1/8/70

Chapter 8 St. Patrick's Day





The Camphor-Christian House-  photo by Jack Miller         


 "Cello," Michael said. 
"How'd you come to play that?" David asked.

"Well, I love the violin. But it is so much easier to get a position playing the cello. I auditioned with the cello, some Schumann, some Dvorak, and got placed with the Savannah Symphony Orchestra last year."

"Nice." David said. Michael was unsure if David meant the position with the orchestra, or the stroking he was doing to Michael's stomach and chest. "I love your instrument." David said, smiling. He kissed the broad nipples of Michael's smooth, bronze chest.

Michael and David had met at Feelgood's. They had talked and danced for an hour or so. David invited Michael to his father's homey office on Oglethorpe Ave. They were stretched out on the oriental sofa.

David moved up along the couch and kissed Michael softly. " I love your lips. The lips of Jimi Hendrix, full of passion."

"And I love your prickly red beard."  Michael lifted his legs around David, clinging their bodies together. They fucked a second time. "Now I know why people in Savannah love St. Patrick's Day," Michael said.

The two young men spent the entire night in the office. It was the weekend before St. Patrick's Day. David felt that having good gay sex in the law office was the fitting way to respond to his father's triumph over gays in the courtroom. Michael was also the antidote to Eddie and Brian. David had had his fill of straight men willing to be worshiped. Michael returned his affection and nothing was off limits.

March winds, warm from the southwest,  had swept away the gray, damp skies of February.  They blew away, for the moment, the stench of the bag factory and the memory of the trial of Lane Russell.  After all, Reeve Heidt had few friends.  He was no gay hero.  His estranged family, living in Florida, did not come for his burial in the paupers’ cemetery.  Tim and Kolby received Reeve’s share of Dr Feelgood's, of which the Florida relatives wanted no part.  His debts to the Dixie Mafia, whatever they may have been, were canceled with his life, and finally, his memory.

As spring once again opened the azaleas and the dogwood flowers, new relationships were blooming, as old ones decayed. As David and Michael entwined, Charlotte broke the news of her departure to Susan.  By June she would be singing in a little jazz club in midtown Atlanta.  Charlotte would also audition for the Academy Theater there.  She was thrilled at the prospect of a new life in the big city.  Susan was crushed.  She was not surprised.  She had heard talk of Atlanta for months and had foreseen their separation.  She cried, nonetheless.  Charlotte held Susan in her arms and rocked her, but she didn’t ask Susan to come to Atlanta with her.  She didn’t even make the offer of friendship.  It would have rung false, and Charlotte had too much integrity.

“I shall leave too,” Susan sobbed.  “I’ll go to New York.  It’ll toughen me up.”  She tried to laugh through her tears.  Charlotte smoothed her hair.  “My Aunt Alice has said she could get me a job.  She lives on Long Island, you know.”

“Yes,” Charlotte whispered.  “You’ll do well in New York.  Savannah is stifling you.”

Their phone rang.  “Don’t answer it,” Charlotte suggested.  But Susan wiped away tears and took the receiver off the hook.

“Hello.”
“Susan?”
“Yes.”
“It’s David.”
“Oh.  Hi.”
“You sound like you have a cold.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I just wondered if you and Charlotte are going to Kilpatrick’s party?”
Susan put her hand over the mouthpiece and consulted Charlotte.  “Are we going to Kilpatrick’s?  It’s David.”
“Do you want to?” Charlotte asked.
Susan nodded yes.
“Let’s go, then.”
“David?  Yes, we’re going.  What time?”
“I thought maybe you two would like to come to my place first and we can walk over.”
“Sure.  How about 6?”
“See you then.”
Susan turned back to Charlotte.  “We’re to meet at David’s at 6.”

It was a balmy Saturday evening.  Orange and pink cirrus clouds colored the sky.  David was in good spirits.  He took Susan’s arm on one side and Charlotte’s on the other.  “I actually have Wednesday off,” David said,  “So I can watch the exciting parade, all three hours of it.”

“I’ll be working at Walden’s” Charlotte replied.  “On the other hand, your mother will be celebrating with you.  She scheduled herself off.”
“I think she’d quit before she worked on St Patrick’s Day,” David laughed.

Dr. Kilpatrick’s stone house rose before them on Charlton Street.  Eddie and Sharon stood looking down from the front porch over the sidewalk.  Eddie always looked guilty when he saw Susan, as if the failure of their relationship was his fault, somehow.
Eddie also was afraid of what David might say in Sharon’s presence.  He had explained to her that David was gay, but not his direct experience of that fact.  He greeted David with a shit-eating smile.
The high-ceiling interior of Kilpatrick’s Regency house was jammed with instructors from Armstrong Humanities departments.  English, History, and Philosophy predominated.  Dr. Landry waved to David.  Susan gravitated toward Langston, with whom she had bonded during Streetcar, and Charlotte continued to chat with Eddie and Sharon.

Dr. Honeycutt, the one member of the Physics department at the party, explained to Kilpatrick how the recent manned probes had confirmed Einstein’s theory of relativity.  “The sun’s mass slowed the signals from the satellite,” Honeycutt explained, “exactly as Einstein predicted.”

“I’m afraid most of us here are still trying to master Newton,” Kilpatrick replied.
“If not Ptolemy,” Dr. Brown threw in.

A vast spread of food on Kilpatrick’s shining cherry dining table offered corned beef and cabbage, Irish stew, and plenty of cheese and fruit.  A large tub of Harp beer and a side bar with ample whiskey kept the guests in good cheer.  Landry sipped a Jameson on the rocks.  David helped himself to a beer.

“You heard, didn’t you,” David said, “That Lane Russell is back in jail?”

“I read it in the paper this morning,” Landry answered.  “Corky got him on a violation of his probation.”
Lane’s admission of cocaine use on the stand was just cause for revoking his parole.  He would serve out almost a year of his previous sentence for drug possession.

“I wonder if Dad realized he would be sent back to jail for that testimony,” David mused.

“So, I hear you’re sold your house.”  Kilpatrick greeted Landry.  He shook hands with David.  “And Don tells me you are off to Tulane next year.”

