I was headed to Mike McAndrews book opening. Faces of Port Townsend. It was just past noon and as of yet I hadn’t had my first Jameson. I thought about Sirens and the Pourhouse but then the whispering started.

I had slept along the waterfront, hammock strung between two trees. Port Townsend has the most beautiful natural lighting I thought as I had my morning smoke while the stars shown bright and all across the night sky. A natural palette for an Artist.

I never used to wake so early like I do now. Life goes full circle as time passes. Hanging on to baggage as time weighs its footprint. That’s when the whispering started.

“Welcome to Port Townsend. Up kind of early?”

“I like the sounds of 3 in the morning. Smells better, thinking is more clear.”

“You are fine. I heard a bit different drummer as well. I tell you a light playing Saxophone at 3 in the morning beat any cup of coffee I ever had. Let me breathe. You know, I heard dead folks could talk with you. Seeing is believing.”

“Scared the bejesus out of me.”

“I imagine, we did,” lightly glancing. “I’m still shaking my head. We first started hearing that Mike, Mike McAndrew had a friend who could talk to us deaduns’ and of course believing was something else. Then we started listening and reading. Pete, Pete Toyne by the way.”

“Dead folks are the nicest people I’ve met. Hanson.”

“I’ll leave you to your quiet but we got a little celebration planned for after the reading at the UnderTown.”

“What a warm, comfortable place. Nice brick and the lighting could relax sore eyes. Closed I see.”

“You’ll find locked doors can’t stop dead folks. You can’t leave Port Townsend, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Well, why would you? Life is a prism and we see our fingerprints all over the people left behind. The living faces of Port Townsend make us dead folks proud. Tell them thanks for me would you?”

I saw a flickering light, mutton chop like sideburns and big black Orbison glasses without the tint. He laughed and said he would see me later.

I pulled into a place just outside Waco. Billys was the name hanging from the old sign post. Parking lot was empty except for some ancient pickups and a yellow beetle.

The Bartender was a bit scrawny. He wore a white cowboy hat and a gold chain hinging round his neck. wearing a Eagle jersey with the number 92, White stitched on the back.

“You Billy?

“Bob Gibbons, son of Billy. Dad has been dead going on twenty years. Friends call me Billy Bob. Name has followed me around since grade school.”

“That your yellow bug out front?”

“I wouldn’t be seen driving one of those little foreign cars. That yeller one would be Liz’s. Don’t be getting close. She more than likely take your head off. Mean like a rattlesnake.”

“Don’t they hang Eagles fans in Texas?’

“You’d be surprised how many Cowboys fans show up here to watch Sunday football. I’ve been called every name in the book but all in all they are my friends. Had to add on an extra room and the grill became a kitchen. Lucky man to have met Donna Lu. She can cook up a storm. Ain’t no waste in her kitchen.”

“How long you owned the joint?”

“Well like I said Pa died twenty years ago. We struggled taking over. Pa didn't care about the condition of the building and his aging customers were slowly dying away. I noticed Cowboy fans seemed to like a bit of banter when I wore my Eagles gear. You didn’t notice the Eagles flag flying over my roof?”

“No sir, No sir.”

“I went to work nights, loading and unloading trucks for Stan Literski. Hell of a nice guy. Paid well, worked hard. Put the money into the bar.” He handed me my drink.

I walked over to the jukebox. It was filled with old country music. Sad songs about life gone wrong. Pushed some song called Ebdas Lament. Let your hair down girl could be heard coming out of the speakers.

I sat a couple seats down from her, nodded my head. “Texas, sure is hot.”

“You ain’t hitting on me son are you? Last man I had to shoot. Self defense. I had warned him and Billy Bob and all the regulars vouched for me.”

I heard Billy Bob from the other end of the bar, “Be honest Lizzy. You had threatened us all with a hex from your prison cell. I sure wasn’t going to stand up to your wrath.”

I chuckled.

“The demons in that whiskey drinking will get you? Pretty soon you’ll start seeing things that ain’t there,” she said.

“How’d you know?”

“A gift from the great spirit.” Her nose was long, her hair scraggly and she had a big wart at the tip. “I got a bit of the Haitian blood in me. The spirits, Ti bon ange wander this earth. Certainly you feel them. You gotta prepare for the journey to the dead or your spirit will stay.”

I wasn’t sure about Billy Bob and her being mean. I was thinking crazy, flat out crazy.

“Not everybody can practice the Vodoo. It comes from the inside.”

