Kevin's Rainy Spring Day

 

It’s a rainy April day.

Kevin nags to go outside,

but Mom knows this means extra work

mopping wet muddy floors,

making a hot lunch to warm cold bones,

and a dryer load of wet Kevin.

But Kevin wails on

and, in spite of diversion

with TV cartoons,

and that fishing show he likes;

whining insistence wins,

and Kevin gets his way.

Flannels under the yellow slicker,

warm socks, and rubber boots,

with admonition to not “go crazy,” 

splashing in mud puddles,

Kevin is sent out, warned to heed

“Kevin, it’s time to come in.”  

Quickly, Kevin’s world just opens up

like nearby tulips just straining to bloom.

The rain makes ping ping ping on his rubberized jacket,

and Kevin immediately “goes crazy,”

 jumping in the first big enticing mud puddle.

Ah, yes;  freedom !

His smile grows when he sees Kimberly Caseman

just down the street, all resplendent in flowery pink rain poncho,

her blond ringlets under a hoodie, in turn under a Dora hat.

She struggles with her umbrella trying to hold on

as she does “double Dutch” to swings

of rope twirled urgently by Cece and Ellie .

Kevin’s vision narrows to Kim’s coquettish smile

as she sees Kevin and gets caught in twisting rope.

Kevin sees his opportunity and immediately

makes grand splashes in a particularly inviting puddle,

drawing the girls all into a conga line of puddle splashing,

to many girly giggles, and secret satisfaction by a posturing Kevin.

But Kim and Cece and Ellie quickly

lose interest in this boyish diversion,

and leave to stroll down and watch 

through the rivulet drawn-upon beauty shop window,

as salon women inside go through harried rigors of fashion,

being washed, pulled, wrapped, and combed.

Kevin has lost his audience,

and puddles have lost their fascination.

That rain is really getting cold,

so Kevin goes in, 

knowing Mom has hot soup

and dry clothes.

With promise of more rainy days,

for now, inside, with his fishing show; 

just looking outside the rain spotted window,

and with maybe a nap under the warm sofa throw,

are all just cool enough for Kevin,

spending the rest of this rainy spring day. 

Pondering Taycheedah

Black and white uniform

birch sentries stand 

along view denying fog

shrouding an older GMC, 

odious grayward rumbling,

trundling, along chassis pelting 

gravel road, sounding cadence to 

a timeless sad blue tide inside. 

Soon through a strong iron gate,

disgorging more tidal denial to

the dark cerulean ocean inside

Taycheedah Correctional.

Only processing serves welcome

as cold fishy eyes consider bleak future.

There are no clocks,

only regimen to ponder

isolation constrains

for some a reckless 

wanton adolescence,

netted by some usury lover,

Or swimming to selfish greed,

perhaps yet even moral disregard .

All this bland flotsam floating 

unnoticed by our world

still cries out to color

an unlistening world:

You cannot imprison 

hope.                                                - Jerry Wendt 2021

Taycheedah is a Federal Prison for women in Wisconsin

    

 To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Having my Covid first vaccination , I noticed a sore shoulder; expected and similar to the annual flu shot.  But, I also noticed a feeling of fatigue; Being tired.  So at 5:30, I turned in.  The usual senior restroom visits punctuated my sleep until 12:02am .  ( I remember looking at the bathroom clock) In a drowsy completion of my business, I went back to bed and fell back asleep very quickly.  And this is where my story starts.

I was in a car with office associates giving me a offered lift to the train station,  but got diverted in conversation, and went about two miles out of the way, whereupon driver Tommy let me out to walk back, while they continued home.  It was country highway and on one side there were large modern homes, but on this other side it was long stretch of abandoned old homesteads all about a century old.  Already late, and in no hurry, I took interest in these venerable old estates , wondering what life in them had be like.  I walked up a particularly appealing one and found a basement built-out old door open.  I stepped inside.

It was all old timbers and hewn joists. and smelled in mustiness of neglect and aged wood, but it was mostly clean , except for dust.  Most of the rooms were bare excepting small bits of left behind bits and pieces. Nothing of interest.  “One more door and I leave,” I said, entering a corner room .

This room was all shelves , with paper folders sandwiched together on them like in the old days; doctor’s patient files.  I took one down and it was bills, statements , and letters filed from some long ago industrial firm.  Many had cursory, almost calligraphic, writings,  so I knew them to be very old.  Many were deteriorating and dog eared.  I saw dates back to the 1800's.

No interest here, so I delved into another shelf in a different stack. Wow, I was astounded .  Opening a folder I found sheets of paper.  Deteriorating, wrinkled; torn and dog-eared  All with watercolor depictions, along with hand written poetry on the pages; stunning, delicate paintings with delightful, inspiring words.  I was smitten.  I leafed through many and then into a similar neighboring file, I found many were inscribed with the name Robert Casey.  The man had such talent.  Further browsing found dates.  Mostly 1905 and years around that one.  I spent what had to be a long, long time leafing through regaled at these priceless treasures.

They had better to deserve by being in the public domain.  To have others enjoy them.  Guilty only for a scant moment, I took one stuffed folder and made my exit.

I woke up.  It was 3:30 in the morning, an unheard of length of time for me to slumber through.  The dream endured in my memory, although I have no recollection of anyone named Robert Casey,, a similar road and old houses, or ever seeing a folder of poems and watercolors.  This had to have been constructed from a shuffling of mind in the subconscious.  I took time to make brief notes of my journey , writing them down on an envelope, knowing if I did not right then and there, by morning it would all have flown away. 

So was this a result of some Covid vaccination affect?  A random confluence of some forgotten memories?  I do not know , nor do I have reason to delve further.  The trip was so real and so wonderful, and this writing will serve as my memory jog of the vast strangeness of the human mind, and of our extant creative ability.  Yes, it was all in color.  And , geez, the beauty of those watercolors.... 

-Jerry Wendt 2021

The scribbled jot down

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