“I’ve had an offer.”  Landry answered the first question.  “We have a way to go yet.”
“And I have yet to hear about financial aid,” David said.  “But I’m hopeful.  There’s a good chance I can receive a University scholarship.”
“What are you doing later?” Landry asked David.
“Susan and I are going to the Sara awards.  Want to join us?”
“You know how much I detest drag.  I’ll pass.”
“We could all meet at Pinkies afterwords.  Or come to the basement after midnight when the show is over.”
“Let’s leave it to chance.  I’m not sure I even want to venture out tonight.”
“O.K.”  David was disappointed.  Yet, he was also glad Landry hadn’t pinned him down.  He wanted to get drunk and to let the night evolve without a plan.  He looked forward to the spectacle of the Sara awards with its drag performances and satirical awards to the more infamous members of Savannah’s gay elite.  “I may wind up at Dr Feelgood's for that matter,” David said.  “I feel like excess.”
“I see,” said Landry, taking another sip of scotch.

Two hours later, David and Susan bid Charlotte goodbye in front of her apartment on Liberty Street.  Charlotte kissed them both goodbye, David who had been her boyfriend and Susan who had been her best friend.  She felt lonely and thought how odd it was that the two of them were good friends themselves, now.   For Charlotte, the move to Atlanta could not come too soon.

As they walked the few blocks to the Basement bar, passing the new Hilton Hotel on Bull Street and the now infamous Derenne Towers,  Susan took David’s arm.  “If we weren’t both queer, what a great couple we’d make.”
David laughed.  “We’ve both been jilted by our lovers and our best friends.  Eddie belongs to Sharon and Charlotte is off to Atlanta.  Our dreams of a happy foursome are shattered.
“And in a few months, you go to New Orleans and I go to New York.  Will you write me?  Promise you’ll keep in touch.”
“Of course.  I’ll write you every week.  And I’ll come to New York to see you in a play.”
“You’d better.”

The Basement was crammed.  They had to stand in a short line for several minutes on the steps down the sidewalk into the basement of the Armory building.  Inside was a warm, smoke-filled interior of dazzling lights and loud music.  Streamers, confetti, blinking strings of lights, and wall-to-wall shamrocks, leprecauns, and other St. Patrick’s Day decorations filled every nook of the bar.  The packed-in crowd gathered, standing around a small stage where the emcee announced the prize for most impressive newcomer to the gay scene: Jim Williams, entrepreneur and benefactor of good causes.  But Jim Williams was not there to receive his prize, a glass trophy with the award and his name etched in.  One of Williams’ acquaintances took the prize for him and promised to deliver it immediately.
Prizes were awarded between drag acts, show music, and dancing.  Susan and David pushed their way through to the bar and ordered drinks.  Sitting at the bar, David noticed a familiar face, Rosemary Daniel, sipping a vodka tonic.  “The famous author, right here in our midst,” David joked.
At first Rosemary had no idea who David was.  “You know,” David coaxed, “We talked at Lee Johnson’s soiree.”
“Oh yes,” Rosemary slurred.  She smiled her inviting grin.  “Now all I need is a lover to share my ‘sexcess’ with, some hunky military type.”
“You’re in the right place to find that,” David said, gesturing toward the swirl of drag queens and gay lovers.
“No straight men here, are there?” Rosemary replied, hoping David might contradict her.

Susan and David met several friends during the ceremony.  Langston appeared and told them he planned to leave Armstrong for England. 
"You must," Susan encouraged. "That is what we all need, a new nourishing soil to grow in. I am eager to move to New York."

Lee Johnson was also present, flailing about, telling everyone in his shrill voice, “This shit is as Irish as my ass.  When I finish restoring my house on Julian Street, I am going to the real Ireland to live.”
David wondered why everyone wanted to leave, all of a sudden.  “Will anyone be left here when we all go?” he asked Susan.

“Eddie and Sharon.”
“Right.  And my Dad.”
“And me.”  Wanda Tucker added, another high school friend of David.
“Are you a drag fan also?” David asked, surprised to see her in the Basement.
“Honey, I was born a fag hag.”  Wanda winked and took another swig of her martini.
“And the Greek Position Award goes to,” the loudspeaker announced, “Our esteemed, supportive mayorJohn Rousakis.”
Applause.  But no mayor.  A city hall minion accepted on his behalf.

As Susan and Wanda talked of awards to come, David made his way to the men’s room.  Waiting on the limited facilities, David saw Brian.
“For someone’s who’s not sure he is gay, you sure make the scene,” David said.
Brian smiled.  When, a few months ago he had accepted David’s invitation to come home with him from Dr. Feelgood's, he had told David that he was uncertain of his sexual identity.  “Physically, you know, I go for broads.  But after sex, I have nothing to say to them.  I like spending my time with guys.”
They had talked and drank beer almost all night.  Just as David was about to show him the door, Brian had suggested they sleep together.  “Just sleep.  No heavy sex or anything,” Brian had said as he took off his clothes.  They had slept naked in each other’s arms and jerked off together in the morning before going out for brunch.  Brian clearly loved being coddled and massaged. 
“I’ve been meaning to come by your library,” Brian said.  “You know, I really enjoyed spending the night with you.”
David recalled Friday night with Michael and the pure enjoyment they had had. Nonetheless, he still had a tender spot for Brian. "Yea, me too."
_____

Don Landry had no use for St. Patrick’s Day.  The weekend had been a bore, the bars overcrowded, The Basement overrun with drag queens, Pinkies awash with trash.  Landry had gone to the office lounge, downed a couple of scotches, and gone home.  Now it was St. Patrick’s Day.  Class was canceled.  He had slept late and was taking an afternoon stroll in the park.  Remnants of the parade littered the area, but most people had gone to River Street.  Landry sat on a park bench and smoked a cigarette.

“Gotta cigarette?”  A tall black man, looking like a basketball player in t-shirt and shorts, emerged from behind one of the oak trees.
“Yes,” Landry said, shaking the pack and letting the man select one.  He took two.  “Do you live around here?”
“Who wants to know?”  The young man appeared angry or suspicious.
“Well, I live here on the park,” Landry said.  “I just want to know if you’re a neighbor?”
The man laughed as if Landry must be a fool to think he lived on Forsyth Park.
“What’s your name?  Mine’s Don,” Landry offered.
“Jim,” The man said.
Landry looked at the man’s glistening arm muscles.  He must be a construction worker, Landry thought.  “What kind of work do you do?”
Again, Jim looked at Don with suspicion.  Why was this scrawny, middle-aged man asking him all these questions?  What did he want, anyway?
“I’m a mechanic,” Jim replied.  “Does your car need some work?”
“Not now,” Landry said, “But you never know.”
Jim laughed again.  He was beginning to figure Landry out.  “What do you do?”
“I teach.”
“Where at?”
“Armstrong College.”
“What you teach?”
“English.  Philosophy.”
Jim laughed again.  “Big brain, huh?”
“You might say that.”  Landry too laughed.  Then Landry got up his nerve.  “Can I buy you a drink somewhere?”
“You gonna buy me a drink?” Jim said, amazed.