“How’d you find your way to Nowhere, Texas?

“It was the 60’s. Free love and acid and marijuana but it was hot and miserable in New Orleans. Headed to California. Only got this far before I ran out of money. Bobby Bills dad Billy hired me to clean up, serve customers, tend bar. I think I became the daughter he never had. Sweet, sweet man.”

“He had a little bit of land out there near the river. He sold me part of it and I started raising chickens and snakes. Chickens gave me sustenance and those Southern preachers bought my snakes.”

’How come Billy Bob says you are mean?”

“Me and Billy Bob are more like Brother and Sister. We took a liking to each other and argue like cats and dogs. We are only a few years apart in age so it was natural. So happy he came across Donna Lu. Other wise he’s be just like those other two drunks at the end of the bar.”

He started laughing. “Mean as a rattlesnake, I told you. You certainly don’t think you are going to change her now do you?”

“No, no. She is as she is. I best hit the road got miles to go before the sun sets.”

“It was nice meeting you,’ extending her hand. “Liz Rourke. By the way, if you run into McAndrew again tell him I say hello.”

“Sure enough, sure enough. Billy Bob, you got yourself a nice bar. We’ll be seeing you.”

Those were some of the nicest people in Texas that I’d met. I pulled out of the parking lot and looked for the first road west.

Behind the Curtain

“What do you mean I can’t go to Howies one hundredth birthday party?”

“No Sir, Doctors orders.”

I eyeballed the Nurse, figuring if I raised a stink they’d take away my morning smoke and walking privileges.

“I’ll be calling my daughter.”

I had kept my Volkswagen Bug stored at my cousin Kurts place. Last I’d seen him he had told me he started it weekly and it sounded good as ever. It had been a couple decades since I’d driven and I wasn’t even quite sure where Howie lived anymore but missing his hundredth was out of the question.

I woke early, telling Chester as I walked outside that it was a day for a two smoke walk. He nodded, “Don’t let the Robins get the better of you.”

The sun was just making its way up over the horizon. Old or not it was still my favorite part of the day. I was a bit worried stealing my own car and if Kurt caught me I’m not certain he would let me drive. He always told me I couldn’t drive when I was normal and I’m guessing senility took away a bit of my edge.

I should have known the old boys would have taken care of everything. Wayne and Kick had the bad boy polished and running as I approached the house. They seemed proud of their work.

“Kurt and Sandy are out suntanning California way. Won’t be back for another week. You need someone to ride shotgun?”

“Is that you Kick? A long time.”

“Wayne called me, said he needed some help. Didn’t have much going and knew Kurt always kept something cold in the fridge.”

Wayne piped in. “Its a bit hesitant going from fourth to fifth. The old lady ain’t been out on the road for awhile. All new belts, ready to roll. Have fun.”

“Kick, you riding shotgun would be a blast but I’m not certain I’d get out of Winona. This is something a man has to do on his own. Say goodbye to an old friend before he joins you.”

I was a week late for the birthday as I started down old highway 61. I noticed some strange looks as cars buzzed past me. I felt thirsty as I drove by Linahans and Twin Bluffs. I started thinking about old times, old friends and that after all the running and crazy stuff we did, we were still friends. I put the pedal to the metal and said what the hell.

I pulled into a place just outside Waco. Billys was the name hanging from the old sign post. Parking lot was empty except for some ancient pickups and a yellow beetle.

The Bartender was a bit scrawny. He wore a white cowboy hat and a gold chain hinging round his neck. wearing a Eagle jersey with the number 92, White stitched on the back.

“You Billy?

“Bob Gibbons, son of Billy. Dad has been dead going on twenty years. Friends call me Billy Bob. Name has followed me around since grade school.”

“That your yellow bug out front?”

“I wouldn’t be seen driving one of those little foreign cars. That yeller one would be Liz’s. Don’t be getting close. She more than likely take your head off. Mean like a rattlesnake.”

“Don’t they hang Eagles fans in Texas?’

“You’d be surprised how many Cowboys fans show up here to watch Sunday football. I’ve been called every name in the book but all in all they are my friends. Had to add on an extra room and the grill became a kitchen. Lucky man to have met Donna Lu. She can cook up a storm. Ain’t no waste in her kitchen.”

“How long you owned the joint?”

“Well like I said Pa died twenty years ago. We struggled taking over. Pa didn't care about the condition of the building and his aging customers were slowly dying away. I noticed Cowboy fans seemed to like a bit of banter when I wore my Eagles gear. You didn’t notice the Eagles flag flying over my roof?”

