Berry Patch

 

Behind old closed Bauer Oil Company
lay a field too overgrown for most,
untended by long gone owners,
but treasured by me;
though only in high summer.

Clad in denim and long sleeve flannel,
defying the cruel sun
to avoid stickers and skeeters,
I would venture forth,
entangled within branches of thorns.

Armed with my big plastic bucket, 
unwieldy in the carry,
dragging unstuck from branches
behind me as I trudged
to my intended destiny.

Turning back the lush shadowing foliage were berries,
vast bounty of black raspberries,
clusters each with plump red-black ripeness,
and others white, turning to pink, 

beckoning to return soonest to another ripe crop.

I would meander through with glee,
my secret treasure unknown here right in town.
I’d pick and taste, pick and taste,
fingers purple ,pleasuring mouth with a sour sweetness,
savoring the ambrosia of my forage.

The bucket full, wiping sweated forehead,
I’d trundle home, hoping not to be discovered,
by prying neighbors wanting to know
the what and where of my bounty.
I’d slip inside and shed soaked skin to coolness

After brief respite it was time.
Separating unripened berries and wayward leaves out,
berries measured into bowls and bags, destined for pies and crisps,
others frozen to another day’s enjoyment,
my journey was both satisfying and annual rite of passage.

My “ownsomeness” while privately rewarded
was passed forward ,sharing efforts to thankful friends
and reaping reward for that charity,
while keeping to myself this custodianship.

holding to kindred spirit with my private earth.

For such a small thing
this berry picking lives beyond, 
so that Bauer being long razed,
And the property now new City Hall,
The memory still causes salivation. 

L-1011, Phoenix, and Burgers on the Plane

The Lockheed L1011 Tristar was a milestone aircraft.  It was sleek and looked elegant. It had innovative safety features and automated landing system and advanced avionics.  It was a widebody 3 engine aircraft with a lower level galley and elevators.

Back in the 1950's Lockheed had bet its future of the Electra 4 engine turboprop.  It was a luxurious speedy and powerful aircraft but it was the dawn of the jet age.  Boeing introduced the 707 jet and it captivated the world.  Douglas and its DC-8 and Convair and its Coronado 880 followed in rapid succession leaving the now passe' Lockheed prop plane with no orders.  It was a set back that lasted over 11 years.  

Then,  American Airlines set out specifications for a three engine jet. At that time Law required two engine aircraft to fly only within 30 minutes of an airport, leaving them forbidden for transoceanic travel.  Lockheed saw the opportunity and immediately went to work engineering the Tri-star as it’s financial salvation.  The plane was well on its way to certification when Rolls Royce went insolvent and the engine problems delayed Lockheed.  Meanwhile Douglas realizing they were behind, stepped up development of its three engine DC-10 and the plane went from paper to flight certification in a unheard of ten months.  It had intrinsic design problems that were to plague it.  The freight doors had hinge problems that causes them to ter away causing several notable fatal crashes .The electrical and control cables were in the main cabin floor over the cargo hold and when pressure differences caused the floor to buckle, controls world sever making for a irreversible loss of aircraft control.  Douglas put great effort into solving the problems .  It was, at basic levels,  inferior to the Lockheed aircraft, but Lockheed had two major hindrances. First, American Airlines still opted to buy the much cheaper DC-10 and others feel in line hindering Lockheed sales to TWA, Eastern (who bankrupted shortly after) and Delta Airlines.  Second design weight became an issue with the reality of heavier load weights than anticipated.  The plane was underpowered and slower.  I recall early on, when TWA was operating the 1011's to hot climates like Phoenix and Las Vegas, many times high temps would cause the airline to block off seats to allow for a maximum takeoff weight to enable hi temperature take off.  In the end the loss of sales caused Lockheed to never recover as a commercial aircraft manufacturer and the Tri-star was the last commercial aircraft they would ever build.