“Sure.  Why not?  It’s St. Patrick’s Day, right?”

Jim led Landry to a small bar on West Broad Street.  Landry was the only white person there, but the bar was almost empty.  Two men around thirty sat at the old oak bar, not looking at the newcomers.  The bartender acted as if Landry’s presence was nothing odd.  “Just give me a bourbon, nothin’ in it,” Jim requested.

From the bar, Landry led him back to 24 West.
My wife wouldn’t like knowin’ what we’ve been doin’,” Jim said after the sex.  She don’t like me shootin’ my nut with anyone but her.”
Landry lay back on the bed.  He was spent, breathing heavily.  Jim had satisfied him thoroughly.  It astonished Landry that otherwise straight black men, unlike the preppy white boys of Armstrong, could whole-heartedly engage in oral and anal sex without a qualm.  So long, that is, that they were the active partner.
“You have a wife?” Landry managed to ask, low interest.
“We been married three years.  Got rent to pay.  She’s gonna have a baby soon.”
Landry was skeptical.  It was clear that Jim wanted money.
Landry got up, dressed, walked to the study.
“I can lend you twenty dollars, if that’ll help.”
“Twenty!”  Jim laughed.  “Twenty won’t buy groceries.  Fifty would help more.”
Landry opened a desk drawer and took out fifty dollars.  Jim saw the drawer full of money and was tempted to take it all, to teach this scrawny homo that he couldn’t take advantage of Jim.  But he hesitated and the moment passed.
“Give me your phone number,” Landry requested, giving his to Jim.  “And call me whenever you want to get together.”  Landry wrote Jim’s phone number in his address book.
Landry locked the front door as Jim headed back to Forsyth Park.


____


Lafayette Square was packed with spectators.  The Kleins had arrived en masse, Andreas and Eva, Andy’s three brothers and sister, Eva’s sister, and Andreas’ mother.  David and Eddie had no trouble finding them in the usual place, directly across Abercorn Street from the crowded Hamilton-Turner House.  Andreas introduced Marlene Ubelee, Eva’s older, more serious sister, to David, Eddie, and Skip, who appeared with a mug of beer in his hands.

“You’re drinking at ten in the morning?” Marlene asked Skip.
“That’s what you do on St. Patty’s Day,” Skip answered.

As usual the parade was late.  Everyone had time to stand in line at nearby Pinkies for beer or Bloody Marys.  Betty Bagby and Lee Johnson joined the group.  Betty patted her new hairdo, color by Crystal.  “I can’t believe you’re going to watch this….”  She almost said ‘fucking parade” but caught herself when she saw Andreas’ mother Carol Klein.  “This whole boring parade,” Betty concluded, switching then to her best manners.  “Mrs. Klein, I haven’t seen you in I don’t know when.”
“Hello Betty,” Carol Klein said.  “It’s good to see you again.  We always enjoy seeing David and Skip when we are in Savannah.”
“David, run over to Pinkies and buy Mrs. Klein a Bloody Mary,” Betty ordered her son.
“No, no,” Carol Klein protested.  “This is too early for me.”  She admired Betty’s abandon.
“I’d be glad to get you one.  I’m already going for drinks,” David offered.
“Well, I appreciate it.”  Mrs. Klein smiled.  “I think I’ll wait until after the parade.”
Andreas’ brothers, too young to drink legally, were taking sips from Skip’s mug.
“Come on, Betty.”  Lee Johnson tugged at Betty’s green sweater-vest.  “Sixpence will be too crowded to find a seat.”
“Have you been having a good St. Patrick’s?” Eva asked David.
David smiled.  “Not a dull moment.”  He thought of the weekend, the Sara Awards, and Brian’s tight naked body in his bed for two consecutive nights.  Brian had even sucked his dick, wanting, as he had said, “to see what it’s like to do it.”
“The most fun I’ve had in a long time,” David added.

“Oh yeah?” Andy asked.  “What have you been doing?”

“Too much partying, that’s all.”  David saw that all the Kleins were listening.  Brian had said he would come to the square later that morning, and David wondered how the Kleins would respond to him.  “You just may meet one of my party friends later today.”
Eddie listened with disapproval.  “Who is your party friend?”  He said the last two words with emphasis on euphemism.
“You’ll see,” David answered.  “By the way, where is Sharon?”
“She dislikes parades.  We’re going to a party later this evening.”
Eddie had told David earlier that Sharon had missed her period.

The parade was fun for the first hour.  Green goats walked among minor politicians.  (The big names like Carter and Nunn appeared only on election years.)  Andreas’ favorite float was a dragon full of Shriners that stopped in front of the Hamilton-Turner House where Savannah’s best were gathered five deep up the front steps.  Andreas also loved the Eastern Shriners dressed in multi-colored Arabic costume and led by a dancing sheik with a large ruby in his bloated belly-button.

Andreas’ thin teenage brothers laughed at the Keystone Kops.  But after an hour, the first third of the parade, everyone was ready to walk.  “I’ve had enough military units and bad high school bands,” Eddie said as they all walked past Pinkies toward Bull Street.  The parade had not yet reached Bull and Liberty nor the Sixpence, where Lee Johnson was already screeching and Betty Bagby was telling total strangers about her days as a WAC.  “Once I almost got raped by a taxi driver taking me back to the base,” Betty said, puffing on her cigarette.  The young couple she was telling her story  laughed and stared at her wide-eyed.  They wondered if they should be laughing.
“Anyway, I convinced him I was a lesbian.”  Betty waved her arm.  “I did the whole nine yards, crying, telling him I was in love with this lieutenant who was a gorgeous red-head, but was afraid to return my affection.  He bought it all.  He gave me the ride for free and said he was really sorry for me.”  Betty no longer remembered exactly what the driver had said.  She just recalled a fat redneck making a pass at her and revulsion so severe that she had wondered, at the time, if she in fact was a lesbian.