“No sir, No sir.”

“I went to work nights, loading and unloading trucks for Stan Literski. Hell of a nice guy. Paid well, worked hard. Put the money into the bar.” He handed me my drink.

I walked over to the jukebox. It was filled with old country music. Sad songs about life gone wrong. Pushed some song called Ebdas Lament. Let your hair down girl could be heard coming out of the speakers.

I sat a couple seats down from her, nodded my head. “Texas, sure is hot.”

“You ain’t hitting on me son are you? Last man I had to shoot. Self defense. I had warned him and Billy Bob and all the regulars vouched for me.”

I heard Billy Bob from the other end of the bar, “Be honest Lizzy. You had threatened us all with a hex from your prison cell. I sure wasn’t going to stand up to your wrath.”

I chuckled.

“The demons in that whiskey drinking will get you? Pretty soon you’ll start seeing things that ain’t there,” she said.

“How’d you know?”

“A gift from the great spirit.” Her nose was long, her hair scraggly and she had a big wart at the tip. “I got a bit of the Haitian blood in me. The spirits, Ti bon ange wander this earth. Certainly you feel them. You gotta prepare for the journey to the dead or your spirit will stay.”

I wasn’t sure about Billy Bob and her being mean. I was thinking crazy, flat out crazy.

“Not everybody can practice the Vodoo. It comes from the inside.”

“How’d you find your way to Nowhere, Texas?

“It was the 60’s. Free love and acid and marijuana but it was hot and miserable in New Orleans. Headed to California. Only got this far before I ran out of money. Bobby Bills dad Billy hired me to clean up, serve customers, tend bar. I think I became the daughter he never had. Sweet, sweet man.”

“He had a little bit of land out there near the river. He sold me part of it and I started raising chickens and snakes. Chickens gave me sustenance and those Southern preachers bought my snakes.”

’How come Billy Bob says you are mean?”

“Me and Billy Bob are more like Brother and Sister. We took a liking to each other and argue like cats and dogs. We are only a few years apart in age so it was natural. So happy he came across Donna Lu. Other wise he’s be just like those other two drunks at the end of the bar.”

He started laughing. “Mean as a rattlesnake, I told you. You certainly don’t think you are going to change her now do you?”

“No, no. She is as she is. I best hit the road got miles to go before the sun sets.”

“It was nice meeting you,’ extending her hand. “Liz Rourke. By the way, if you run into McAndrew again tell him I say hello.”

“Sure enough, sure enough. Billy Bob, you got yourself a nice bar. We’ll be seeing you.”

Those were some of the nicest people in Texas that I’d met. I pulled out of the parking lot and looked for the first road west.

“What do you mean I can’t go to Howies one hundredth birthday party?”

“No Sir, Doctors orders.”

I eyeballed the Nurse, figuring if I raised a stink they’d take away my morning smoke and walking privileges.

“I’ll be calling my daughter.”

I had kept my Volkswagen Bug stored at my cousin Kurts place. Last I’d seen him he had told me he started it weekly and it sounded good as ever. It had been a couple decades since I’d driven and I wasn’t even quite sure where Howie lived anymore but missing his hundredth was out of the question.

I woke early, telling Chester as I walked outside that it was a day for a two smoke walk. He nodded, “Don’t let the Robins get the better of you.”

The sun was just making its way up over the horizon. Old or not it was still my favorite part of the day. I was a bit worried stealing my own car and if Kurt caught me I’m not certain he would let me drive. He always told me I couldn’t drive when I was normal and I’m guessing senility took away a bit of my edge.

I should have known the old boys would have taken care of everything. Wayne and Kick had the bad boy polished and running as I approached the house. They seemed proud of their work.

“Kurt and Sandy are out suntanning California way. Won’t be back for another week. You need someone to ride shotgun?”

“Is that you Kick? A long time.”

“Wayne called me, said he needed some help. Didn’t have much going and knew Kurt always kept something cold in the fridge.”

Wayne piped in. “Its a bit hesitant going from fourth to fifth. The old lady ain’t been out on the road for awhile. All new belts, ready to roll. Have fun.”

“Kick, you riding shotgun would be a blast but I’m not certain I’d get out of Winona. This is something a man has to do on his own. Say goodbye to an old friend before he joins you.”

