Everybody has had their eyes wide open. I knew since I was drifting the high plains town to town that we were a country in flux. That was in the ‘70’s when drifting from show to show was what a young up and coming juggling act did. I’ve seen the belly of this beast for forty years. We’ve been sold a bill of goods peeps. The very serious people in charge have backed the armored truck up to the vault and they’re getting ready to pull away with what is left. It isn’t even remotely plausible to suggest that inequality is simply happening by some kind of accident. Inequality is policy. Cut the taxes, offshore the jobs, cut support for education, wipe the unions out… I don’t think I need to go on. We are losing the fight to preserve our democracy and who knew we were going to have to fight bankers and oilmen and their astro-turfed pseudo grassroots think tanked con-artists. But, here we are and you know what they say about what you should do when you find yourself digging a hole? Let me end todays thought with this idea. The tragedy is realizing that this happening and doing nothing, the comedy is chopping the greedy muck-a-mucks back down to size. Serious business is always at the root of comedy.
In 1975 in the Mission Gardens at Santa Clara University the season’s final show with the Royal Lichtenstein Quarter-Ring Sidewalk Circus ended my year long stint with the foundational experience of my new variety arts path in life.
By 1977 I had a new show and played dates for the next three years with the talented and beautiful Mari Dempsey. This was a big show, lots of equipment. We were doing sketch comedy, and the irrepressible Dana Smith was if you can believe it was doing sketch comedy in iambic pentameter! That was heavy on the sketch and light on the comedy.
Between 1974 and 1980 there was one 18 month gap where I was not on the road touring full time and year round nationwide. Our material ranged from acrobatics to mindreading, puppetry to performing dog tricks.
We got good notices as these things go and they were vital to keeping a show like this on the road. There still wasn’t any videotape yet and so bookings were all done by press clippings, letters of recommendation, and the dates you played.
Yes, the road didn’t disappoint. Mari and I got ourselves into more than a few tight spots. While in Washington D.C. our luck ran out. After a weekend of less than successful shows we were down to our last ten bucks. We found a discarded copy of The Grapes of Wrath in Georgetown. We walked to a liquor store took our last ten spot and bought a bottle of Lambrusco. We went back to the truck climbed into the back drank the wine, and shared the book. It was the end of our money but it wasn’t the end of the world. It was our life. We were doing what we wanted to do.
BANKRUPT HEART THE SECOND NOVEL
Finn looked at Ry’s face. He seemed more relaxed. The harbor oozed tranquility and coaxed an unhurried demeanor from the people who lived there. Seagulls sat resting on the metal boat shed roof, mallards explored afloat on the water, while crows hopped about the docks, there was always a chance something to eat would turn up. The harbor was juxtaposed next to the rush hour freeway where traffic was headed north at a crawl bumper to bumper. There was a treasured serenity as the boatyard emptied of the men and the women who had finished up their work for the day.
“They cannot see themselves well enough to form a true liking and since we automatically fear and dislike strangers, we fear and dislike our stranger-selves.”
From About Ed Ricketts
I’ve my own personal theory of the timing of maturity’s arrival. It seems to arrive more often sooner in some than in nearly half of others. Some of us never grow up, and some of us arrive better late than never. Some of us vow to stop doing stupid things, to listen with greater care to our aboriginal inner authenticity. For example in some they are born with a womb, and with this furnace of creation literally interpenetrating their bodies they can be rendered mature instantly. This is just an opinion, not to be taken too much to heart. Now, for those of us who are not gateways that bring life into this creation we have to work at getting serious about this thing from a different angle. At some point we look up from whatever it is we’ve been toiling over and we survey things. One thing we notice is the thing beneath the likeness we see when looking in a mirror. Then, sometimes, not always, and only if the viewer chooses to listen do we hear this voice, and it is this voice that suggests our visit here is not going to last forever and we might just want to be a little more careful about the way we spend our time here. Once testosterone’s vice grip is loosened from the instincts, it is as if a fog has lifted, and things that rendered maturity mute at once are provided a voice. I have witnessed this miracle of late life onset maturity myself, and it is really something to behold. Of course maturity sounds kind of silly, humorless, mature people can take themselves serious, and this is not the destination I am talking about at all. I’m suggesting a more wondrous mindscape… it’s the Big Bang, the whole enchilada, the unified field. It is that instant flashing across the frontier of your own self awareness when you are moved by something bigger than YOU…the veil is pulled back and at long last you glimpse and hold the thing right in the grasp of the minds eye…it is your souls version of rock art. You laugh like a coyote at the moon. That’s a game changer…