Just in time to demonstrate her heterosexuality, Betty pointed out her sons David and Skip.  They were passing in front of the plate glass windows with all the Kleins in tow.  By the time they reached Oglethorpe Ave, the parade was headed right for them down Bull Street.  “Why don’t we take a bathroom break at Dad’s office,” David suggested.
“I’ll pick up a twelve-pack at the 7-11, if you want,” Skip offered.
Eddie and Andreas contributed money.  Mrs. Klein, one of Andreas’ brothers, and his sister decided to walk to River Street instead.
The remainder of the group gathered in the upstairs office of Will Jackson.  David opened the door to the small balcony, from which the parade could be seen still plodding up Abercorn along Colonial Cemetery.  A float with a gigantic bar of Irish Spring Soap was passing by.

“Where is your dad?” Andreas asked.
“He and Patty are safe in the suburbs,” David answered.

Skip arrived with beer.  Eddie sat on the balcony and stripped off his shirt in the warm sunshine.  David did likewise.  The teenage Kleins asked if the balcony could hold them all and David said, “I guess we’ll find out.”  Andreas showed Eva and Marlene the unique split staircase to the attic.  He explained to them the two hundred year history of the house.  Skip found an eight-track tape of Elton John and played it on his father’s player.
As discussion turned to when they should all head to the river, Brian appeared on the sidewalk below the balcony.  “I thought I’d find you party animals here!” he yelled.
“Who’s that?” the teens asked.
“Brian.  He’s a friend of mine from the College,” David answered.
Brian entered the office.  David had given him the tour two days ago.  “Levon.  Levon likes his money…” Brian sang with Elton.  He hopped up the curved steps to the second floor. 

“You must be David’s bro?  Skip, right?”
  
“Yeah.  Who are you?” Skip asked.

Brian introduced himself to the crowd.  He added an extra “my pleasure” to his exchange of names with Eva and with Marlene.  Marlene gave him a firm look of disapproval.
“I take it you’d like a beer?” David offered.  He had come in from the balcony.
“Mighty kind of you sir, seeing as my bottle of Jack Daniels is empty,” Brian replied.
“We waited for you in the park for an hour,” David said.
“Yeah.  Sorry.  I couldn’t get away until now.”  David didn’t pursue the reason.
Brian looked out of the door to the balcony.  David introduced him to Eddie.  “Oh yeah, David’s told me all about you.”
Eddie smiled his crooked smile.  “All good, I’m sure.”

“I think we need to go,” Marlene said.  
“Come on, come on,” David ordered.  “Marlene is right.  We need to go get some food in our stomachs and walk to the river.”
On the sidewalk, Eddie bid the group goodbye.  He had plans for later, he said.  He hoped to see the Kleins again before they left for Asheville.  David walked Eddie to the end of the block – it was several blocks to his car.
 “Do you think she’s pregnant?” he asked Eddie.
“I don’t know.”
“What will you do?”
“She’s Catholic.  I’m sure she’ll have it.”
“Abortion is too unsafe and risky anyway.”
“Can you imagine me as a father?”
“No,” David said.
“In June I’ll have a degree,” Eddie replied.  “I’ve had a job offer in the real estate company where my brother-in-law works.”
“It sounds like you’ve got it all planned.”
“Right.  Anyway, I’ll keep you informed.  It really is too early to tell anything.”
“Call me this weekend,” David said.
“We should go to a movie.”
“Good idea.  We still haven’t seen Easy Rider.”


By sunset the group disbanded.  They had walked among the crowds on Bay Street and the bars along the river.  David had taken them into the Ola Wyeth library, to which he had keys, for a private view overlooking the river.  Skip had left the group first, heading for a new dance bar called Woody’s on the west end of River Street.  Brian had drifted off as well.  The Kleins clung together but failed to meet up with Andreas’ mother or siblings.  “We need to head back to my uncle’s house for dinner,” Andreas said, taking leave of David.
“I guess I won’t see you again until the summer,” David said.  “You’re going back to Asheville tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.  I’ve already skipped classes.  I don’t want to jeopardize graduating.”
Left alone, David could think of only one place to go.  He hadn’t seen Don since Kilpatrick’s weekend party.  David walked home and phoned.

When the phone rang, Landry thought of not answering.  Jim had left only a half-hour ago, and he was dead tired.  He had dozed in his armchair listening to Eric Satie.  On the fifth ring, just as David was about to hang up, Landry answered.
“I’m glad you’re home,” David said.  “Have you had a good St. Patrick’s?”
“I’ve been fairly successful in avoiding it,” Landry replied.
“If I promise not to talk about it, will you invite me over?”
“Yes.  But you need to give me an hour to rest and have some supper.”
“Perfect,” David said.”
An hour later, exactly, David rang the doorbell.
“You look exhausted,” Landry said when he saw David.
“The last few days have taken their toll.  Too many people, not enough sleep, too much liquor.”
“How about some coffee, then?”
“Love some.”
“So who have you been exhausting yourself with?” Landry asked.  “Have you been with Jules?”
“No.  Not at all.  Didn’t I tell you ?  Jules is in Atlanta trying to get a job with Wilkes-Bashford.  He wants to help manage a store in San Francisco.”

“Really?  Is there a good chance he’ll get the job?”

“I think so.  You know, he does window design and has a lot of experience in sales.  Plus, he can put on a suit and look the part of fashion designer.”

“And what happened to your relationship?”

“Nothing,” David answered.  “We’ve drifted, you might say.  I’ve been sleeping with Brian from the Yeats class. And more recently, Michael Finn from the Savannah Symphony. He plays cello."
David wondered if he sounded too promiscuous.
“Brian?”  Landry was amazed.  “I didn’t know he was gay.”
“He’s not.  He’s having an identity crisis – or maybe it’s just experiment.”
“Or maybe he likes your attention,” Landry suggested.
“Yes, he loves being worshiped.”
“Who doesn’t?” Landry laughed.
“Anyway,” David said, “There’s not much future in it.  It’s only a matter of time before some girl catches his eye and he disappears. Not too sure about Michael, either. Though I love listening to him practice. He's very talented."
Landry smiled. "Well, I've had my own St. Patrick's Day adventure."  He recounted the meeting in the park, giving David some of the juicy details.
“You know, that sounds pretty risky,” David said, after allowing Landry to dwell on the pleasures of the encounter.  “He could have robbed you, or worse.  You ought to explore the person’s character more before you invite them here.”