In 1977, TWA wanted to promote it’s new “darling” aircraft and so, as one of their largest accounts, our company was invited to a junket to Phoenix.  Also given our business volume, unlike other familiarization trips TWA organized, we were allowed to customize ours as to schedule, hotel, food, etc.  So we had accommodation at the small Royal Palms Hotel on Camelback which was privately owned and was a luxury boutique hotel that was having difficulty competing with the new mega resorts being built in Scottsdale.  But it was unique property with “casitas” as well as standard hotel rooms .  It had a old Southwest vibe with a small golf course attached, gardens, two pools and a nice restaurant with terrazzo called Orangerie.  It sat right on Camelback Road with a  grand view of Camelback Mountain. We had negotiated rates there and it was offered in our Phoenix travel packages, so we were given Royal reception.  The trip featured a jeep tour through the Sonoran desert, dinner at touristy Pinnacle Peaks with a ceiling of cut-off neck ties and a  western shoot-out in the cowboy town shopping area , a fabulous sunset dinner seated in carved out areas on the side of the mountain at The Pointe at Tapatio Cliffs, and shopping at the fabulous Fashion Square Mall (where they had a perfumer "nose" to concoct unique scents .  

One attraction we were intent on was to see the new first Star Wars Movie “A New Hope” which premiered that May.  The hype was tremendous and the crowds unheard of .Given Phoenix heat we decided a midnight showing would be our shot.  So did most everyone else.  The lines stretched around the block.  It was still almost 90 degrees out By the time we neared the front of the line they announced the only few seats available were the first two rows.  We took them.  So late in May 1977 I sat in the front row of a Phoenix theater tired from the busy day watching this fantabulous film looking up at the screen a few yards in front of me.  I left thrilled but with a tremendous neck ache and headache .  But we saw it.

Finally going home , we were hungry and not knowing if the airline was serving full lunch we got shopping bags full of Big Macs and fries from McDonald’s on the way to the airport.  TWA h ad set up our L1011 with the aircraft’s innovative wonderful feature that allowed for first class seats in the center section to swivel , setting up a luncheon seating around tables they could position on floor mountings.  So here we were,  seated around three tables for four, with our McDonald’s food.  After takeoff Cabin attendants serving drinks came to take our food order.  We opted, instead for our McDonald’s, which Cabin staff didn’t mind, as it made their job easier.  Other First cabin passengers smelled the burgers and fries and a couple asked if they could have that.  Given we had these shopping bags of burgers we said sure, so most of that flight that day had a first class meal of McDonald’s burgers.  That story alone made the trip noteworthy.  It was another epic journey

Poolside at The Royal Palms

Pinnacle :eak cowboy town  shops

Pinnacle Peak restaurant with cut off neck ties on ceiling

The Point at Tapatio Cliffs where seating is in areas carved out of the mountainside

Tapatio Cliffs dining outside at sunset

Jeep tour of Sonoran desert

Our wild and crazy group with President Sid far left at the Royal Palms

Poolside at the Royal Palms

Our Homeward bound Lockheed Tri-Star

First class on L-1011 with center swivels that can have a table installed...

Dining tables where the repast in our case was......

Big Mac's and fries for all !

One Night By A Koi Pond

The Koi Ponds at Honolulu Pagoda Hotel

Jim Bailey as Judy Garland

 

1974  Hawaii.  Staying at the lovely "grand  old  lady "The Royal Hawaiian Hotel,  iconic pink palace with a lush gardens all around in defiance to the close quarters from encroaching hi- rise luxury hotels. Staying in the old section that I loved-  louvered windows captured sweet breezes off Waikiki beach outside while double doors enclosed a space you put your shoes in overnight so they could be shined for you and placed back with the paper the following morning.   Out front evenings,  busy Kalakaua Avenue became a center of music and Mai-Tai soaked entertainment . Right across the street from the Royal was The International Market Place, home of "Duke's " nightclub, permanently hosting the "Don Ho Show," he being the local legend, singer of "Tiny Bubbles.” 

But my destination was not in that complex. I stopped at the lei stands out front of the hotel, about to close up for the evening, offering their fragrant Plumeria, White Ginger, Pikake and Orchid lees on clearance. I got five of my favorites for a buck apiece and walked about 5 blocks to Kalaimoku and than a block over to Kuhio. There, in the heart of Waikiki was a block square fenced-in area under an old spreading Banyan Tree containing the largest gay bar in Hawaii- “Huila’s Bar and Lei Stand”   The music had beat ,playing loud enough it could be heard on the street attracting tourists and locals.  Many saw the club was gay and left, but many stayed joining in the sound and light in open air making it a diverse crowd.  I enjoyed it.  It was there a fellow who sized me up and we struck up conversation .  There was a saying back then ; “drop your beads,” that meant you made inference to being gay to another person   so both knew there were “possibilities,” or, at least a kindred spirit.   “Beads fell” but It was soon apparent to me that this was not going to be anything more than a conversation .  The fellow did tell me I needed to get myself over to The Pagoda Hotel where the lounge there was featuring this young entertainer doing a really neat impersonation of Judy Garland. 

