Paper Quilt: Red, White, Blue

By W.H. Bill Smith

PAPER QUILT/RED-WHITE-BLUE IS A COLLECTION OF MEMORIES OF MANY FRIENDS WHO HAVE DIED OF AIDS, BUT NOT ALL. PEOPLE I NOT ONLY KNEW BUT KNEW PRETTY WELL WHO (ONE HOPES) HAVE GONE ON TO A GREATER EXISTENCE. MANY OF (PERHAPS ALL) THESE PEOPLE HAD UNIQUE WAYS THAT WERE AS I SEE IT, VIBRANT. THIS IS AN ATTEMPT TO PORTRAY THEIR BEING, PROCLIVERTY, AND THE EXTENT IMPACT OF AIDS IN THE AFRICAN AMERICAN COMMUNITY.

CONVERSELY, THIS WORK PAPER QUILT/RED-WHITE-BLUE GIVES TRIBUTE, SHARES SADNESS AND FUTILE ACCEPTANCE. A SPIRIT OF KEEPING ON WITH LIFE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 6, 2004
• ISBN: 9781477164242

W.H. Bill Smith

The author has been a San Francisco Bay Area resident for the last thirty odd years. A native of Texas whose rearing was rooted in a Roman Catholic Southwestern Middle-American continence. A strong believer in justice, fairness and an unabashed pride in the United States Constitution and the Bill of Rights even when it (and its intent) is blindly, sordidly interpreted thereby compromising its purpose. Besides writing the author loves to paint and read. He has found great solace in reading works writings, especially history and has been mired in the Civil War for years: Lincoln, Grant, Sherman and Sheridan are favorites. Most selected reading material have been very rewarding and fundamentally educating. This exposure has contributed to him keeping his life’s navigation mostly balanced.

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Copyright © 2002 by W.H. Bill Smith.

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CONTENTS

FOREWORD

SO WE SUFFER

THE STRONG YET TENDER

WHINER

TILLIE HAS GONE

ACCORDING TO HOYLE

SOMEONE TO CHEAT ON

BARE LEGS AND ALL

NINETY MILES APART

MUCHO ARROGANCE,

SO FINE

NO FLACK

WHERE DO I START WITH

LEONARD …

FENNELL, NOT A CLOTH

STORM KING

HE WENT DOWN TO THE WATER

I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WENT

TO NEW MEXICO

THE HUNTER, BAR NONE

AN ACERBIC PERSONALITY

CARL JACKSON,

CONTRACTIONS

A THOUGHT

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Although this effort is about deceased friends I must thank my living friends who have been most helpful and supportive of me and my ventures.

The subject matter that prevails here is not an easy nor comfortable one so the thanks are anchored in the tenets of the earth’s axle.

My thanks are to:

Lynne, who read my work at my persistent insistence and then antagonized me to no end, Look I have to know about this, promulgating sincerity, without the turban, or I cannot continue unless I know such and such, . Just totally disregarding poetic license; the intent of the writer. Leaving some mystery so the reader can be challenged. But Lynne is a most prolific reader, especially from a bar stool; Robert and Charles, my relations of choice, who offer both an intellectual and social balance; Burnell for his impressions of which I was not always able to discern; Willie, her support so expectant, sure and troubling; Charlotte for her growing acceptance and our Saturday mornings’ conversation; sisters, Beverly and Marian (including their astute brother, Roland, who reads well) for their everlasting support; Marie for her grudging reluctance of acceptance; and my dear cousin Jeannette who tolerates me to no end. I value you. Each and everyone of you are so different and wonderful. It is a pleasure that I cherish with abandon.

Without a doubt I am indebted!

FOREWORD

TOO EARLY TO DIE!

A CATHARSIS

HOW BEST TO COPE

It struck me as a particularly existential shame that people live and die and go for the most part unfelt, as you, the universe and I knew them.

This happened first when I was trying to explain the spirit and being of a friend who had died; his zest, voice and physical features. All of these qualities contributed to a consummate joyful being, with worldly pinnacles.

Then after one and the other began falling victim (in many cases fatally) to the plague of now I became somewhat focused on … someone please let my friends be capture-lized. So I took, figuratively speaking, hand to pen.

The following remembrances, nay stories, are of people whom I not only knew but knew very well who (one hopes) have gone on to a greater existence. Many of (perhaps all) the people I write about had unique ways that were as I see it, vibrant.

The number of (life and) death stories I experienced are actually quite staggering considering the relatively small circumference of my world. So, I was either unable or unwilling to drag myself in detail through re-creation of all of those that I knew who have gone. I had to find ways to propel my creative energies without damaging my continuity.