Landry disliked David’s preaching.  “Why?  Because he’s black?”

“Of course not.  Michael is black, you know. It's because you have to size people up, know them a bit. he could be anything: a thief, a drug addict, desperately poor.  You always see the best in people and overlook their evil.”
Landry thought about that. Material things mattered little to him, but the violation of trust was crucial.
“I know.  I do take too many risks,” Landry conceded.  “Perhaps there’s not much to life without taking risks.  But I should do a better job getting to know potential tricks, at least finding out a little about their living conditions.”
“And not inviting them home on the first meeting,” David suggested.
Landry was sitting on the settee, and David rose from his chair to sit beside him.  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.  You’re the best friend I have right now.”
“I thought Eddie was your best friend.”
“’Was’ is the word,” David replied.  “All he can think about now is Sharon.  Do you know she may be pregnant?”

Landry wasn’t surprised.  “Haven’t they taken precautions?”

“Eddie said he pulled out.  Apparently not soon enough.  He loses his hard-on when he uses rubbers.”
And she doesn’t take the pill?”
“I think she wants to be pregnant, myself.”
“Will they get married, do you think?”
“Probably.  But I don’t really believe Eddie is the marrying type.  I’d bet he would sleep with Susan in a minute if she would let him.  Monogamy isn’t his natural state.”
“Monogamy is a woman’s means of making a man a responsible father and provider,” Landry suggested.  “Among men it is meaningless.”
David didn’t agree, but he kept silent.  He allowed Landry to hold his hand.  Tired enough to sleep, he put his head on Landry’s shoulder and dozed as Don stroked his long hair.

1/7/70

Chapter 9: Buddha of the Marsh

 Buddha of the Marsh

 

Allen Ginsberg

Photo copyright 

Jack Miller 

 

 

 

Chapter 9-- Buddha of the Marsh


  Apprehension tightened the knot in Landry's belly. He had been packing for days. His finances were unmanageable. Every day he wrote more checks. The movers had taken half his furniture to storage and the other half to Burnside Island. Boxes of china, silverware, glasses, towels, the stuff of his genteel existence, were stacked and labeled, neatly surrounding him. The most difficult chore of all was packing his books. Landry wanted to preserve their order, to keep all the categories intact. Keats and Yeats were easy. The art books in all sizes, the other areas of criticism and philosophy, were the bitch. He had to choose boxes he and friends could carry since he intended to move them himself.

     Again, Landry felt the knot. He tried to smooth away the pain by massaging his stomach. "Too much coffee," he said out loud. A cup half full remained on the empty bookshelf. In an hour or so David and Eddie would appear; then Jules would arrive with Charlotte who was driving with him from Atlanta. Was the coincidence of the move with Jules' birthday a good omen, or a bad one? May Day. Moving Day. "The Gyres are spinning again," Landry said to Yeats. There must be antacid in the medicine cabinet.

     Landry's morning blues dissipated in the afternoon sunshine. His Volkswagon hatchback was packed to the roof. David sat beside him as he drove. Behind them Eddie drove his mother's station wagon, also filled with boxes. As they passed the old Bethesda Orphanage, David said, "Auntie Mame would be proud of us."
Landry laughed. "I always forget this is the same Bethesda."
"Can you believe we are really moving out here?" David's excitement was infectious.
"I'll believe it when my books are on the shelf."
Nonetheless, he did believe it. For the next three months he would enjoy the existence of a country gentleman. The Burnside Island house, home of Johnny Mercer, would be his. Eighteen acres of land, gardens, terraces, pine trees, and riverfront would allow him to entertain or not as he pleased.
"It certainly will be nice to walk along the river, sit on the dock, sip coffee in the breezeway between the kitchen and the green house," Landry mused. "The mornings should be cool enough for breakfast outside, don't you think?"
David agreed. Both continued to daydream as they drove over the causeway and bridge to the island. David loved the palmettos and winding creeks snaking through the marshes. Moon River was an hour from downtown. David wondered what country life would be like with Don and Eddie as Eddie's wedding day approached.
At the entrance to the estate a dirt lane led across the property to the front of the yellow, two-story, wood frame house. There was an expanse of open green lawn in front of the house. Pine trees rose tall and thin behind the house into a deep blue sky overhead. The gardens of Moon River surrounded the brick patio behind the house, facing the river. When Johnny Mercer had lived here and written his famous song, the river was called, simply, the Back River. The county renamed it Moon River when Mercer won the Academy Award for Breakfast at Tiffany's.

As they arrived, the tide was high, filling the marshes that stretched away toward Ossabaw Sound. The river did look "wider than a mile."
It took over an hour to unload the cars. The first thing Landry opened was the cat box. Fergus exited the open box as if carefully stepping out of a limousine. He looked around at Landry, Eddie, and David, sniffed the grass of the front lawn, and followed the humans into the house. There was a brave new world for Fergus to inhabit and make his own. Yet his first choice was the familiar, torn Sheridan settee onto which he leaped and curled up to oversee the humans unpacking.
A few hours later, Landry relaxed on the broad brick patio between the house and the river. A large Magnolia tree behind him was fragrant with huge white blossoms. Jules had arrived and helped complete the unpacking and arranging of everything. They all sat sipping sherry or drinking beer.
"When does Ginsberg arrive,"  Jules asked.
"Not for another week, thank God." Landry replied.  Arranging for Allen Ginsberg to appear before the Savannah Poetry Society, to read and discuss his poems, was Landry's crowning achievement as president of the society.  Inviting him to stay three nights at Moon River was a decision Landry feared he might deeply regret. In fact, Ginsberg's acceptance was something of a surprise.

"And you got a full scholarship to study at Tulane University?" Jules asked David.

"Yep. Pretty fantastic, isn't it? Summer here, then off to New Orleans. You know that Don is going to drive me there in August on his way to Mexico? And you will be going to San Francisco?”
“I’ve gotten a temporary appointment with the new Wilkes Bashford store there. I’ll design window displays and handle sales. If I do well, the job will be permanent. Right now, I just want to get settled.
“You’ll invite me to visit, I hope. San Francisco-- city of love. “
“Yes,” Jules replied.

