3. Doing Calypso !( v.3)

 

Charting a course takes some time, discipline and focus. It’s always helpful to have some idea where your vessel is headed. There have been many ships that have departed harbors that were not equipped to handle the unknown sea. Then there are many sailors who lack the skill and confidence for long voyages. Though he was finally getting his bearings Jake’s lack of confidence brought him to a safe harbor on Staten Island. In an attempt to explain his almost religious attendance at selected bars he wrote

 

“The divine created taverns for artistic respite, rejuvenation and redemption”

 

Jake needed all three. Lost souls have special sonar when searching for these chapels of insobriety. Some of these watering holes are famous for infusing courage and wisdom for wandering pilgrims. Most often they are sanctuaries from the storms created by raging gods. If one didn’t drown in a rogue wave a bar could be the place to drown one’s fears.  Dionysus provided the sacred serum sanctifying the artists seeking salvation. All Jake knew was that many of the great writers secured their place in history with the assistance of swigging succulent nectars before , during or after their creative surges . He dedicated himself to be a pledge for a fraternity of the ”new lost generation”. So until he found a way to get to Boston , Frisco , Paris or wherever authors and poets would gather to consume libations heartily , smoke cigarettes vigorously and commiserate fastidiously he affirmed his commitment - to become an official  “AAIT“(Alcoholic Author In Training.) He knew had a lot of catching up to do on all aspects of his vocation. The first step in his formation was to secure a regular seat that was “reserved” just for him at a specified tavern. Once secured the bartender would become so familiar with his regularity that he would automatically pour Jake’s personal preference before he would place your weary bones on the stool . There his compline commenced.

 

As the fates would have it one night another lost pilgrim too numb to move had inadvertently taken Jake’s seat. It was not a night for fighting as Jake relinquished his throne and wandered aimlessly. He wobbled and weaved from one side to the other of the tavern murmuring to himself

 

“ Jut one more Jack D rocks.”

 

Eros disguised as some earthly drunkard in drag shoved Jake right  into the path of  a fellow  “Wanderer” Ed Hule. The Wanderers weren’t a gang, posse or band . They were more like a drifting out of formation gaggle of geese. A lot of honking and little progress on their flights to nowhere while crapping wherever they landed.

 

 A quick look into each others’ vacant eyes and without a second thought Ed said

 

“ Hey, Niebo (Jake’s last name) , Stop right there.” .

 

Like a street magician Ed materialized a brown-eyed girl with baby hair explaining to both how being unattached is not necessary nor a good thing and it only made sense to connect. He delivered them to a table like two lost dogs eager to be fed. Ed departed and would never be seen again. Maybe he knew what was about to happen and split for safety to the coast. Her name was Joan; Jake would call her by her middle name Isabella. She was somewhat familiar with his reputation as he dated her good friend, Edie Parsons,( pre-Mary Lou ) for years. Her friend was the one that proclaimed that the song  “He’s a Rebel” as Jake’s theme song!  Like a mesmerized Manchurian Candidate Jake would raise his denim jacket collar and slipped on his shades and adopted her suggested identity whenever he heard that song of the sirens .The Wanderers then nicknamed Jake “Reb.”  Billy continued to call him “Ish”, short for Ishmael. Jake would come whenever Edie called his name. The betting line wasn’t in favor of Edie and Jake continuing as a couple.

 

Some relationships flourish or die before they even start. Nature and the intervention of the divine can determine the success or failure of a relationship. Jake’s sometimes pseudo -spiritual beliefs provided excuses from having any responsibility abut his own success or fate. God, angels , ghosts or ancient deities were chosen at random as reasons for his own personal success or failure. He was a convenient agnostic or a convenient believer. It depended on the circumstances. But when those holy endorphins kick in nothing can stand in the way of desire. Suddenly he found himself that night at the bar immersed in mystical conversation with Isabella . Social justice ,  theology ,  great books , “should Dr. Zhivago have left his wife” and other such topics and  interrogatories presented by this nymph guided their slow boiling exchange . By the misty morning fog they were imitations of Van Morrison characters with their hearts thumping.

 

She confidently wrote her number on a match book without waiting for it’s request. In return he coyly waited a few hours that same morning after he got home to call her. Jake didn’t want to seem too anxious. One date, two dates, three and before you could spell synchronicity four dates .

 

Isabella was thinking

 

“Good kisser.”

