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Paranoia: Recurrent suspicions, without justification—The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th Edition  Saint Louis was on his stallion atop Art Hill Saturday night. I hadn't seen him for awhile. My pocket buzzed.  “Charlie! I'm sitting here in the green chairs in the middle, in front of the stage [chairs she corralled from the VIPs]. Take a look. I don't know where you're at.” Another call. “I have no idea where you're at. None. I'm on the hill now. I don't see anything. Weird. I'm moving around all over this damn park, and I don't see you anywhere! And you're not answering your phone. I'm wandering around here, and you're like nowhere.” One more time. “I don't get it at all. What'd you do, go to the wrong park? What'd you do? I'm walking around. You should see me!” I fancy Arlene’s eyes and her voice, but I was wondering what was behind the green doors on stage. I looked up: Arlene, hands on hips, l...

“Okay ladies and gentlemen, we're gonna be in Springfield in six minutes, here. Six minutes to Springfield. Please make it through the aisles to get to the doors on the lower level if you're getting off at Springfield. Springfield next,” bawled the Amtrak PA. She was at the counter of the café car, followed me to a table, tugging on the cotton underwear peeking out of her pants. Flashy red earrings, brown corduroys, dirty tennis shoes, and a thin black v-cut slip-of-a-top. No bra. Pendulous breasts stretched low, swaying in time with the coach. Expressive black eyes with a look of almost childish sincerity, encased in sleepy purple eyelids, on a face worn by care and suffering. She called herself ‘Michael Jackson’. She boasted eight children: ‘Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo, Boo and Boo-Cah’. She came to Springfield filled with promises made by a man. A shadow fell when I probed her religion, followed by much excitement: “Get God all up in you and be the best you can be.” She kep...

I first saw Ed hanging at Nicollet Isle on his wedding day,  oven-hot. The hippie couple hit the wall, turned middle class, and were looking good. I stood in the bridal house on that sweet day, sweating in the inferno, scotch in one hand, beer in the other. Every man knew, and I did too, Ed was making my sister happy. My Ed.

There's a new statue of Miles Davis outside Marilyn's Bar in downtown Alton, an old river town twenty miles north of St. Louis. Arlene, me and 300 others were awaiting the reveal on a cool October afternoon. After the dedication, it was time for Arlene to pursue her instincts: “When was his birthday?” “May 26, 1926.” “Five plus two and six, a thirteen—one and three, he's a four. A box has four sides. He's feeling confined.” A raspy whisper floated through the air. “What’s that, man? I'm not in a box.” Arlene turned. “Oh, hi Miles. You’re late or we're early.” “Ghosts are always late. They come so quiet, you never hear them.” “I love your indigo and turquoise brocade frock and stunna shades.” Was he here through the miracle of cryopreservation? He didn't smell bad. Miles raised his ghostly voice. “May 25th, dammit!” Someone screamed. The crowd fell back. Arlene recalculated. “That's five plus two and five, a twelve—you're a three. I'm a th...

He is not here, but is risen!—Luke 24:6 My granddaughter Christina was visiting from college on Black Saturday, just in time for my favorite Easter tradition—rack of lamb, red wine and The Last Temptation of Christ —until her mother got wind of it. “THIS MOVIE PORTRAYS JESUS AS A HOMOSEXUAL!” I snatched the phone. “It’s the best Jesus movie.” “It's disrespectful. Bad on Easter. I raised Christina a certain way and I don't want her watching it.” “You haven’t seen it.” “I don’t care. Put her back on.” “Hi Mom, it's me again.” “Don't let gramps make fun of our religion.” I couldn't think of an answer; we went straight for the wine and lamb. Come Sunday, I figured Christina, a biracial young woman, would appreciate the African American congregation and a good honest sermon at the St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church. The building stood on stilts, ark-shaped like Noah's, ready for the Flood. We took it in, and walked up a steep ramp into the vestibule to a blast of Han...

“Fair primrose, we weep to see you fade away so soon”—from Elizabeth Bowen “I'm freezing!” exclaimed Charline. Unnoticed and unobserved in the swirling snow, Charlie and Charline stepped around a pile of rubbish in front of a disused warehouse in Old Soulard. The heavy iron door clanged open to a large glowing cavern. Condom on Your Tongue boomed from the walls. Nude models in body paint roamed the floor, stirring the pot for the grand opening of Naughty Gras. Charlie gestured, “Now this is what I’ve been talking about!” “I've got something for you,” Arlene said, removing her coat and gloves. “Dang! I’m shocked by what you can fit in a Winslet,” exclaimed Charlie. “What did you stare at first?” she said, feeling cute. “You. Can you breathe?” “Barely.” Four hundred revelers had flocked to the bacchanal, away from the veil of everyday life. Sexy art, sensual costumes, a urinal crafted from a female figure, an eye staring out from the female organ, a girl in a thong suspended by J...