On their first evening at Moon River, Eddie cooked. He presented Landry, David and Jules each a plate of frozen green peas, a baked potato, and a deviled crab from Williams’ Seafood. They sat at Landry’s formal dining table. The setting sun sent red rays through the kitchen window, across the dining room, to the large gilt mirror which reflected the rays onto the Hogarth engravings now hanging above the 18th Century sideboard.
Landry felt tears well up as the others ate. The evening light suggested to him the end of something—he no longer lived in the elegant mansion on Gaston Street. In a few months, everyone would be gone from this place. The prospect of going to Mexico was wonderful; yet he still felt regret or loss at what he was giving up.
“Are you OK?” David asked. They all saw that Landry was crying.
“Yes, yes. I am just overwhelmed by all the change. He laughed, a little embarrassed, and gave each of the others a smile. The three men looked so young, suddenly. The thought made him both happy and sad.
“The deviled crab was a good choice, Eddie.” Landry said. Everyone relaxed as his melancholy passed.
“Will you do the cooking when you are married?” Jules asked Eddie.
“Good question. Neither of us does much cooking, I’m afraid.”
“Where is Sharon, tonight?” David asked.
“I have no idea,” Eddie replied as if proud of the fact.

After dinner, Eddie and David wired the stereo. In no time Ravel filled the living room and the sun porch. Jules admired the art work, both Johnny Mercer’s and Landry’s. “Tell me about your African masks.”
Landry talked at length about the Dogon, Igbo, and Baule cultures. David made the coffee. They all sat on the sun porch sipping coffee, brandy, talking of art, and listening to French music.
“We are going back to town, right?” David asked.
“Yes, I suppose we must,” Landry replied. “There is another car load we should bring out tonight. The house needs to be vacated in two more days.”
“Is there enough time to stop in at Pinkie’s?”
“Oh, I think so. We can all sleep in tomorrow.”

“When will you move to San Francisco?” David asked. It was a few days later and both Jules and David were sunbathing in the side garden. The grounds provided privacy enough to sunbathe nude. They lay in broad, cushioned deck chairs on their stomachs.
“In just two weeks. So much to do to get ready.”
“Wish I could drive with you,” David said. “How long will it takes?”
“About a week. I’ll stop in Austin and in Santa Fe. You know Ken Lovell, don’t you? He makes jewelry and had a shop here.”
“Yes, I remember him.” David recalled. “Good looking guy.”
“He’ll put me up for a few days there, before the last leg of the drive to San Fran.”
“Where will you live when you get there? Do you know yet?”
One of the managers of Wilkes Bashford has promised to locate me an apartment near the shop.”
As they talked of their upcoming travels, and moves to new cities, Landry caught sight of them from the upstairs window. He made up the large, four-poster bed, tidied up the room, and was about to go downstairs. The glimpse of the two naked men held him. He stared at David’s white buttocks, thought of  fucking him, even. He took a pillow from one of the Hepplewhite chairs of the bedroom and placed it on the floor. He removed his trousers and knelt on the pillow, just looking over the window sill so that he could see the two below. Imagining ravishing David, he stoked himself to orgasm, stifling a cry of longing and pleasure less he call attention to his voyeurism.
“And you go to New Orleans in August?” Jules asked David. “It will be hot, won’t it? Landry will take you on his way to Mexico…”
“We are going to stay with an elderly couple who befriended Don when he was a grad student, himself, at Tulane. She spins poodle hair from their dogs on a big spinning wheel. Her husband weaves on a loom. They are native New Orleanians. She is also a great cook, Don says; so I have good food to look forward to having. I also have to find an apartment.”
“It must be fate that we are all going to new homes at the same time,” Jules said. “I feel we are all simultaneously expanding our consciousness, growing to a new spiritual level.”
Feeling the warmth of sunshine on his naked flesh, smelling the flowers of the garden, fragrant with magnolia blooms and a hint of honeysuckle, David had to agree. “We are blessed to have so much, all this, and so much opportunity,” he said. He reached over and gave Jules a kiss.

 ----------

There was no mistaking Allen Ginsberg at the Savannah Airport. Despite his having shaved his famous full beard, the bare-faced poet emerged from among the deplaning passengers like a radiant genie. He carried a gleaming brass trident, around which he had tied a pink, silk scarf from India. Holding the trident like a scepter, he was a grinning sea god, a long chain of wooden beads around his neck. The beads culminated in a small skull that dangled over his faded blue button down shirt and his bulging belly that hang out of well worn blue jeans. What hair Ginsberg had preserved formed a laurel crown above his wide ears and his shining, bald head. He walked up to the welcoming party as if he already knew them.

"You have a choice," Landry offered as they walked to the baggage claim.  "We can drive straight to Moon River or go into Savannah first for a drink and a look around."

Ginsberg sized up the welcoming party, Landry the gray-haired professor wearing a gray cashmere sweater, tall Eddie, a student no doubt wearing a sheepish grin, Susan in jeans and a sweatshirt, short, aggressive, probably a lesbian, and David, also short, but sensual, hot, smart.
"Does Savannah have a peg house?" He asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Landry laughed. He knew the others had never heard this term. "We have two gay bars, but that is about it." 
"I think I'd like to get settled in, if we could see your city afterwords," Ginsberg said. He gave David a smile that conjured in David's mind a leprechaun, "Then perhaps one of you can share the sights with me."
Landry smiled as Allen clearly directed his request to David.


"Do you want Eddie and me to come out to the house, or just to meet you later?' Susan asked. She was disappointed not to be going first downtown.


"Why don't we all meet at the Pink House," David suggested. "We can have a drink in the downstairs bar." There was a campy piano bar there where the clientele included Savannah's prosperous gays who often gathered at Happy Hour. David imagined injecting the crowd with a Beat poet. Susan loved the idea and seconded the choice. They all, Eddie reluctantly, agreed.


On the drive to Moon River, Ginsberg talked of the busy three days ahead. No, he had no interest in seeing the Owen Thomas House, nor the Davenport House, not the Juliet Gordon Lowe House. Yes, he wanted to walk the historic district, but, as he put it, he didn't want to goo-gaw over all the Bourgeois possessions of Victorian Savannah. Landry resisted the urge to make a cutting remark or point out that Savannah's best architecture was Regency, not Victorian.


