beulahbondo's Diaryland Diary

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Preacher man of a Preacher man

Today I turn the podium over to Nancy Drew, who has a birthday party story for you. Not mine, but her friend Stuart's, and not really about the party either but about her ride there and back with the famous Preacher Jack, a non-stop boogie-woogie man from around these parts.

Someday, not today, cause I overslept and I'm running late, I'll tell you some Nancy Drew stories. Our lives since 1995 have been entwined like plastic Easter basket grass...and the results may surprise you! (Booming, FOX news-style voice.) Here now is Nancy Drew, with the story of Preacher Jack.

I have not known Beulah as long as Kitty [Actually you�ve known me a year longer! --BB] but I also had an unforgettable impression upon meeting the elegant and radiant Beulah. I shall never forget her portrayal of Mary Dyer, New England martyr. Beulah did an amazing job of hanging herself over and over, like a skip in a record, as directed by our director. It was spooky and dramatic and effective. I was duly impressed. This was one of my first times in a theater production and Beulah was all trained and everything, Shakespeare like.

We reconnected about a year later in the Arlington library. As a library lover, I am partial toward library patrons. This could be the start of something beautiful, I thought, and I was right. Beulah pointed out to me recently that we have a lot of the same books on our bookshelves and I thought finally, my plan is working. Beulah and I share other interests: a love of freaks, tea cups, colorful and shiny objects we can dive for.

I had a glimpse last night of what our friendship might resemble in another 20 years, god willing, etc. Another tall friend of mine, Stuart, celebrated his 60th birthday at Caf� Brazil yesterday. Stuart and I met over fennel seeds at a poetry reading in 1994. I was one of four (I think) former paramours of his attending last night � many, many others joined us in spirit, a few in spit. Stuart loves the ladies and the ladies love Stuart.

Many of his guests have been his friends for 20, 30, even 40 years and shared stories of Stuart: his inventions, his trash picking, which is legendary (once he and I scouted around for hours, and found, a specific washing machine part), his ability to talk with anyone, his days as a film maker (sound work predominantly and often underwater), his brief stint entertaining prostitutes in India [Do tell! --BB].

Stuart is a faithful friend with many other faithful and eccentric friends. He picked up Preacher Jack and me in Salem outside the Lafayette Hotel where the Preacher lives. Preacher Jack is much taller than I had thought. He and Stuart are about the same height, six two or three. I almost didn�t recognize him without his beard. He looks younger than the last time I saw him singing and pounding his heart out at Frank�s Steakhouse, but I imagine he wouldn�t look as Christlike under the spotlight, clean shaven as he is.

Man oh man, that preacher signified the whole ride down Route 1A. He is a good listener in the way that if you contribute a remark, he says your name back to you and then runs with that ball. �You�re right, Nancy Drew. I could get off at Sullivan Station and walk to the Mt. Vernon. Bill and Trixie lunch there around 11 to 12, sometimes staying until 12:30. Bless their souls, they�ve been so good to me. They bought my piano, the second one, and Trixie, she sent up some money to my wife and I to help us get through. Hard times for everyone. When I look around, I just say, God, guide me through. He�ll get me through. I told Frank�s I�d take back Thursday night. I told them I�d do that with no hesitation. They had to make some changes. Said they liked me without the beard. They want a younger vibe in there. I love that beard, but they�re right it makes me look like an old man.�

He hardly took a breath. I don�t know how he does it. Maybe it�s some kind of benefit you get from singing. He�s never had a voice or a piano lesson. He was inspired first by Liberace, of all people. Then he studied at revivals in Roxbury, records by Peter Johnson, Meade Lux Lewis and Albert Ammons, Mahalia Jackson Jerry Lee Lewis. He threw in a little bit of Elvis, mixed it up and started in on the ivories. Oh yes, he says he is greatly influenced by Billy Graham. He used to drink, but no more. Still smokes, �that�s one of my sins.�

One memorable night at Frank�s he told us all we could be saved, YES! we could be saved if we all went to Martha�s Vineyard and waited for the mother ship to take us home. �You just have to be patient,� he said. �The mother ship will arrive.� I went to the Vineyard on several occasions and waited and no such ship arrived. The Preacher called us on our sins but touted the glories of love and belly-buttons. He would sermonize, all the while keeping the rhythm with his left hand, pounding away, maybe making the sign of the cross with his right, turning his eyes to heaven with that spotlight on his white hair and bluish eyes. A little bit of that image in Carrie�s prayin� closet.

The Preacher performed for seven years on Thursday and Friday nights at Frank�s Steakhouse in Cambridge. In the beginning of November the management wanted to make those changes and they told the Preacher he�d lose a night at least. I guess he took the news okay in the probably paneled office but one Thursday night not soon after when he spotted Steve the manager he spilled his heartfelt guts to the audience. �They�re putting me out to pasture folks. I�m getting shoved out,� he was reported to have said both by himself and Stuart. It got a little ugly and well, he was asked to leave right then. All over. The gig of a lifetime, kind of. A good gig for the Preacher. He had it all worked out. The three trains to get there, the cab ride home at sometimes 3am. �I never got my license to drive,� he told me last night. �That was another example of my irresponsibility. I just was concentrating on the keys and I figured there would always be people to give me rides or cabs.�

The Preacher lives in Salem at the Lafayette Hotel, where he does not cook much. His wife of eight years, Emily, called Jessie, lives down the street and around the corner. The arrangement saves their marriage, thank the Lord, over and over. The Preacher is collecting unemployment, another reason to thank everybody, and he has mostly made it up with Steve and the folks at Frank�s. They might ask him back. He�s got a few private gigs coming up. He may look for some kind of salesman job, something where his fast talking ways are an asset. You could help out by buying one of his recordings.

The faithful Stuart is looking to help him out. He offered to pick him and up and drive him to gigs, proving the Preacher�s assumption to be true. There are people out there who help out. Stuart and Trixie and many of the cigarette-smoking, Manhattan-drinking crowd at Frank�s, all the brothers and sisters.

So, Miss Beulah, in a couple decades or so I�m looking forward to your birthday bash and the fine parade of friends carrying signs, of which I hope to be the one that reads, �Wixty, Trixty and Sixty.�

10:10 a.m. - 2002-12-12

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