THE FIST AMENDMENT

DISCLAIMER : This little ditty does not really have a big finish or anything. it just happened.

Couple things we need to get straight ,right away. first, I have led a colorful and weird life. this is not a brag , or a complaint. it's just true. so things that happen to me , will probably never, ever happen to you. which , on the whole, is a good thing. secondly, because I possess this odd ability to be many things to many people , I am able to trade in some sort of unseen karmic favor trading and by and large get away with things that seem impossible to most people. but, most of you have seen this in action, so I don't think further explanation is needed. so, here we go.......


   When I was a kid, my grandfather picked up a lot of the manly raising me duties. along with the hoodlums and greasers ,then the hippies and militants that my mom attracted.it was a weird and wonderful mix. but, my grandfather was the shit. escaped Hitler's Germany, started over here with nothing. really a quite man. but also, the toughest sob when it was needed. I was about twelve when i saw him knock out a drunk at the bar we were in. looking for my drunk father. the guy had been getting loud for a bit, but he said something to his woman friend that my grandfather did not approve of. he was asked to repeat it. he did, and my grandfather dropped him with one punch. the bartender says " Herm! what the hell? you can't knock someone out because you don't like what their saying! this is America, not Germany!" to which, my grandfather replied," the government says you can say whatever you want in this country. I know. however, I am not the government. and don't you tell me this isn't Germany, you son of a bitch,I left there to come here. you will never see me again." and we walked out of the little red schoolhouse tavern for the last time. my entire family never went back, except for my asshole father. that had to hurt a little. we drink a lot. my grandfather explained to me, that sometimes, you just know when to hit someone. and when you do, stand behind it. he could see i was confused and told me," don't worry, you aren't like your father, hitting everthing.you are like me. you know the difference.dont be afraid you are like him. You will never be like him."

so, all that stuck with me, and leads me to my response to the duck dynasty shit from a few months ago. And, things in general.

So, around 1987/88 , I am working the door at exit. I am ,of course, king of the world. I run a pretty good party out there. if you were there, you know. but along with being the gatekeeper, I make people feel like they're part of it all. Because they were. everyone brave enough to show up was welcome. People trusted me to keep them safe. And I tried to respect that and at the same time, wanted everyone to feel included,,even if other people that were there made them uncomfortable. its a skill.

Anyway, one of the things that was normal to me, but would never be to most people, was my relationship with the hard core bikers that came in. the Outlaws sometimes, but mostly the Hells Henchmen. now patched over to the Hells Angels. for whatever reason, the level of trust between us was pretty high and i valued that trust and respect very, very much. when these guys came riding up, six at a time, I knew it was going to be show time. Little John was the president, and he ran a pretty tight ship. he and i had an agreement on colors and guns. he would tell the guys that before going in,it was ok to give me their guns ,and turn their colors inside out before going in.the fact that i knew they turned them back around as soon as they got inside, and had other guns was not the point. respect for me and my job was the point. and I showed them the same in return. they had my back many nights, and always tried to keep an eye on everything inside too. they would come get me if something started. Out of respect. so, that's where we were in the time the following happened: a student at the art institute created a piece that got some major press coverage. it was called how to display the American flag. Or something close to that. anyway, it consisted of a guest book on a shelf, and to write on it, you had to stand on the flag that was on the ground in front of it. it looked like this:

I think you can imagine the way the Henchmen took it.

So,  everyone in Chicago is talking about it. my take ,back then was ,first amendment above all else,fuck censorship, freedom of speech! Freedom of speech! and the art institute took a lot of flak for keeping it up. the kid who did it called himself Dred Scott. he got relatively famous ,fast. now that he's known and people start kissing his ass,he starts coming to exit somehow. first night I meet him, its just hi how you doing stuff. then, he starts coming in pretty regularly. and bringing people. and acting like a star. ok.fine,i give it to him, he's respectful so far. then, one night the henchmen are there. and he shows up. With his entourage. they all converge at the same time. right in front of me ,sitting alone outside. awesome.it gets ugly quick. i talk it down with the free speech, first amendment stuff.hey,people look at you in your colors and they want you outlawed completely, and you guys fucking love America! Dred is fairly contrite, says he in no way wants to offend anyone, it was a statement on whether we truly do have the right to say whatever we want,etc.. meanwhile,I've got Little John on the corner, explaining the shit storm that will land on them if this goes south, and the club cant take that heat either. détente is reached. they won't  pound him to mush if he stays away from them. that's really all I can hope for. this goes on for a couple of weeks. the Henchmen are always letting me know they will be cool, if he keeps his distance. the fucked up thing is, this kid laughs about it to me when they aren't around. thinks its hilarious they're so pissed. I try to explain to him, they come first to me. he's there on my good graces with them and if it comes to it,im gonna be on their side. Not because i agree with them about his piece, but because we have history born in fire and blood. the kid looks at me like im speaking French . after he leaves me,i realize,thats how people look at the flag. and,fuck everyone, I really don't think a symbol that kids have fought and died for should be treated the same as music lyrics or books. the flag means something more to people then that. now,it means more to me than that. But, peace is kept, and even though this kids a douche bag,i keep him safe. its tiring, but its the right thing to do.

