No one in town ever really talked much
about her. I suppose that hers was the same story that was being told all over
America. Her mother was a native of Korea and her father was just another
broken ex-marine from the USA and neither one had the courage to give her the
love she desperately needed. So she became another neglected trophy from an
invaded country. Just gathering dust in the corner of Podunkville with the rest
of the souvenirs of war. Lust and alcohol brought her into the world. Heroine
and a razor blade relieved her of it.
There
have been more politicians than you can shake a stick at over the decades, including
our current president, that have used some version of this as their battle cry
to rally Americans. We all know that we want America to be great again, but
what is it that we’re really asking for? What will it take for America to be
great? Are we looking for low unemployment, high wages, stock markets on the
rise, low interest rates or low housing costs? I don’t think any of that makes
a difference. So just what is it that we’re after?
I
think that deep down we all have a longing for the nostalgia of something that
never really existed. That we’re looking for a place where Sherriff Taylor and
Barney weren’t just policemen walking a beat, but kind, trustworthy pillars of
the town who are able to keep all crime at bay without carrying a weapon. We
want Marcus Welby to make house calls and keep each of our ailments and secrets
to himself. We want him to hand us prescription drugs right out of his black
bag and take a watermelon as payment. We want little girls in pigtails saying ‘Goodnight
John Boy.” We’re looking for young lads that are willing to take out the trash
and mow the neighbor’s lawn for a homemade cookie and a glass of milk. We’re
looking for adults that help each other out through the tough times and throw bar-b-ques
to celebrate each other’s victories. We want to have our religion back. Where
we all go to church on Sunday and pray before each meal even in restaurants. We
want to see children kneel at the foot of their beds and thank God for another
day. We want to pledge allegiance to the
flag and have it mean more than just some words. We want drug stores to double
as soda shops and barber shops to be where the quartet practices. Yes, we want
hope, prosperity, kindness, honesty and freedom. But we don’t want to work for
them. We want someone to hand it to us on a silver platter.
So
there is always going to be a politicians telling us they will bring back ‘Main
Street’… that they can make a ‘Great America’. But none of them can ever
fulfill those promises.
Because
small towns and Main Streets are not places to visit, they are a way of life. They
are hidden inside each of us. So let’s search inside ourselves and pull them to
the surface. Only through our
action can we make America Great again.
His heart was formed from the black gumbo that filled the space between heaven and hell
It
was a cloudy and rain soaked day when they lowered Eddie into his 8’ x 3’ x 6’
eternal home. The entire town was in attendance. Most people were still stunned
at the news that our star athlete was dead. To listen to them talk, he was a
saint. More like a God among men, a Messiah sent to us to deliver us to the
Promised Land reserved for those who could call themselves ‘State Champions’.
Every business in town
was closed and every man in town who wasn’t at the funeral was gathered down at
Pappy’s bar. They sat around mourning in their own way, like men without pride
tend to do, over beer and whisky. While every woman in town was busy frying
chicken or making a casserole for after the funeral. All of them crying like
the very heart and soul had been ripped from the town itself.
On the pulpit, Reverend
Delkes was proclaiming that, “God has stretched out his arms and pulled young
Edward James Walters to walk eternally at his side.”
Tears streamed down Momma
Walter’s cheeks. William, Eddie’s father, stood by her side. Teeth clenched and
jaw set so as to show no emotion. Eddie’s sister Mary stood beside them both,
swaying back and forth like the Holy Spirit had entered her body and took
possession of her. The boys wept because they knew any hope of their winning
now was being covered with black gumbo. All the girls cried because they knew
he was their best shot of getting out of this town.
But you and I know the
truth Janice. You and I know what really happened so many years ago. We know
that bastard got exactly what he deserved. But your soul is still tied up in knots
from his hands and I will live with the blood on mine and gladly give more. If
only I could move the clock backwards for you. To that Friday before he ripped
away your innocence.
Like he’d done for 40 years, he placed their breakfast on the table. Since the stroke his wife had little appetite for food. He watched the morning news and she stared out the window. Later, in the garden he picked tomatoes and she watched the sun fall below an orange horizon. He said, “I love you.” She had no reply. As darkness crept in, they undressed and went to bed. When he awoke the next morning she was not at his side. In his frantic search, he found the check from the life insurance company lying unopened on the table
1969 started on a Wednesday and ended on a Wednesday. We should have known something unusual was about to happen when Richard Nixon (later to become the infamous ‘Tricky Dicky’) crawled out of political oblivion to capture the presidency from Humphrey and Wallace. You can understand how he squirmed past us. We were still smack dab in the middle of the Vietnam War. Women inequality and racial discrimination ran rampant through the crew cut heads of white supremacy know as the government. Every street corner became a soap box and every town meeting a cry for revolution.
Things were about to come to a head when down in Hampton, Georgia Chris Cowing, Robin Conant and Alex Cooley had a brilliant solution. They would give us a release from the stress of it all by just giving us the things we did best. So we all traveled to the outskirts of the cities to commune with nature and enjoy some loud Rock and Roll music, lots of marijuana and free love. Thus, on July 4th was born the Atlanta International Pop Festival.
Now I know what you’re saying right
now, “wait a minute ‘Backyard’ we all know that 1969 is known for two things…”That’s
one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” and “Woodstock.” Yes, what
Neil and Buzz accomplished has never been topped for sure. But there were so
many other, and if I might add, more successful concerts across our great
nation. August 30th’s Wight
Festival, September 13th Toronto Rock and Roll Revival and the famous
Altamont Speedway.
Don’t get me wrong, not everything was peace, weed and sex. 1969 had its low points too. The biggest blow to the music industry came in early 1969 when the Beatles played their last show atop the Apple Studio in London. So unfortunately, if for some reason, you hadn’t had a chance to catch them in concert, it was now too late. Meanwhile, out in California, some weird shit was going down. Crazy ass Charles Manson and his merry band of loonies were running around murdering people in their sleep. While back east one of the white male elite senators drove his 67 Olds right into the Pouch Pond Inlet and left Mary Jo Kopechne trapped in the car to drown. Eddy ‘Ted’ Kennedy just goes home and crawls into bed like nothing happened. He gets two months suspension and elected to the senate in every race until his death in 2009.
On the bright side, the Supreme Court ruled that we could keep our porn. Canada’s Montreal Expos joined MLB along with the Padres, Royals and the renowned Seattle Pilots. Also, ATM’s get their foot in the banking door while ARPANET starts the internet race. Oh yes, the US Government declared that there are no little green men visiting us. But come on people, we were all so stoned that there was no way we could come up with the internet, Supersonic jets and ATM’s. We were too busy thinking about the important things like; “Man, you ever wonder if maybe the earth is just a speck of dust floating around in somebody’s living room?” Hell, the little green guys probably flew off across the universe laughing their asses off at how screwed up humans are.
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Jerry Brotherton 