In 1981 Sylvia and I took a trip with Frankie Edith Parker-Kerouac to Lowell, Mass.. Jack's first wife and much of the nucleus for the forming of the Beats in the 1940's at Columbia University. This is the prose piece I did remembering that trip dated 1981.
An Eastern Spell: Saga of Jack & Edie
Prose by: Dale DeVoss
Act 1
Take stage the traveling artisans of a new age, and
on to Melville’s ghost with our Kerouac spirit guide!
And Frankie heard a voice “Don’t call anyone,
just come”.
Tho signs already are saying “O Woe to us”……
Rain miserably pelting the windshield
Winters’ breath panting its cold grey
bleak dullness of rolling dark clouds!
This is an old dream in which we dash
across eastern highways to a mad pounding
B E A T !
“Jack had bedroom eyes-lazy eyes. O no not electric,
his eyes got angry w/Ginsberg at all that serious
intellectual Bop talk- not so much w/Neal-they just
talked about life”.
Now thoughts of Jack & Neal are flickering ol’ time
movies in the back of my mind and I forget that I’m
driving and the fierce wind, rain and truck drench &
“O my God” from Edie in the back seat & suddenly I
lose power & I pull over to 401 weigh station- another
foreboding omen. Luckily enclosed phone booth welcomes
the wet-soaked traveler. But now what do we do?
Rain uncontrollable as I run like idiot from phone booth
to car. Syl’s running towards me with wet streaming hair
all over her face looking at me with my idiot orange hooded
face that blankly projects the sad call for help look-
BUT-
The car finally starts & let’s make a break for the nearest
town. “O my God” from Edie- “Well if you think it’s best”.
The wounded chariot limps to old farm gas station of nowhere.
King cretin & dwarf hooded assistant sez with shifty eyes-
“Sure we can fix it”.
But I know it won’t be today. So what to do when dismal rain slaps
the pavement of forlorn corner of Forgetmesville.
This is still act one of shuffling players & there’s no director.
“Okay, let’s get out of here and make it to the next big town”.
A sigh of doubt from weary souls.
We actually make it to Brampton, Canada and now it is snowing
as hard as it was raining just an hour ago. We trudge from one
car lot to the next in search of the right one & look like exiled
children in search of their lost families and homes.
Act II
Morning now as the sun streaks through the narrow passage Edie
allows & I feel very comfortable-
“Boy did you hoot and howl last night in your sleep”
“Just continuous motion of mind playing out this B movie I’ve
been in so far” & a grin to match-
But it’s a beautiful morning so unlike yesterday of sad & hopeful
first day & then we’re gone-like that!
Now it’s just 4 hours to Jack’s old haunts & I celebrate by buying
a six pack of Genny Cream Ale less than $2.00 in obscure New York
village with its posters foretelling the Halloween dance at the veterans
Hall &
Whose eyes shall see
Whose body shall show
Shall I tell thee thy time
Of woe?
No-will not scribble the dribble brain notes until aye-eye meets
Lowell’s’ landscape-but be drunk by then matey!
& sheet one mo’ thang-view o’ thousand islands from Canada to New York
full of beauty & mystery-lil’ islands w/lit up cottages & boat houses
private islands & hills of friendly trees & hoot owls-a mystical Indian
spot where now little kitchen lights warm the early evening peace &
it makes me homesick & I must look sulky but no one notices.
1 hour from Lowell now and World Series LA vs. NY & who
really cares? But somehow appropriate for entrance to Textile Town
& Jack & Neal listening on heavenly radio too!
The rain still riveting & drone & hum of radio and then:
ZOOM
into Lowell’s dark & mysterious Sax place-wind howling-leaves scurrying-
and knife cuts through the silence-
“Darn that connector” as twice we’re lost- I burp drunk in back seat-
Welcome Hotel Neon greets us & here is Simon Simpleton
The hotel clerk-
“You know we roll the streets up at 9pm & then dull look from Simon.
Safe refugee as travelers now ease into small easy talk-
“Why do you think Jack liked me” & from the same breath-
“O I found my deodorant” loose sigh of relief chatter &
“call a cab lets hit the Greek joint & eat”-but why call a cab?
“Geesus who’d know better than a cabbie where the hell it is”?