then,another art student puts up a piece. about the late mayor Harold Washington.it looks like this:

not a big deal, really. i loved Harold as my mayor, but i think this is more juvenile than anything else. but, it causes yet another uproar, and this time it gets removed almost immediately from the gallery. by the same institution that let the flag be walked all over. shameful. But, here comes the really fun part: Im getting ready for work the day it gets taken down. Art institute stormed by alderman! is the headline. as I watch, who do I see with the painting in his hands ,but good ole Dred scott! He's there shouting racism and shame on you to anyone who has a camera. i keep this information to myself. a few days go by, Im out front ,the henchmen are hanging out, who comes walking down the street? yep. this time, instead of art school sycophants he's got a pretty good smattering of nation of Islam men with him. i can sense the boys hackles going up. They think he's brought reinforcements for his protection against them. They have no idea about the Harold painting. they all step back, a bit. Not a lot, but some. Dred scott walks up to me like we are best pals. big smile. he thinks he's about to push the envelope in some street /guerilla art scene. i look him in the eye. " what's up?" nothing, got some friends with me. " i see that. i also saw you on tv last week." my look and tone make him deflate for a second. " yeah,that was bullshit,man!,fucking racist shit"

i knocked him into the street between two parked cars, one punch. his friends back up to the left, the Henchmen to the right. I stride over to him. Bend down, and say" you know that's for taking advantage of all the good will you got because of me, right?" you piece of shit.get out of here, before I let these guys take you apart and piss  in your face." the henchmen surround me, take me inside, but me drinks and laugh our asses off. Dred and his crew leave, never to be seen again. Little John asks me what took so long I try to explain about the painting.hes lost, so i say",my grandfather always told me i would know the right time to hit someone. I guess that time was tonight." more drinks, some drugs, and im back outside working, and all is right in my world.

I will never step foot in the Art Institute again.

MARCIA ANNE MATTHEWS

      Jesus , she started out rough. Born six months before Pearl Harbor . Her old man was fifty something when she came around. never supposed to happen. He had been gassed in the first war , it took a toll. Hell, he was already a veteran of some pretty nasty shit before THAT war even started. He fought with Blackjack Pershing . all through France, Belgium, etc. He didn't really have a choice . He was sent to Canada to fight ,because it was that or Australia after the Post Office Easter Uprising. Anyway , he was pretty dead inside for the next couple of decades, and sick as hell. So, she was a surprise. not a welcome one, either ,it seems. He loved her. doted on her. Her mother? not so much. And, as it turns out , she didn't mind telling her so.

So, some pretty awful shit early on. Samuel treated her great. Then, he took a bad turn and was gone by the time she was six. Venetia didn't have a problem letting her know what a burden she was. The living was hard. single mom, waitress at a shitty hole in the wall. Then, it got really bad. Venetia got sick. Hard. No other family here in the states. So, off to the orphanage she goes. it was Dickensian to say the least. You know what it was, I'm  not gonna pile on. She got to say goodbye to her mother at least. In the consumptive ward of a charity hospital. Eight years old. They force her into a room to say goodbye. Her mother laying there, Blood coming out of her nose and ears. My Mother never got over that. How could she? So, now she's all alone. no family. She gets to spend the next ten years in ward of the state limbo. It's ugly. She settles in finally, at a widows place. Purely for the money. She gets it. .Prefers it to the humiliating orphan showcases she's gone through. And, through it all , she tells herself " someday, ill have my own family. I will love my kids. I will get through this " And she does.

She loves Rock and Roll. Saves her. She finds a family with the hoods and the greasers.She feels safe. And she is. Until she marries my father.

He drank. and hit. she left. in 1967 she was working part time at the psych hospital as a typist. Sister Assumpta took her under her wing. and told my mother life was to short,and precious to let me see that. A catholic nun .back then. amazing. Marcia got us out. worked full time.1.35 an hour. But, it changed everything. it sounds like a cliché , but I don't care , we were dirt poor ,but happy. we lived in a shack between the river and the railroad tracks. seriously, the river came into the house when it rained, and the tracks were no more than thirty feet from the front door. But, we had love. Lots of it.and Christmas. The first Christmas my mother ever celebrated was with my fathers family. she had never seen a tree inside before. Or presents under it. she was twenty. until the day she died, my mother loved Christmas like Scrooge after the visits. So, what im saying is, she got handed a bunch of shitty things early on.

Here's the thing....She was the happiest fucking person I've ever met.

Growing up, I hung out with greasers , hoods ,hippies ,black panthers ,migrant workers, hells angels ,rock stars , nuns ,priests ,doctors, Gay ,straight , blue collar regular Joes. and, I learned from them all. My mother didn't have the family she dreamed of to get her through hell. she got a better one. and, so did I.

My life ,up until this very second,has been filled with love and adventure and thirst for more. more knowledge,more people,more moving,more fun,more love. and still, I hear her voice " I think you should try that,and see what happens. you always do the right thing"

END


so, if you read this,i think of you as family. parts of this are going in the book. a little more fleshed out. I was just inspired to say something today. and I wanted to share it. this is just a love note ,I guess.its not for publication.but,i needed to tell a story,or go mad. thanks for looking.



  

Well, I'm not sure this is a great idea . I'm not sure it's a bad one either. but ,you know me, and I trust you , or you wouldn't be here. so, here it goes..... I'm going to write things here. most are chapters for the two books im doing. a bunch is for a spoken word thing I may be doing. my pal Diana has invited me to give it a try, and after we talk,im hoping she thinks its something we can do. and,theres going to be from time to time, some rough ideas for scripts for tv show ideas. I have an irrational fear of letting anything I write be seen until its published. which ,I have come to realize is just a sort of bullshit excuse for being lazy. so, with your indulgence and patience , im gonna toss stuff up here. I hope you dig it. this is new to me, so who knows how it'll work out. but, I hope it stays interesting. also, as you may have sussed out already,im not big on editing or formatting when im at this level. sorry. that will probably get better, but no promises. thanks for looking.