“Two photo ops, dinner at the house and Ron Carter at the Bistro. Be here by 5:30.” I was late. We raced to the rarefied atmosphere of the Beaux-Arts at  St. Louis U. A lady with a charming smile handed me a brochure. Richard found me at the Pinot Grigio and round cheeses. “Can't take you anywhere!” Was it my blazer-baseball cap ensemble? I finished the tasty stuff and drifted into the Michael Eastman Retrospective. Large photos, curiously dead (no people), an architectural feel. A cactus resembling a building ornament. Horses with a human countenance. (Why the long faces?) I asked Richard, “What about the sheep?” “We don’t have time.”  Across town and two flights of steps for 70 Years of Martin Schweig at Webster U. Richard was all-in for Schweig. I tabbed Eastman.  Richard’s house was next, pineapple chicken in the crock pot; stretching on the sofa to Paul Butterfield; Sibelius after dinner to think it over. The Bistro doesn't proclaim MAGNIFICENT or HUGELY ENTERT...

“We take this action not for the purpose of expanding the war into Cambodia, but for the purpose of ending the war in Vietnam and winning the just peace we all desire.” —President Richard M. Nixon, Address to the Nation on the Situation in Southeast Asia (April 30, 1970) Out in the boonies, away from the gaiety of modern life, one perilous day bred another in Vietnam, a confused and horrible country that I had zero interest in. Imagine my delight, my joy, when Capt. Martinez interviewed me for a job I never saw coming. I listened attentively: “Sgt. Barclay is going back to the world. We like your background, McClish. You’re high on our list. As of today, you're the company clerk if you want it and think you can handle it.” What would life be without fetid water, oppressive heat and rain, random bouts of violence, maddening insects, flies everywhere, loathsome diseases, and beefy loads?  “Uhm, yeah, I guess so. I mean sure, Captain. Yeah!” I tossed my trusty M79 grenade launcher, C...

My wife Babs heard about a history professor at the University of Minnesota who crafted wine cabinets, and thought it would be the perfect birthday present for me. We saw him one evening to pick the style, wood, and finish. A month later we brought the finished cabinet home in the back seat of the car. We were so impressed we decided to have a dinner party for it. Babs invited the professor, her shrink Paul Arnold, and his wife June. I brought the menu to Haskell's, a fashionable wine dealer, and came away with nine bottles and precisely when to drink them during the meal. The christening came on a warmish evening, beginning with Weingut Muller Privat Rheinriesling Spatlese.  Chateau Thivin Cote de Brouilly, was uncorked when Paul and Babs went to the kitchen. The professor sampled the rogue bleu while he stared at the Girl with Red Chair, Brick Wall, hanging over the fireplace: “She has a beautiful little body, hasn’t she?” June leaned in, wearing a clingy red jersey knit. “You sh...

She came in the rain, hair wet,  the day I left Vietnam. “Get in, the Thirteenth Part has not yet run.” We rode on, smoked cigarettes. Someone in back  Was sleeping. She stopped in the long green grass, Clasped my wrist, And sobbed “Borgo.”

I don’t even think they know where they’re goin’.  What are they tryin’ to prove, anyway? —The Wild Ones (1953) You know how every neighborhood has an eccentric? When I slipped my Harley up Richie’s drive on a wonderfully hot Saturday afternoon, he was sitting on his bed surrounded by clothes and boxes. I t was one of those wacky Saturdays where the sight of Richie sleeping in would cause his father Ollie to turn purple  and dump the contents of Richie’s bedroom into the drive.  “Goddammit Richard, you'll be out of my house by six o’clock tonight, I GAR-UN-TEE!” “Where’s Ollie?” I asked. Richie sighed, “They’re at the Hub.” We got it all back into his room—the heat didn’t help—and cracked open a couple of Ollie’s cold ones. We’d been in crises since Alan frosted us with the Angels: “I like his sister. ” “Yeah, fourteen. ” “What do you see in these Angels girls? They're still in high school. You ain't even finger-fucked 'em yet. ” Richie opened his little black book. ...

Subject: My calls with Kim today. Sandy handed me my morning latte with a note to call the Gateway Shelter. Kim answered. She told me she was uncomfortable and getting a COVID test today because there was a potential outbreak at the shelter and she wanted to see her grandchildren. “That’s scary,” I replied. “Only three residents [out of 50] wear masks.” I sipped my latte and asked her whether the staff wore masks. She said yes, they do, but at every other job she had during COVID, the workplace was much safer—lots of cleaning and sanitizing, masks and headgear. These precautions aren’t taken at Gateway. Kim has elderly relatives and other family members with compromised immune systems. Her daughter was scared. I propped my feet up and asked her if there were other issues. Kim’s sister is also a social worker. They had a conference call with another friend to discuss the issues at the shelter. Kim mentioned general cleanliness. “One morning I wasn’t even on the clock when I was ordered ...