“Take us to the Altholvia please”
“Shore thang” young cabbie eyeballing this young couple & their mother
But quickly to learn not-
“How’s the local beer here”?
“Huh-O we got Schlitz, Bud, Miller Lite & nevermind & he no hear
Of Jack- but Ann Arbor isn’t that where Bob Seegers from?
“Yeah”
“Wow, thought so-seen Sprinsteen lately” & etc, etc
Warm night but dark as we glide over the hills of Lowell & could
that be the Merrimack River over there & wrong restaurant
“what’s the other one’?
“The Olympia”
“O yeah that’s it”& “let’s go”
In the Olympia w/looks from Romanesque eyes as we enter
& Al & Gus serenade the last table of ladies who refuse to
leave- as they shout out their favorite Greek songs & sing
along but no friendly faces here, like trespassing & it’s late
& Al or Gus decides to quit & we eat &
GET!
Act III
Down by the old mills where hundreds of people would sweat
& swear & live to die- huge-giant mills now all being renovated
& our guide explains of new apartments & shops & restaurants
& “Jack wouldn’t like this” from Edie & I agree-
Now the Old Worthen Bar where Edgar Allen Poe drank & used
to pass out drunk in the back & jus’ a quick ale-although it would
be just fine for me to stay right here for awhile-
But the sun & warmth have arrived & Jack has smiled and blessed
our arrival- chatter & more chatter & sips of good beer-
Good! w/clap of hand “Let’s go” our guide says & we’re up like puppets
on a string –
On Lupine Ave. stop to take a picture of Jacks’ house & a voice from
Across the street-“If you want a good picture you can stand on the lawn
& after you take your picture I’ll show you a great picture of Jack”-
Friendly spirit of Jack thru all his works-
Up & over the Mighty Merrimack across the signing bridge the locals
call it & that house there used to be an orphanage-great stoic brick mansion
of some long ago mill giant & right around the corner the station of the
crosses which are in full view & the little grotto w/jesus bigger than life for
all sinful eyes to see & in the dead of night or in a howling storm this would
be a foreboding sight- but with perfect fall east coast afternoon everything
looks gentle & inviting- but now on to gravestone of Ol’ Jack which makes
me realize that there’ll be a stone to mark his old bones- and after all didn’t
he say that he was writing cause we’re all gonna die anyway-and now 12 yrs.
after his death & going by the old Mass. Grave markers some so obscured by
by time w/dead leaves to cover most of the ground stones & its full strength
Jack-this-his October-his leaves golden in the autumn sun & little foot paths
to heaven- Now fingers point to a little clump of fading flowers w/tiny pine
tree & I see a small pumpkin with the letters “Jack” carved in the face, there
is a bottle cap, baby picture, two poems stuck in the ground with a pencil
& an old bic pen- which alls looks like trash except for the pumpkin which
Jack would dig but- I see the name Ti Jean & of course the doomsday date
and I just go
Blank!
Final Act
A night in Lowell w/out much accomplished except to git drunk& we’re
in the fix-em-up mill area gaslight bar & could be anywhere college bar-
We goof & go!
As in a dream it’s Sunday now & time to go- But Edie wants to stay a
couple more days & Syl & I are off on our own as we bid farewell to Edie &
kiss & wave in those goodbye ways that happen everywhere
anyway. The sun is strong early morning Massachusetts & the landscape rolls
by in beauty & greatness, so unlike our entry, & all’s well, & adieu
Jack & Edie!
The Unexpected Arrival
Ghostly moonlight from full moon-
this night!
The shadow of human forms on bed-
Blue eye adding an eeire radiance.
From other room the sound of Ludwig's
Moonlight Sonata,
Phanthom of the Opera playing Bach on
the 12 inch tube.
Two heads, two hearts, wrapped in
heavenly blankets.
Then Bam. He unexpectedly appears
at sleepy door.
Wild eyes and jet black hair cascading
the madmans forehead.
"Well...Ahem...yes... let's look alive here."
1200 miles he drove for this juxtapositon of
cosmic fate.
He wearing the black leather I gave him from
my youth, two sizes too small!.
Now, the Phanthom unmasks and reveals
himself to us.
And beauty stands still and bears it all.
From afar the pounding of the keys
as the Sonata plays on!