 

Isabella was aware about the danger of curiosity but she needed to know more about Jake. She couldn’t determine what to make of the unsolicited diverse opinions she heard about Jake and his behavior. Lost in her confusion one friend confided that she should get inside story from the only one who probably was aware of what made Jake tick , Sundance. When she finally caught up with Sundance all he had to say about Jake was that when he was in high school

 

"He kept questioning authority until he discovered all of their answers were wrong".

 

When one pictures sailing one doesn’t usually imagine twenty foot waves with forty mile per hour wind gusts threatening all hands on deck. It would also be a while before Jake and Isabella learned how to sail their relationship together in fair weather and foul. Flipping to a blank page on a one candle lit night he scripted

 

“In a dream birds rested from their mutual soaring on the convenient branches preparing to sing praising and celebrating a rebirth , as new light peaked over the horizon .A whisper of unknown origin shined on them  in a voice only they could hear -

 

‘It is time. It is time’”

 

The magical sea that once parted allowing his initial escape was complete again and the desert wandering was nearing it’s end . Jake could smell the sweetness of an unseen promised land.

 

The daily boxes on his wall calendar were filled with scribbles about giving scheduled guitar lessons and playing with the band in bars. There was an exception. Four days near what the church called Laetare Sunday nothing had been scheduled. Jake was ready to fill that void. The future was waiting for him to arrive.

 

Stars look like they align every so often. One doesn’t always need a sextant to know what course to take on an open sea. Isabella was the studious kind and she valued academic success as personal achievement. It was not a surprise for her to stay in Boston for the week prior to exams. A positive RSVP to Sundance’s invitation was becoming a reality. Sundance too was tired of waiting. Besides, Jake and Isabella  were sort of half broken up. “Half broken up” was a state of the relationship negotiated by Isabella during their money and security debates. Love was never an easy game to play for either of them. Jake thought that love was free and could be lot easier to manage if they weren’t encumbered by economic considerations, but the money was both blessing and burden. He planned to sort this all out sooner or later.

 

He started to sing one more song loud enough for Sundance to hear him a 100 miles away,

 

“Hold on I’m coming!”

                                     

 

2. Nestor at the Launching

  Some believe that the path to understanding the divine is holiness. But to get on that path it’s been said that one needs to have an experienced the divine. Some need to find the location of the “path”. Some need a lot more than a few miracles to believe in anything. The more prolific popular professors piously preach promoting possession of the keys to the kingdom. They often only share tidbits of this illumination during class time and office hours. One has to wonder, “What did they really know?” 

Sundance had become disciple of one of these university tweed jacketed pipe-smoking gurus who carefully constructed lessons about discovering balance in the universe. His syllabus was titled “The Ying and Yang of Mystical Musings or How to let your authentic Buddha flourish without really trying.”   Sundance slowly showed signs of self- flourishing. Flowers eventually blossom unless they get caught in an unforeseen early frost.  Individuation can also be cut off by early frosts.  Jake drifted he here and there avoiding flourishing of any kind.  Yearning really doesn’t equate to learning and growing.  A fellow “Wanderer” Al Hendle, a big fan of Mark Twain, used to say

“If you want to see something you need to open your eyes. If you want to feel it …open your heart. If you want to learn you have to let go. But never ever let school interfere with your education.””

Wandering the learning landscape was much like wandering a desert without any clue for Jake. Sundance’s own wanderings had brought him to the shores of Long Island sound under the tutelage of Jesuits anchored at Fairfield University. Jake washed up on the shore of a new retirement home for McCarthy era Ivy-leagued exiles and unknown tier two beat poets in the safe harbor of Fairleigh Dickinson University on an undiscovered estate on “millionaires row” in Jersey. At their high school commencement a used car dealership owner was keynote speaker and advised the inattentive graduates that their time is given to spend and invest wisely. Coupons for the dealership were inserted into the commencement program.

Sundance invested his time analyzing Joyce and pounding out his own poems on his selectric until his ribbon dried up. Jake, a dharma bum in waiting, pounded Millers until the bottles were dried up. He was found singing “Louie Louie” at a dorm party before getting notification of his academic probation. He never worried about his return on investment of his time.

 

Jake informed their high school part counselor/Vice Principal/Latin teacher/disciplinarian that he had no interest in attending any religious affiliated institution of higher learning. Who needed college anyway? The black robed celibate pointed like a Dickens’ living specter of death in a Christmas Carole to a fat over used out-of date catalogue and said,

 

“I can’t help you. Use that book.”