Simply, continuing is most fitting for survival and one must do what is best for ones’ continuation; pragmatism. Pointedly, if you become overwhelmed then under-whelm.

Stories of spirit and being of other friends that have been left out of my capturing include:

BRENDA STARR WAS HIS HERO—

Somewhere McNair

He was a child of Virginia and a man of New York.

Amusing

Characteristic:               a delightfully low giggle Oh, he was very hairy

I have been unable to reach Joe for a few years. His telephone number of well over ten years is no longer operative. We (other West Coast friends of his) presume fearfully that Joe is dead. Joe and I met when I moved to New York in 1968 (a brief stay). I can remember it as if it was yesterday.

Our first party (the first week of our acquaintance) together found us going down town to Brooklyn. We went into this building and ranged an apartment door bell. Entering the apartment’s very long hallway I was immediately silently alarmed by glass cases that intermittently lined it.

The living room sofa that I uneasily sat on was covered with an animal skin (probably Zebra) rug. The coffee table was also a glass case. Again, silently immediately, I spied a very large snake motionlessly lying on a log in the coffee table.

Finally, I concluded that we were in a den of snakes. My shaky comfort level on that Zebra skin sofa dissipated into stark silent fear. Chills overcame me as I waited the touch of a crawling varmint. I said nothing trying to be new found New York cool, a mistake. An hour or so later people became alarmed by, Oh my God, there is a snake in that case!

I then said, There are snakes in all the cases! The ones in the hallway and throughout this room. People began to register signs of alarm. Eventually, the apartment dweller showed us (the somewhat brave ones) the cage in a room off the kitchen that housed the live rodent food.

Joe loved Brenda Starr and relished in using metaphors from that cartoon to explain life. I was unaware of her until his entry into my life but took great pride in disdaining his attraction. He was not amused; tough tithe.

Because I worked for an airline and traveled across the country at will he soon got such a job. Eventually, spending more time in other countries (a slight exaggeration) rather than his own.

After I moved from New York (back to California), at times, on my return I would arrive at his apartment on the 34th floor of the performing arts building on 43rd off of Eighth Avenue around 9pm. We would finally hit the streets (whether he was having a party or not; the 1976 Bi-centennial party with boats down the Hudson was wonderful, although I arrived earlier this time) around 1:30 am (obviously, he had become tired of my pressing to go out now or see you later) and not make it back to Joe’s until approximately 6am. No club or nook and cranny was safe.

He always found me very perplexing yet he was always loyal and we laughed so hard together about things of little consequence to others. He was a total gadabout and very sure of his ability to attract suitors. My buddy!

HANG ON SLOOPY, SLOOPY HANG ON

We worked together at the P.O.

in the beginning

Years later we would talk on the phone

unbelievable, for hours

Sharing dreams and things

futuristic powers

I was warned by a lover

that their friend

Said my friend … was not quality

Well, loyalty is all we have

So I offered farewell

to my lover … not necessary

People respect those

… who stand up to adversity

Not just me, just wait

you’ll see

John was your base alcoholic

Destruction of self a certainty, usually

if not a goal, what frolic

When all was said and done, years later

After loves, jobs and many many disappointments

including our strained friendship

sans bitter …

Memphis and family received him

with open arms, at least the brother his clone

… No phone

+

Reports said he was well

Now a property owner …

Thanks to the clone

what the hell

Then the reports continued

Alcohol was still the boss

Expecting nothing but lost

It gets worse

Please don’t get crossed

Shopping in the Emporium

formerly Capwell’s

Found J.D. moving the floor

and then …

Watch the spin

He said, You heard about John?

I said, No?!?

Certain there will be no grin

It seems he died of AIDS

In a nursing home

quite frayed

Shopping was tainted

I moved on

Just felt … or should have felt

fainted

Boy, we sure were acquainted!

The Hang on Sloopy song of the sixties was one John used to harass a fellow letter distribution clerk at the post office while we sat in a long aisle doing our job. This woman could take it no more and turned and gave John what for in front of the whole aisle. She was right and John was embarrassingly admonished.

It is rather disturbing to realize that I will not hear his voice again. Especially at the peak of our camaraderie when he would call and on occasion say, So how are you doing? Then using his term of endearment he further said in his familiar baritone, Little colored boy …

SLACKS, SHIRTS AND HAIR WELL DONE

When they told me Louis had died

I replied as so often of late it seems

I do

Louis who? I said

With an innocence that

could birth a coup

On being told the