"Would you consider giving a reading at the Carnegie Library?" asked David. He explained that Carnegie had a large children's section where school kids could easily sit and listen to a recitation. "There is usually a group, mostly poor black kids from the neighborhood, that meets on Friday mornings. " David did not confess that he had already mentioned the possibility of the poet visiting the library to Carnegie's head librarian, Mrs. Pope.


"Yes. Yes, splendid idea. " Allen replied. "I've been recording Blake's poems and I could sing them. I will chant to them as well."  David foresaw Ginsberg perched on the old oak desk chanting and a dozen fifth graders howling along with him, gleeful and mesmerized.


As the road opened to the marshlands, palm trees, and meandering creeks, Allen became silent. He stared at the landscape and hummed to himself. His body relaxed as he held his head in his open palm and as he gazed from the passenger window. "How beautiful it is here," he said softly. The harsh, tense planning voice became calm and gentle. When, at last, he saw the yellow, two-story, wood frame house at the end of a grassy dirt lane, he proclaimed, "An oasis in the savannahs."


The bar below the Pink House restaurant was having a smashing Thursday evening. The piano man was belting out show tunes, and the usual 40-something crowd was perched around him. Several men sang along. Cocktails were generous, if expensive. Landry thought the gathering ludicrous. Allen had seen it all before, too many times in too many cities. David loved it.


Already sitting at a table across from the bar and away from the piano were Eddie and Susan. Misery sat on Eddie's face while Susan displayed a mocking smile and waved them over. "We thought we could talk better over here," Eddie said as the others pulled up chairs and joined them.
 As David had surmised, Allen Ginsberg was noticed. The uninitiated looked with scorn at his jeans and his wood bead necklace. Most at the Piano wore suits. Yet, the few who recognized him quickly spread the word in the pause between "Summertime" and  "Day of Wine and Roses."
Ginsberg ordered a beer and asked a few questions about the historic house they were in. He quickly tired of the place and the pretentiousness. Upstairs in the restaurant proper he laughed at the prices on the menu; then he ordered the most expensive seafood dish. "This, my friends, is not my scene. It's as stuffy as my stuffed crab." He smiled trying not to offend. After all, This dinner was on the Poetry Society.


"Why don't we split this place and go to Pinkies," Eddie offered.


"Is that the gay bar?" Allen asked, hopefully.


"It's our political bar," David explained. "But it's popular with gays."

"Too early for the real gay bars-- Feelgood's and the Basement," Susan added. "But we could go to a bar along the river, then to Feelgood's."

Allen shrugged. For now he was glad to let them lead him wherever.

"Let's walk then. The River will give you a sense of the city. " David said to Allen.


Charmed by David, Ginsberg concurred. "Be my guides then," he said to the party.

The five crossed busy Bay Street  and made their way down the cobblestone streets. Mounds of dirt and disarray from the construction of the new riverfront plaza prompted Landry to explain the plans of the revival to Ginsberg. Landry pointed to the towering six story wall of buildings along Riverstreet. "Savannah has managed to preserve its river front almost exactly as it was two hundred years ago. All this area was considered a major city in Colonial days. These cobblestones we are stumbling over were brought as ballast in ships from England, then placed as paving stones."


Ginsberg nodded appreciatively. He stopped and took it all in. "Any other place like this, one would fear for his life in these dark alleyways and passages. Isn't that Jack the Ripper I see over in that corner?"
 "Oh, there were pirates and plenty of shady characters here in the early Nineteenth Century," David said. "The bars were full of your sailors and prostitutes. And it really isn't safe, future Plaza or no."
They wandered into a bar called The Other End. "It's behind the Boar's Head restaurant,"Eddie said.
A thin, lone singer did a James Taylor impersonation. There were only a handful of moderately drunk people in the bar. It was dark and smoky. They stayed for only one drink.


Again crossing Bay Street, heading south, Ginsberg visibly irritated by the tour of Factor's walk, they all marched up Drayton Street to Dr. Feelgood's. Landry took the lead with his long-legged gait and quickly paid the small cover charge for the whole group. Inside, the five separated and relaxed. Allen, at David's invitation, followed him into the dark interior beyond the dance floor. No one was dancing yet and there were several empty tables and bar stools against the wall. 
 "Will you tell me about India?" David asked as they sat down.
Allen laughed, clearly glad to be alone with David. "It is a very big country."


"You know... what you did there, who you traveled with..."
"Yes, my lover, Peter. Peter Orlovsky. We visited temples. lovely vast temples with sacred erotic figures. We learned about Hinduism and the sensuous gods. We learned about Mahayana Buddhism. It opened our Heart Chakra."


David smiled, imagining the temples, remembering images he had seen in books. "And do you think, from your experience, that Buddhism can encompass our being gay?'


"Buddhism encompasses everything," Ginsberg shouted. "It goes beyond sex. It transcends our silly, limited categories. You must practice meditation and yoga and chant until the old snake of the West, the Satanic snake, exits your bowels, slithers up your crooked spine, spouts downy wings and flies out of your head as you bless yourself."


"Like an acid trip, you mean?" David asked. He loved Allen's rapture.
"Acid. Peyote. Sacred Mushrooms. Dope. Hashish form Morocco. They are all prickly pears to pierce the old world hide that holds our souls in. All you have to do, David, is let go," Ginsberg took David's shoulders in his hands. "Open your mouth and let your soul emerge from the depths of your solar plexus. Chant. Sing. Hum. Dance. Let go of your ego. Wake up!"

As the bar grew crowded, David brought people he knew to meet the poet. It was apparent that Allen enjoyed the adulation those who knew of his poetry gave. He held forth about Jack Kerouac and the tragedy of his death. He talked of Burroughs, of Algiers, of the Beats' struggle through the Fifties. His exchanges with people eventually included  "the fascist regime of Nixon running the Vietnam genocide." 
David waited until the harangues concluded or subsided and then turned the talk back to Blake and Whitman. Allen calmed. "You Southerners are too complacent and that means complicit." But he gave in to the urge to talk of love and sex. "Better to murder the child in the crib than to nurse an unrealized desire," he paraphrased Blake.