 

It was Jake’s confirmation to agnosticism that day. Earlier, Fr. Adolph, the off the wagon priest who was always ready to flirt with anyone with rose colored cheeks, was an unwitting force driving young men from faith instead of to it. He was the Master of Theology at the newly launched secondary school. Some say Adolph was some type of student-fanatic of the Inquisition. It seemed that he liked to make the most of his subject matter expertise. He directed his captive charges to repeat out loud that the new pop icons, Beatles, were agents of Beelzebub. Together the not quite subservient boys were ordered to chant.

 

“The Beatles are the devil. The Beatles are the devil.”

 

Jake’s heart screamed.

 

“Not true!”

 

Sundance said he ignored Fr. Adolph and couldn’t take him seriously. However, being one who liked to be more safe than sorry, he requested Jake if he could keep his new high heeled black Spanish shoes, better know as “Beatle Boots”, at Jake’s place. He said

 

“ You know, since we practice our music there and all.”

 

Fr. Adolph reminded the boys that slow dancing with girls was a clever satanic invention and thereby qualified as a venial sin. The boys all knew that there is some secret number of venial sins that when added together would equal a mortal sin and mortal sin meant eternal damnation in the fires of hell. Jake knew he was in trouble as his venial sins were quickly adding up. At the time agnosticism seemed a good alternative.

 

Jake liked to believe he learned more by observing nature than reading scholarly texts. Crocuses bloom early and bid farewell as fast as they arrive. Ivy carefully slowly and eventually coats everything it grows on. Wrigley Field’s outfield wall is evidence of slow moving beauty. Trees grow stronger and rivers run deeper over time. Demon Kudzu sprouts with lightning speed covering napping senior citizens or anything standing still for more than an hour. Garden flowers die, eventually. Even some young men grow and learn faster than others and then some never seem to learn.  But, all things change. That’s all one really need to know.

 

In 1966 college acceptance letters may have well been titled “draft deferment.” Some young boys were compelled to a sense of duty and put on the clothes of war and headed east to red soaked rice paddies. Many never returned. Others had another sense of duty and escaped north of the border to the land of hockey and Molson beer. Different voices, different choices. Sometimes the voice rings out like wake up call. Paying attention and being present is a chore for some. Jake who had placed wax in his ears to escape worldly temptations finally listened. He applied to colleges.

 

The feigned wisdom of the titans of higher education compelled eighteen year olds to “declare” their journey to the future by deciding on a major course of study. It was as if this was some realistic sorting point. More than a few paths diverged in the road ahead that would have befuddled Frost. Ultimatums usually do not facilitate good outcomes.

 

“Not to decide is to decide”

 

was a theological precept Billy Barrows had written in select yearbooks of those who opted out of not continuing their education and who returned emotionally wounded or not at all from their duty to serve a country right or wrong. Billy wrote something else in Jake’s yearbook. Three flips of a coin, two dart throws and a few Millers later Jake checked of “History” as his course of study.

 

“Why not?”

 

It was Al, the secret muse to many of the Wanderers, who advised Jake on a number of decisions who counseled

 

“When in doubt. …guess with confidence and don’t turn back!”

 

Basketball, banjo, books and blues harps all had one thing in common, Al Hendle. During the high school years every morning Al would bounce, bounce and bounce his basketball down the street to the school bus stop. Jake was always late darting out from behind to catch up.

 

“Hey Al!”

 

Dribbling a ball was like breathing and without missing a bounce or breath. Al would dribble - talk of books he’s devoured and recall obscure folk and blues artists that shook his soul. Jake transfixed, soaked it all in. Al was the one who sneaked Jake an old brown paper bag covered copy of “Catcher in the Rye. “ Jake finally found the well he had been digging in the desert for, to quench that long yearning thirst. He drank up every last word and became addicted. Sundance and a few of the  “wanderers” saw Jake the “perpetual slow meandering caterpillar” begin to change that day. He was unaware he was waking with wings. Billy would remind Jake of that transformative moment years later. Billy had a great memory for things like that.

 

Al continued to counsel and cajole Jake encouraging him to change his mind and select “English” as a field of study. Jake wasn’t too sure. They say that Jake’s eyes were just like Al’s. They often saw things the same way. ”One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest” and “Catcher in the Rye” had become the texts for Lectio Divinia for both boys. In senior English in high school Jake was found guilty of sneaking a read of the “Catcher in the Rye ” tucked inside and oversized binder. His penance for this sin was detention for not being attentive in class. He also had to write down every word Father Adolph, who also taught English, would scroll on the blackboard about “Understanding Poetry” by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard. Jake’s learned lesson wasn’t exactly what the school intended. Unanswered questions build pressure to the point of bursting. Sundance was convinced that Jake was headed for day shift work after graduation. For Jake studying literature or anything as a college major didn’t seem like a good idea at the time.

