zinn’s History of the United States we can see the same crap going on before WW2, as reading Smedley Butler’s War is a Racket speech form the 30s, about how every war he fought in was for corporate profit. If none of this Corporate Global crap is stopped, there is no hope to ever rebuild the states of confusion from the bottom up.
(Major General Smedley Butler’s war is a racket speach from back in the 30’s, which I thought was a joke when first hearing of it in 2008)
I even had a couple issues of 4 page paper News Letter (on double wide 30 pound paper) where I edited down articles to 1 page to spread all these issues around to the people me and Walter would meet in the Clubs we would play pool and darts at. My Mom (only I called her Mom out of the 10 of us.) passed away in May of 2008, and got some 13 grand of IRA money to buy an HP Double Page printer, which was alright at the time. I even had a CD I called Pearl’s of Thunder with lots of revolutionary rock and roll with also a spiritual and political message I would pass out with my News Letter.
Walter never clicked with me on my social issue stuff, and is a pain in the ass for me to play pool with for to many useless comments that only would distract me, like stupid things, “Oh you’re in stroke right off the bat, to oh that’s an easy out,” while I hardly ever say a word when anyone was playing, with me only taping my stick to the floor after a good shot. And I never once saw Walt put a dollar in the Juke Boxes, while I should own more than a few by now. Walt just doesn’t have the pool edicate needed for me. For he breaks my stroke and the energy of putting 100% into every shot. He can keep it up with the talkative players, he warms up with in ring games which will never be my style.
But here in Belgium and finally burning Video DVDs which will one day be part of my dream of putting Youtube on the High Def TVs now in all of the local watering holes. Only took 6 years for the burning part, thanks to Real Player Plus which downloads, converts and burns, when 6 years ago it took 3 complicated programs combined and never figured it out.
From my Bible beliefs and all I’ve read the last 6 years online, this is my peaceful way out, though the elite may not go down without a fight, so am hoping big time that the Police and Military end up on the peoples’ side:
My dream is to fulfill Isaiah 23:17-18 and 24:21-24 where the kings of the earth are thrown in jail and the profits of this Beautiful Planet are used for food and fine clothing for those who need it. Then we can have that big party of Isaiah 25, where we Celebrate Thanks Giving Diners of being passed over the insanity of our times.. That will be when the veil will be lifted from all Nation’s eyes, and they will understand what they have never heard before.-that understanding part, has to be what is meant at the end of Isaiah 52. )
Trip to Nashville in 1998
After making a connection for a couple grams of Hash in the upstairs Restroom of the Cleveland Bus station, first mission in Nashville was to find a pipe. Too bad I was stupid enough to worry about breaking probation in Mass, so was taking as much money out of ATMs along the way, because of senseless fear of the State taking it. Ending up watching a Rock and Band outside of downtown, near motel Taxi said was the closest. Some heavy set chick started shooting the shit with me, as I was watching the Bass player hold the guitar up high and barely moved anything but his hands while playing to alright rocky blues tunes. So I ask her back to my room across the street to get high, while I was already drunk enough to just crash. While we are taking our hits of Hash, she says, “What makes people do some of the things that they do?” “Oh that would be pressure coming down from the stumbling blocks in power, causing people to do what they would not normally do,” I tell to her. After the pipe is done she gets undressed and on all fours on the bed tells me to give it to her. So after banging her for 10 minutes to climax… Wake up in the morning with her taking over 500 bucks, my Hash and pipe, saying “Oh shit. At least I got 20 bucks for breakfast and phone call to Dad.”
Turns out that by mistake had left the Title of my Red 4 Door Cavalier at Lemontown Post Office after mailing out my story to my mailing list of Clubs around the Country. Title got mailed to Dad, where car was parked in the large driveway with a 2 door garage taking up on half the parking lot we said was Fenway Park while playing whiffle ball as a kids, where if you hit the huge Beach Nut Tree in right, with a 4 foot base on way down to football field back yard, it was an out. Dad said, “For some reason the Title was mailed to here, and Billy needs a car so 1000 bucks sounds fair with me for it.” “Thanks Dad. They got a mission here in Nashville so will not be out in the street.”
(Not the first time had called Dad for help along the ways through trips in this broken promised land, but can’t tell all.)
What a mission that was they nicknamed the house of pain, and before being served slop called food we all had the law of the Gospel preached to us. Had some cash left in Bank, so since there were no more locked lockers to rent, stuffed my Red Marlboro Bag, which did have pages of the ripped up Bible stuffed into a nice leather binding with a dove over a cross, and headed down to the country music strip for a few beers. Of course the bag is gone when I get back to the compound we hang out at before eating and getting our beds. Knew I wasn’t long for that place. When checking in for bed attendant says “Do you know if you are going to heaven?” “Ya, I say, “because of the blood of the lamb who took away the sins of the world.”
Had a warm winter jacket and found a couch down by the river where on the other side, they were building the Football stadium for the first NFL Team in Nashville. Couch was comfortable and not a cop or another soul bothers me the 2 weeks hanging out at the Library, picking up more email address for Nashville, Memphis and other cities Mayor’s offices and other officials. Had figured that since they were out to serve the public me story of being Michael had to at least get talked about, though there was no reply from any of the hundreds it was emailed to.
Got lucky at the Library though when looking through a book of Hostels found out Memphis had one that was rated as a pretty good one for 12 bucks a day with the 4th day free.
I fit right in at the old style depressing country music clubs where the singers had been playing at for 30 years. When the singers would say something about our life and times in these 90s, had my one-liner out, “Let’s all hit the streets.” There was one classic man who had just flown in from NY City. He had 200 dollar leather boots, with leather coat worth as much, while bumming for spare change on the streets. A couple of us eating at the mission got a kick out of him.
One of the last nights on way back to my couch heard this Rock and Roll coming from this old building a few blocks off the strip. Walk in and it’s got all these cool style colored lights with high ceiling set up as if it was an old castle. About 6 of us in the place listen all night to the house band Blues Healers play the Commitments’ Mustang Sally you better slow your mustang down, night long with the man on the 5 string base playing it in a Hendricks like style. I was carrying a pair of dice with me to practice rolling 6s & 8s at the crap tables. Took them out and starting rolling them on the table where a couple was sitting with me. Just had to say to the them, “Just bet 6 and 8 until someone comes out who looks like he will keep rolling the number for passes.” “Mike knows what’s going on,” man says to his girlfriend.
Oh but last night of the 2 weeks in Nashville, day before Dad sent me the other 500 bucks for the car, sick of the missions slop, hit the fairly Classy Pool room and walk out on a 25 dollar bill with a great thick steak in my belly. Shit can happen while on the streets, with nowhere to call home, except the couch on the back side of the pool room.
Charitable Donations to keep spreading the rekindled not moral enough to kill bench movement.