The next evening I taxied over to the Pagoda Hotel, an out-of-the way hotel near the Ala Moana Shopping Center in Central Honolulu.  The hotel main attraction was a series of lush Koi ponds, and a popular cabaret.  A young, early in career Jim Bailey (about 35 then) was in a 5 week stint at the hotel along with opening act, Kip Addotta, who was  beginning his own career in stand up comedy ( He was 30 then, like me)   Cover was only $20 with a 2 drink minimum.  It was a surprisingly nice place.  

Addotta did about 30 minutes in a staccato Shecky Green manner .  He wasn’t that comfortable with himself at that time, though he soon was opening for major talent in Las Vegas.  I wanted time to reflect on his stories but he paced so rapidly he was already into another before my laugh welled up .   It was pleasant, but over my second gin and tonic,  I was hoping that Hula’s encounter hadn’t led me astray.  I didn’t know at that time, but Bailey had already been introduced to the country with an appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1970  He did have following already.  He had been opening for major talent in Las Vegas, and by now had started becoming the opening act at The Flamingo and Thunderbird.  His fame wasn’t yet such that this room was packed , but it was well attended with a youthful upscale crowd.

The live combo struck up “The Man That Got Away” and curtains parted to reveal “Judy Garland,”  A startling ,absolutely spot on ,“JUDY GARLAND,” radiant and smart in a short hip topper; red green and blue sequined jacket over black pencil skirt, smoke stockings,  and patent pumps.  That voice !   Blew me away.  It was, to me, watching Judy Garland live.  I cannot adequately tell you how lost in that show I was.  As the Garland songbook wafted on, I was mesmerized.  At a bit over an hour, there was a finale . I cannot recall the song, but I do recall her return for an encore of “Over the Rainbow.” Wow.  Sustained standing ovation.  House lights up.  I sat down.  I did NOT want that to be over and just leave .  I walked around outside smoking by the Koi Ponds, before having the doorman hail a cab back to Waikiki.  Drained,  but so happy to have had  this experience

The next day I called the Pagoda at 11 when the box office started accepting reservations.  I wanted to; no, I was GOING to go again.  But I was crushed as I found Bailey alternated nights doing Garland with other shows doing Barbra Streisand and Phyllis Diller on altercating nights.  He would not reprise Garland until three days later. My flight home was in two .  I would not see him again.

Jim Bailey went on to become a major star, first , as opening act for the likes of Diana Ross, and Dean Martin and then as his own headliner at Vegas hotels like Caesars Palace, The Desert Inn, The Sands, Harrah's, and The Dunes.  He became  A European sensation at the London Palladium and played Carnegie Hall 9 times in his career.  Bailey became friends with the people he impersonated; Diller and Streisand.  He entertained the Queen and was acclaimed iconic entertainer of this time by the L.A. Times.  As late as 2009, he honored the 40th anniversary of Garland’s death with a performance, ( He had been a personal friend of hers until her death in 1969) and he continued doing AIDS benefits throughout all  his remaining  life.

Jim Bailey died in California at 77, On May 30th  2015 of a heart attack brought on by pneumonia.  He wanted to be remembered not as a female impersonator but as an “illusionist,” because he sang all  songs in his own voice emulating the style of his illusions.  Many who knew him would relate that when Bailey was in his illusion, even backstage he WAS his illusioned person.  You were not addressing Jim Bailey but you were talking and being with Judy Garland, or Peggy Lee, or Phyllis Diller, or Barbra Streisnad , or later, even Bette Davis.   He even affected their personalities off stage. 

