Before the Curtain: Depression and Other Joys

By John Stell

A selection of poetic and dramatic pieces written by John Stell for reading, contemplation and performance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Stell
• Release date: Apr 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781495153693

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Before the Curtain: Depression and Other Joys

BEFORE THE CURTAIN

(DEPRESSION AND OTHER JOYS)

By

JOHN STELL

© copyright 2013

Copyright © 2013 by John Stell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the writer-publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Library of Congress Registration Number: TXu 1-893-834

Contact the Author:

John Stell

P.O. Box 792114

New Orleans, La 70179

[phone]

Dedication

For

Terry Madden, Rosemary Ruiz,

Bruce Findley, Maurice Kowalewski---

four New Orleanians who opted for L.A. but remain sprinkled with Cajun spices, and whose individual wells of friendship, concern, and humanity know no bounds yet continue to spring forth soothing

waters.

Acknowledgement

The Deep South, I have been told, is of one the great story-telling regions of the country. Whether it’s in the water or in the heat or in the melting-pot which people the region, no other culture can turn a phrase in quite the same way. There is a pulse here, an energy, an intensity bubbling just beneath the surface, which is conducive to story-telling. This is a culture of contrasts: it can be eccentric and exciting, colorful and kind, distinctive and disarming; it can also turn dangerous on a dime. This is my backyard; this is home. This is also my third foray into what I like to term as my own, personal, little petrie-dish. (The first being a collection of prose-poems and the second, a play.) Now, after a couple of decades, this foray, this tapestry—this contrast, if you will—is, once again, on display. And it has been a ride of extremes--- both rewarding and frustrating, exhilarating and intimidating. Contrast, it seems, is everywhere—pesky,  little devil.Even so, no one reaches this point solely on their own; and I have been most fortunate to have the following people around me: My Man Mazey---Duane, by name; who always believed and insisted, then pushed; Michael Schiro---my sounding-board; who has attempted to drag a raging techno-phobe into the 21st century; the Brothers, the Cousins, the Kerls---my core; Musketeers all, to my rube; thank ya, guys.To all of the people listed above and to everyone whose criticism or encouragement helped shape what follows, I owe a debt of gratitude.

John Stell

Introduction

In the South, the Deep South, we have always had—whether for good or for ill—an overwhelming tendency, a compulsion (almost), to describe or label everything. Be it our climate, our food, our appearance. We do most things lavishly, without a filter, but with an accent; that’s just one of many elements which makes this region unique.

We treat our literature in exactly the same way. These are but a few examples. With words like distinctive (Tim Gautreaux’s WELDING WITH CHILDREN, THE CLEARING); off-kilter ( Flannery O’Connor’s Good Country People, A Late Encounter With The Enemy); bizarre (O’Connor’s A Good Man Is Hard To Find, William Faulkner’s AS I LAY DYING, A Rose For Emily); horrific ( Anne Rice’s AN INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE); traumatic (Ernest Gaines’ A LESSON BEFORE DYING): and downright eccentric (Tennessee Williams’ A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE), the reading public knows it’s in for a treat. They know they will be transported into a definite time and place. To a place where heat and emotion become palpable—and flop off the skin like sweat (but not in the traditional way)

Hopping merrily into this mix comes my little yum-yums, my simple efforts:  An Enigma Passing, Mona The Moron, Fury In The Fast Lane, Dying The Good Life, The Water Boy, Dooley Davis……And His Sugarbear, Scotch Fingers, Arc Of A Wager….. 

You see, my modest mixture is a heady gumbo, a tiny tempest—if you will:  filled with random flavors, a bug-a-boo, with a wee pinch of the Russian (Dostoyevsky and Chekhov, be praised). But this gumbo’s a dark roux, sometimes brutal. It doesn’t pull its punches. It remains unsettling.

Ironically, the ingredients for this roux began in London, of all places, in 1981. I was there on tour, acting in the jazz-play ONE MO’ TIME!; and the walls were beginning to take its toll, in a most nerve-wracking way. Insomnia and homesickness were having a happy time of it. So, to combat these feelings, I began to compose—then write—a series of thumbnail sketches (fictionalized, to be sure), centering on common, everyday people at their most vulnerable, at the more decisive moments of their lives. And with more than a conscious nod to Faulkner and O’Connor, these pieces have continued to be a mainstay, an essential part of my life, all these years. Now, with this, my third venture, you are cordially invited to the South, my South:  to a South of a definite pace, a certain rhythm; to a South where the prominent becomes the ordinary and the ordinary becomes the distinctive; to a South long before the onslaught of social media; to a time when actual words built upon actual words to create an image—to a South that’s past. Yes, you are cordially invited to my South:  where an old man’s entire universe is his cat, where the mere act of standing in line at a supermarket belies a religious conviction; where a deaf-mute sweeping a beach endures a devastating encounter, where a Christmas tradition becomes the defining moment for a Vietnam vet; and much, much more… Intrigued Well, the invitation is extended. You are most welcome. All you have to do is turn the page.   John Stell

DEPRESSION AND OTHER JOYS

THE COMMON HUEY

He was a glint in the public eye,

an ember, thirsting to be a flame.

I knew the man; I was his bookkeeper.

I knew what he was worth and what he wasn’t---

his every asset, his every deduction,

all his donations, both public and private,

the secret deals, the payoffs, the kickbacks.

And over the years, I stuck by him,

because he needed me, he trusted me;

I was indispensable, his own right arm.

I was there when the ember finally caught

and set the country ablaze.

He was what the public wanted

and he let them know it.

What’s more, he made them believe it.

The road to change was power! he’d stress.

His power was their power;

their power was his power;

and power could only be achieved together, through him---

beginning first, last, and always in the voting booth!

Oh, he cut a fine and a fiery figure---

forthright, dynamic, outspoken,

a man