Dr, Landry never joined the group again. He saw David with Ginsberg and wondered why David idolized him. "He would. The whole Hippie worship of the beats and their rejection of conventional manners and morality. Ginsberg is just Diogenes without the torch." Don knew he was just being sour. He disliked the posing and posturing that characterized Feelgood's. The music was far too loud. He had to invite Allen to go elsewhere with him, but he was relieved when David offered to take care of him and see that he got a ride home to Moon River. Ginsberg was clearly enjoying himself. David's friend Brian had appeared and was enthralled with the poet.

After Landry left, David danced with Susan and Eddie, all three together on the strobe lit dancefloor.  "Where is Sharon, tonight?' David asked.
Eddie's lips curled in contempt. "She's my fiance, not my mother. And you know how much she despises this place."


"And she's not at all jealous of me, is she? Now that she knows I am a thespian." 


"Why do you all think it's ok to make fun of her? Eddie asked. "She is a perfectly wonderful person."


"We probably should pity her," Susan answered, immediately regretting being so harsh.


As midnight arrived Eddie said he needed to leave. "I told Sharon I'd give here a goodnight call from Moon River."


"Good fiance." Susan laughed.


"Let me check with Ginsberg and see if he's ready to leave."


Allen was in intimate, passionate talk with Brian. David's friend from St. Patrick's Day, Michael was also among those listening to Ginsberg's stories.


"You guys head on," Brian said. as David suggested leaving. "I'll give Mr. Ginsberg a lift out to Moon River. I have to return to Windsor Forest, anyway. Same direction."


"But that is a long drive." Allen protested. He didn't want to be rude to David, however charmed he was by Brian. 


"No, not at all. I have a Mustang convertible and we can breeze out to the river with the top down. You'll love it."


"David, if that is fine with you... your friend has captured me."


David was caught off guard by the turn of events. "No, you should have a good time, mingle with Savannians. We'll see you at breakfast! Good night."


He turned to join Eddie and Susan who waved goodbye to Allen.


As the three climbed into the yellow Carmen Ghia, Susan thought how odd it was the way things evolved. She thought of her night on the slab of tomb in Colonial Cemetery when she momentarily wanted to make love to Eddie and David simultaneously. Or was it that she wanted to watch the two men make love, to see David penetrate Eddie, or the other way around. Poor David; now he was dropped by Brian for Ginsberg. She had to ask David, "Aren't you and Brian lovers?"

David winced. Did everyone know everyone he bedded down with? "If you mean did we fuck... yes."
"When was that?" Eddie asked. He never knew, nor really wanted to know, whom David fucked.


"Does it matter?"


"Sorry. I wasn't aware you were in a relationship. Are he and Ginsberg going to sleep together?" Eddie was puzzled but intrigued by gay pairings.


"How should I know?" David was pissed at Eddie's dismissive tone.


Susan's apartment was their first stop. She kissed both men on the lips. She wished they were couple. "Well, I think I've had enough of the Beat experience. But if you need me to take Ginsberg anywhere or attend any of his readings, just let me know. I'd love to hear him read from 'Howl.' You too behave, OK?"


When they arrived back at the narrow lane to Moon River, the house loomed large and dark, silhouetted against the pine trees. The only light came from the bulb above the back door leading to the patio.
"So. Don hasn't returned." David said.
"We should have stopped at Pinkies." Eddie replied.
"No. I'll bet he just went to the Basement, and probably got invited to some after hours party."
"I'd better call Sharon. It's already too late, but she made me promise to call." As Eddie expected, she was in bed asleep and mumbled love and thanks for calling.


The two made themselves drinks, Eddie joining David for a bourbon and Ginger, and settled on the sun porch. David put Bill Evans on the record player. A rendition of "My Funny Valentine with Evans and Miles Davis filled the room. Eddie smiled. David saw right off that he was willing or even wanted to be seduced.


Landry arrived home an hour or so later. He fumbled with the keys at the front door, not realizing it was unlocked. Aware on entering that others were up and lights on, he hurried quietly up to the master bedroom. He had no interest in joining in conversation, presuming wrongly that Ginsberg was still holding forth with those downstairs. Not bothering with the lights, he undressed in the dark and fell gratefully into his bed and into sleep. "Thank you, my dear God, for the oblivion of sleep." He muttered as he dozed off.


It was approaching dawn when Brian's convertible drove noisily up the dirt lane of Moon River. David watched from the sun porch as Ginsberg said goodnight and climbed out of the Mustang. David knew Brian would not come in.


"I think I'd better go to bed. " Eddie said, seeing David staring out of the window. "You and Allen can have the room to yourselves."

"Don't you want to watch the sunrise?' David asked, half mocking Eddie. Ginsberg entered the room mid-question.

"You are still up! Am I invited to share the sunrise with you?'
"Of course. It comes up right over moon River. You won't be disappointed." David replied.


Eddie nodded, then mounted the stairs to his bedroom. David and Allen walked across the brick patio, Ginsburg humming, down through the tall pines toward the dock. The wooden planks of the dock were rotting, the dilapidation making walking out on it dangerous. Allen and David tiptoed gingerly out to the end of the pier overlooking the flowing creek. They stood at the old railing staring at the point where, at any moment, the sun would emerge from the bright, glowing layer of cloud above the marsh grass and across Moon River.
Allen sat in lotus position facing the sunrise. David felt half asleep, as if in a trance. He wanted to ask Ginsberg if he had made love to Brian, had it been good. But he couldn't break the soothing silence of the flowing river below, the lapping of the water on the mud at the base of the pilings holding them up. He knew he had, anyway.

The sun appeared. A blood red ball blazed up from behind the clouds. Immediately, a wavering line of light shimmered in the expanse of water that stretched through the marshland to the Sun.

"I think I shall go back and go to bed, now," David said to Allen. David stood behind the sitting poet.
"Thank you," Allen replied.  "Thank you for bringing me to this divine place. You are beatific."

As David worked his way over the dock's broken planks to the land, he gazed back at Allen Ginsberg. The sun was forming a glowing halo around him. Allen had become the Buddha of the Marsh, radiating holiness in the morning mist. He appeared to float above Moon River from his perch at the end of the pier. David wished he had his camera. "I must take more photos later, David reminded himself.
 When he reached the house and climbed the steps to his room, he took a last long glimpse of the river. The sun had become white hot in the sky. Allen had not moved an inch. "Some day I will learn to meditate like that," David whispered as he undressed. In seconds he was asleep in the large Stickley bed.

End, Ch. 9