As I sit here on the 5th anniversary of his death listening to Jim sing ”The Man That Got Away” in 1970 , I find comfort and consolation that, because of a serenditpitous encounter in a Honolulu gay bar in 1974, I fell into a night that would become a highlight in my life .  This up-close enchanting evening was spent with a contemporary in midst of path to enchant the world with his astounding illusion of another icon, the great Judy Garland.  

That night I was not only seeing the early development of this man’s talent, But I feel that I was also seeing Judy Garland live and in person. 

Thank-you Jim Bailey, you enriched my life.  I so remember.

Finding Black in a White World

Good Golly, Miss Molly, Little Richard done left the building !

 I have history here. Back when Black musicians could only sell to White record buyers by putting their music inside album covers with white folks pictures on them, Little Richard was out there, being big and being Black.  During the 1950's, in my suburban Illinois town, Black music and Black musicians were unheard of ; that is, all except with my friend Lorraine. Lorraine Berk was shunned and ostracized . But she was feared and respected because "Frenchy," as she was known as in our crowd, wore leather , had her hair greased back into a pony tail and smoked. She gave all appearances as tough .Then , gals and guys like here were called "hoods,"   As in hoodlum.

 Frenchy and I were friends . At first reluctantly, because I was nerdy and in with the drama (actor) crowd at school and Lorraine was a rocker chick through and through.  But our Mom's were long time pals , so Frenchy and I were thrown together to go to the movies when our Mom's visited.  We became friends as we realized we were both common to rejection. I learned Lorraine was just a kid like me, trying to find our way. She had a big heart and she took to me in a protective way.  Others would not mess with me, cause Frenchy carried a blade and she could use it.  So we were pals . To this day I can point out a certain row and seat in the old Lake Theater  (now a legit live venue called Raue Center for the Performing Arts) where "Frenchy" is carved into the side arm still existing some 60 some years later.  Anyway Lorraine was musically w-a-y ahead of the times.

One summer day Her Mom came to My house to visit Mom, and brought Lorraine along.   We had a large portable backyard swimming pool , but Frenchy did NOT affect a swim suit, so instead she suggested we listen to 45's she had brought with in a case.  I had a small plug in portable player so we sat on the back porch to play records.  It was there I learned about and became enthralled with  Black Music. I will never forget that day. Lorraine put on a song called "Personality" by Lloyd Price. Oh, Sweet Jesus, it was sooo cool.  Next, Lorraine puts on Fats Domino. "Whole Lot of Loving.”  This music I had no idea existed. Mainstream was all White.

 And then, it was "Tutti Fruitti,"  and I was gone and hooked forever.  I can't recall after that, when I saw Little Richard actually perform on TV, but when I saw him my attraction took the quantam leap.  "This guy is Queer," I knew in my heart of hearts. Oh, the magazines and even Richard himself all gave his denials, but that eyeliner, those flamboyant costumes, and that demeanor, connected to what I knew about myself , but also didn't admit either until a long after. But that summer day  with Frenchy started a new path and Black Music became a part of my history.   To hear of his death (by cancer at 87)  saddens me, as he really was a "wake-up" in my life.  Frenchy, Black music and Little Richard are part of my-  yes I do call it that- my soul.

Richard Wayne Penniman (December 5, 1932 – May 9, 2020), R.I.P, Little Richard

Trying Times

A very trying two days are over. Starting Wednesday my 2 part prep was a difficult 15 hours, but Thursday at 6:00 am promptly, my companion Bert was at my door and off to hospital.  Reception said we were early (my orders had given the time but the wait was only 20 minutes and then into the day surgery room to gown up and get connected to all the monitors and I.V. )  Told my Gastro had a in-patient short procedure that he was doing first so a wait of about 30 minutes ensued.  Then rolled into surgery.  My last words to the anesthesiologist in his pre op visit was “Don’t do a “Joan Rivers” on me ( Propofol  was the anesthesia for both her and I)

Little did I know.  They had me on the table;, bolstered with all monitors up and running. Those wonderful heated blankets are Heaven in a cold O.R.  Next I know, I’m groggy (this was my 12th colonoscopy and never had that before.  I didn’t remember , but Bert tells me there was a lot of concern and a kerfuffle flurry of activity in my recovery room as a group of staff had difficulty reviving me.  I wasn’t responding . But as I faded back in , outside of the expected flatulence, I had a painful stomach pressure, dizziness, a headache, and loss of bladder control.