 

Before books and music it was movies that inspired Jake. One of his favorites was “The Great Escape.” Jake realized that in life great escapes need great plans. Then again sometimes when you get the urge to go you just got to go. He finally considered that college just might be his freight car, his eighteen wheeler or his motorcycle jumping prison barbed wire to escape to no where. A small nowhere college in nowhere Louisiana had accepted Jake and gave him a few dollars as a scholarship. 1000 miles from home. It was perfect. An island retreat from the busy-ness and temptations of the gods. Free at last! There was one-minute detail he had selectively forgotten. It was Circe in the form of Mary Lou, who had reeled in Jake on a no release barbed hook in high school. She was the Yoko that really broke up the Wannabes and had become a barrier between Jake and Sundance. She always acted is if she knew exactly who she was and where she was going. She stayed north for college majoring in debutantism and if Jake really loved her he would stay within a days driving distance from her. That’s how nymphs measure commitment …access, driving distance and of course dinner at restaurants where you had to make a reservation. Like most escape plans Jake’s evaporated as Mary Lou left for her small girls school in the hills of Pennsylvania in September. Jake complied staying a few hours away at a Jersey landlocked island of Greek soothsayers. Mary Lou disappeared by the end of her first semester. Jake didn’t hear her voice anymore and she appeared only in his darkest dreams. Rumors spread about a pregnancy. He had lost his heart and almost his soul. Jake said he didn’t think twice about it. Truth- lies, lies - truth, either way something died.

 

In an attempt to rise above his collegiate Sartresque melancholy he committed to escape into his “studies.” This was first thing he had done well in a long time. Though he jumped into the rabbit hole of learning he panicked and failed to make the first hurdles of English and History courses he had taken. Redemption might be available for one who seeks it, so he sought to repeat the challenges of both courses instead of sunbathing and bar hopping that summer. The true end had not yet arrived and the true beginning was yet to start.

 

Mother nature’s son was lured into a false state of security while end of ordinary time. Leaves loosened themselves sooner than expected in the ninth month. The constant chilled autumn rain encouraged the process along. Wet yellowed- orange -red floaters drifted by the portal of the most difficult mentoring in college at the launch of his second year. The one eyed one eye-patched professor also known as Dr G, reared his head. He was the one professor of literature everyone dreaded. When Dr. G spoke the passive pilgrims pre-occupied with prurient possibilities perversely clasped onto their dictionaries praying to follow the flow of the words without getting any more lost than they already were.  It seemed that Dr. G’s single purpose was to consume as many students as possible. Students in his English classes were forced to repel deeper and deeper into the source and purpose of every piece they read. There was no escaping from this dark deep classroom in the basement of the former mansion. When fear replaces hope quick endings are never guaranteed. Jake knew that unsheathing his pen to do battle would be a futile defense but it was all he had.

 

Dr. G thrived on surprises. But it was no real surprise when he assaulted the collect of demanding a paper to be written about the experience of birth. Jake prayed for a quick painless academic death. He thought he might assist the process by submitting only  

 

Birth is the process

Of being released

From on box

Into another

In preparation

For the final one

Six feet under.

 

Dr. G bent his head forward to glare with his one good eye over his Ben Franklined glasses hungry to devour his next student . Jake trembled to the core as he was summoned for a private audience with Dr. G after class. Into the dark underworld of the unknown he sweated slowly stepping  into the inner sanctum of Dr. G.. Jake knew he had finally gone too far in tempting the gods and was sure to be expelled to Hades or worse. Dr. G asked,

 

“ Did you write this?”

 

Tears started to run up and down Jake’s breasts.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What’s your major?”

 

“History”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Do you like to read?”

 

“Yes”

 

“What?”

 

The safe answer

 

“Mostly historical fiction”

 

“What’s your favorite book?

 

Honesty was about to burst forth…

 

“Catcher in the Rye.”

 

Dr. G. reached inside to his chest vest pocket and produced a completed form feeding it to Jake charging him to make haste in its delivery to the registrar.  Jake was convinced it was a dismissal form with a “We don’t like your kind here, kid ” typed on top. Banishment! The end!

He looked at the paper and saw something different above the doctor’s signature. It was the Doctor’s prescription for what had been ailing Jake. The compass that had been spinning uncontrollably finally pointed true north. Dr. G prescribed that Jake carry the shield of a warrior English major.  Al ‘s intuition was proven right, again!

When Sundance heard the news he made a list of the top 100 books for Jake to read. Jake just exhaled for the first time in months.