Dreaming out-Loud. 10/13/18
(A Brutes first Remembrance)
ON my first full stand-up I notice my soggy-squishy bottom felt better, and there was a chocolate-brown wall about me.
What was most dazzling? being elevated or spotting hypnotizing color? I do not recall, but the second had powered my sense of touch.
Holding bars and gliding down I was again floating in a stinging swamp. I wanted to leave that stink and grab a Brown Wall.
It seems all my life I've run into stingers, but with determination there were canoe’s. ----Gary Carlson "Is the Brute"---
Star Light Star Bright
I was about 3 years old and I spent much time with grandma Bessie who had a bedroom upstairs next to mine. My room had three walls with rows and rows of glass panes as it was an upstairs sun porch; it's glass halfway to the deck. This was my bedroom but this evening it was MoMA, when a force jerked my tiny-head agog-ha, my first night star. Gary Carlson "Is the Brute"
3 month beach bum
After discovered havens, I had a mind smacking for more excitement. Pedaling my dozer red tricycle, I spotted Bessie had forgotten to close the folding stair-gate, and without prejudice, made the dash.I spent summer car-sitting watching the family splashing Ottertail Lake, unable to walk. The University of Minnesota Medical Center was soon to be a 3-month stay
Story Line (1978)
(A) home on Beacon Hill with 100-mile views every direction.
1. neighbor was Dragon Lady of China Town Seattle.
2. Rent 4 bedroom's and studio apartment friends from Bellevue WA.
(B) A home above Des Moines Washington located on the east shore of Puget Sound, halfway between Seattle and Tacoma
1. Rented out three bedrooms to 7 pilot's.
(C) 2.4 acre's on Vashon Island with view of Seattle
(D) To entice renters on the Beacon Hill home I supplied their rooms with phones in my name. The home with pilot's bought their own numbers.
-1. 1976 I danced at Seattle's Club "Shelley's Leg" with a guy named Lonnie who would become my first male lover out of two life gave me.
-2. Lonnie had a 1958 Imperial Crown that we drove to a Montana logging town to see his muscled logger-brother. Leaving Seattle, the moon was bright as Lonnie swapped batterie’s with a parked car. That moon had a wonderful glow.----------ruby's on Lonnie's window-------what am i doing here?-----
Even that young, staring at Lonnie's home in my orange 1976 mustang, I realized obsession was ugly, My Beacon Hill neighbor was Seattle's "Dragon Lady" so I chose China Town for my new extended party.
Back to "The Last Person to Leave Seattle Please Turn out the Lights."
OMG, the Fall of 69: renting a home I loved near the airport that smacked my monthly income. The option to buy intrigued. Ed, on my Pan Am crew, gave me a knowing stare one lunch break. “Don’t spend big, get a cheap house in a kept-up neighborhood Gary.”
Ed and his wife had been flipping affordable homes many years, making good money. He said that last weekend he and his wife had checked a house in South Park near Boeing Field.
“Take a look Gary.” Something in Ed’s stare and the fact he spoke little got my attention.
“Next door said the owner was offered $5000 and was sad she turned it down because pulled insurance for sitting empty five years.
One morning, my wife told me that she would drive me to work in my car.
Late night in front of our hanger no car showed so I hitchhiked. when I walk through our door it was an empty apartment except a picture of a three-masted ship next to my lamp. Just the day before the salesman danced on the coffee table showing us our house-full of great quality. MY head was swimming.
Using her lawyer, I paid 3 years alimony lousing everything I owned.
Now 25 and buying a home I’m again using their attorney.
Ed gives an interest number on the $5000 payments. “Gary walk if you don’t get it.” Ed’s word was law.
I went from $300 monthly to $57 payments with a stipulation that if I missed 3 month’s, the house would revert.
One-year latter, being in a broken-arm car crash I moved to a glamorous guesthouse. It was stinking thinking as that move lost Sara my cat and almost my home. I rented it to a party that only paid part of the first month rent. The 4th month I made my move, breaking the law. Removing all the doors and throwing eviction notices around my shack. Now, laid-off for the winter but roasting back home.
As I left my ex-wife attorney's office, I ran into this gentleman that was in his late 50's who asked me questions about why I was there. He was tall, thin, obviously some kind of executive. Over coffee he asked if I'd like to go home with him. I soon moved saving on rent. I now learned he was the secretary treasurer of the ILWU. He proudly said his brother had been killed founding the Seattle branch of that union.
I replaced the great Mister Davis who retired as PAA janitor. My wife's best friend April’s husband was without driver’s license and we drove to Todd shipyard every day from Bremerton. Day after day, me stopping at the airline’s employment Department. Sure, enough they soon tired of me. My boss said that having deployment in Vietnam cinched my deal. After 3 months the credit union loaned $5000 and our apartment became furnished.
Mister Davis’s airport Hilton retirement party was a flabbergasting sight. Rock stars packed the bar as they were heading home from the Hendrix funeral. Mister Davis deserved glamour; showing me work-pride that kept me a level above Anarchy in that coming bad-ass storm: shining brass no problem. Soon Mrs. Davis drop’s by and he had died. “I know why.”
A kid arrived at Pan American handing papers of divorce. Then a ticket agent at the airline rented me a cubicle in his commercial building. “I hope you don't mind sharing space with a few young Alaskan airline mechanics Gary?” These were kids with Harley bikes and mint cars. While I was at work the lamp and picture had Disappeared. The 57 Chev. said. “What could I do she said she was your wife?” The next day he found me a 1949 Ford Ranchero. With two paintbrushes we turned a overhead-cam-flat-head hippie.
The no wife hole, till divorce, was Marijuana free. 1967 Saigon, waiting my leave at the Annapolis hotel on Plantation Road I found a barber shop selling Marlboro-pack’s packed with marijuana. A hotel of sailors I found 3. Pulling off the balcony nob we would sit puffing, listing to Nancy Wilson on my tap deck. Stoned I looked over Plantation and saw white picket fences. Now 1969, I shared life with 3 mechanics; partying nightly on go-go girls at Sea-Tac’s My-Place Tavern.
Separation before divorce ate my paycheck. I bonded with a Pan American commissary employee. Mark would pull food and booze off a jet keeping bottles of Moet Chandon or maybe a bottle of Chateau Margaux. All our loot originated: No. 3 rue Royale Paris. Drizzle or clear, Mr. Hefty and I bombed on fine French in our bay-side park gazebo.