An X-ray panel was called for, ,so I was wheeled down for a series of pictures, then back to my room to await results.  While there , an older Phillapina nurse appeared and felt my belly, saying  “Gas” I was surprised as I had experienced that, and the pain was still there,  but thankful for her concern.   While she was not on my designated team she saw all the activity and looked in.  Seems experience trumps education because when the pictures came back and were read, the diagnosis was “trapped gas bubbles .” That wise Phillipina nurse had suggested sitting on the commode but everyone attending vetoed that as they didn’t want a fall risk with the dizziness.

 Now , I asked to get up and go to the restroom and try her recommendation.  Within ten minutes of sitting, I had a series of expulsions...and no more pain.  My Dr called in that the X-rays showed the gas, ( The fancy diagnosos is Splenic flexure syndrome.  They also showed I had over a liter of fluid in my bladder, which was why I had involuntary voiding.  So, with that, I dressed and was escorted to the front door, where Bert took me home (Bless her soul for sitting with me that extended time. )

Today all is getting back to normal, except a aching back -and that with me is normal as I have a bad back anyway, and I know when you are under,  the O.R. moving a person from table to room gurney is like flopping a netted tuna into a bin.  Not gentle.  Bottom line, two small polyps that Dr Joseph says, while weawait a biopsy, look entirely benign.  My takeo n this all: I have decided that this will be tha last colonoscopy I ever have.  I stand on my record on 12 .

That’s my final answer

Jerry Wendt 1/31/2020

Contemplations on My Small Pot

Up for a glass of cold water in the night,
my attention was snared by a little pot
sitting with a bizarre funny little pink alien
ensconced upon its lid,
on my kitchen window sill,
where it has held forth,
unnoticed and disregarded
for the 11 years I have been in this house.

Curious that it reposes in conspicuous sight,
looked at, yet unseen, every day.
I take the  jar and pink guardian
down and sit, reacquainting with my treasure.
The bottom of the wood vessel is inscribed
“Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.  1996,’
and below in flourished letters,
“Carrillo,” the craftsman.

Carved from wood of the Copal tree,
I remember it once wafted forth delightful  aromas
when the lid was removed.
Those smells have  departed now,
along with my waning attention.
But I have renewed my interest
in the polished porcelein-like finish
carvers so value, working this wood.

Bands of subtle faded colors
of blue and green and brown stains
highlight carved folk flowers and leaves,
along with geometric Mayan borders.
A small turned wooden grasp sits atop the lid.
My pot was likely purchased in a gift shop or departure
airport kiosk, brought home, and gifted to me,
a memento of a journey or,  of friendship.

My pot’s companion, a stifled flibbertigibbet,  eye-candy alien,
sat staunch on the lid for as long as I remember.
I cannot recall when and why the two were melded together,
but they now are joined as an old married couple,
unknown as to the why in  junction of the two, and what meaning was sought.
This moment’s new ponderance has awakened thoughts
that maybe my life’s grand puzzle is represented in little pieces like this pot-
important totems that have faded from significance. 

They physically remain, even as we look through them,
just as we do clouds, bookshelves, photographs, and junk drawers.
Now and again they rejoin us as reminders,
“Hey, I’m still here, remember me.”
They tell us our story is not just today’s focused coping,
but precious threads that join us to ourselves, to our friends and to life.
When we depart this realm, along with our memories,
our pots will remain as vexing vessels, artifacts of us.

In this case, my little pink alien sentry
is but a chuckle in the foible and vanity of it all.
This little thing is large part in me,
while sitting on my windowsill, unnoticed consciously,
but still a comfort, bonding me to my life,
and reminding me that all “meanings”
are but joking matters,
reminders that life is not to be taken so seriously.

My attention span broken,
I rise from the table to get furniture polish and  rag
to polish up and renew Carrillo’s pot.
I smile in recollection that nubbin remnants of old “doobies” once filled this pot.
Now, I figure after all these years of being a “It”
my funny alien deserves the dignity of a name,
so, with that, I put my newly burnished pot and a scrubbed up “Ralph”

back in their place upon my kitchen windowsill.

-Jerry Wendt 2020