I wish I could come up with some original characters of my own, characters with real voices (the gravellier the better), characters with physical limitations who beat insurmountable odds and make the reader all warm and fuzzy inside. I’m not sure I can do this, or should I say, I’m not sure the composite sketches I’ve drawn lately are satisfactory. I’m basing most of my research on listening, on ear-hustling.
In the prison lunchroom the other day, the Horticulture instructor and one-time Institutional Maintenance teacher (aka Mopology educator) talked about a one-legged student buffing the hallway floors. “Spun him around like a top.” He said it as if he were reporting the news with the utmost objectivity, with no inflection in his voice. “The buffer knocked him on his ass a few times.” Someone asked for a name. I’m not sure he remembered the student’s actual name and if he did, I must’ve forgotten it. “The other prisoners,” he replied, “called him Kickstand.” No empathy in prison.
In today’s photo, my brother and I are proudly sitting on my Dad’s BSA while he takes our picture. Do you see how I arrived here? Why I’ve chosen this pic? I’m the little guy in front.
9 comments:
I think the difficulty lies in deciding what kind of character to create. In my experience larger than life characters are easier to create than totally realistic ones.
Excellent. Kickstand, indeed. It's a brutal world, but that's a cool shot from a proud moment for your Dad.
If my Beezer had been a woman I would have married it. Best bike I ever had.
Jim most of what you write is of the "no one could make this stuff up" variety and personally I enjoy your dulcet voice in the telling of the tales.
Jim, Man, that was cruel. I love all of your old pics. Unfortch, my family wasn't too great with the cameras during that time.
"BSA" "Bullshitters Anonymous"
Just a riff:
It is strange, that over the thousands of books I have read, only Robert Persig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance seemed to make any sense...And it was neither about zen, or that much about motorcycles.
It seemed to explain life to me, retroac tively, as a teenager with a mechanical bent.
Nowadays I read novels, and they all seem to end in zen, whatever the hell that is. All novels lead to zen? And what's really there.
Hey JR..I forgot to tell you he was listening to the "Swinging Utters," trying to do the pogo. Could also have been another reason he fell. Reflecting. MW
Anon....It's obvious you never met BSA bob who has(d) in his basement in Cass Corridor just about the entire worlds original stock of BSA parts. The dude lost a leg riding and still never quit he had hundreds of rolling stock.
Next to the Old Miami his basement warehouse was the most fun i ever had on Cass Avenue.
Shoot. I love your stories. They live. They breathe. I love what you say about "ear hustling." That's exactly the right thing. I read your stories in old posts, and they rock.
Great picture. You two look like cute hell on wheels...ha!
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