I was a week late for the birthday as I started down old highway 61. I noticed some strange looks as cars buzzed past me. I felt thirsty as I drove by Linahans and Twin Bluffs. I started thinking about old times, old friends and that after all the running and crazy stuff we did, we were still friends. I put the pedal to the metal and said what the Hell.

Happy Birthday Howie.

The Polish Embassy

I like to drink in the morning. Wake up slow. Let the day settle in. Scare away the demons which mess up my sleep.

The Athletic Club was built around the turn of the century. The Polish wanted a place to gather, celebrate their new lives in a new country, remember the old country and the people from whence they came. Me, I was thirsty and this was my office.

B Brian was my personal bartender. My beer was waiting, warmed for twenty minutes, room temperature, before the golden water filled my insides. He thought I was nuts.

I conducted no business before my first beer. By 10:15, there was a line of dead people waiting to talk. B Brian just shook his head.

“Hi, my name is Jeannie LeBeau. You the writer, that talks with the dead?

“Yes, the great confessor. How long have you been dead?”

“Getting on fifty years. Dying isn’t all its cracked up to be. It ends. You can feel sorry for yourself or you can stand up and get on with living.”

“Living while dying,” I asked? She took a large drag from her cigarette as I stole a look. Her red smudged lips and her painted face with the wrinkly skin and rouge applied to her cheeks showed a life lived. I nodded at B. Brian for another drink.

“Tough day at the office? First one went down pretty fast. What is that like?

“What do you mean?”

“Dead people. Talking with dead people,” as he put the beer in front of me.

“Tell him, if he opened his mind he might learn a few things.”

“Jeannie says if you weren’t such a blockhead…”

“Jeannie,” shaking his head, walking away and filling Blue Noses bottomless glass.

“I spent my early years peddling my wares down at the National Hotel on second. That was where I met Jack. Railroad men worked long hours, long days and all men need a little love. I worked with Teddy and Elmer down at the Hurry Back. Rackem Teddy. The Cunninghams were good bosses and after my Jack had died they got me a place on the third floor of the Williams Hotel. Walk to work.”

“Downtown Winona?”

“The Hurry Back. Best years of my life. I remember using a microwave for the first time. What a mess. The boys laughed about it for weeks. Probably still laughing.”

She got kind of quiet. “Miss the old boys, the young kids. Wishing they realized dying ain’t really dying. What ever happened to that cute little Reed?”

“Started talking with the trees, grew a beard. Darling wife.”

“I always felt respect from those kids. They had fun with me but at the end of the day I felt their respect. You meet Joseph yet?”

“Joseph?”

“Dywan. Joseph Dywan. The guy setting on your left. He is kind of quiet until the singing bartender shows up.”

I looked to my left. The chair was empty. I wondered how many other things I wasn’t seeing on the other side.

“Been gone over a hundred years. Drank himself to death while living. At least that is what he tells me. Never met him while living.”

“B Brian,” I yelled. “Give me some of the Irish!”

“A good day for the demons eh.” He was laughing as he poured the Jameson. “You affirm my belief that even those with a screw loose, have some purpose.”

“Joseph likes the singing bartender. Frank Sinatra, Don Ho, Elvis, singing the songs of a different era. He says he pours a mean drink.”

“I got little energy left, dealing with you and the dead. Singing? You are insane. Who is Joseph?”

I heard a quiet whisper. “Music, music, can take you to another place. A better place. The sound of glasses meeting and good cheer. The gentle tones of a piano relaxing the mind from a tired day. Working, working all our living years. Name is Joe. Jeannie got me out of my shell.”

“What a kind thing to say, Joseph. To think love exists on the other side. Different generations finding love.” Jeannie giggled.

“I was dead by thirty Jeannie. Drank myself to death. Never left Moms house. Started drinking when I was eight. Never stopped.”

“I’d like to meet her Joseph.”

“You know how life is on the other side, Jeannie. I ran into her once, shortly after she passed. Not sure I will see her again.”

“She must have been a fine lady.”

“I could have done her better.” A single tear rolled down his cheek. He wore a hat with Winona Coal on the front. His wearied skin seemed to echo that of his love, Jeannie.

I nodded my head as B Brian poured me another. I felt the quiet of dead people leaving. The chairs are now tattered, the walls seem dim and the laughter and smiles that used to fill the Athletic Club have gone to a different place as those still yet breathing have forgotten the roots from which they came. Downstairs men bowled and upstairs people celebrated life and marriage. Boys met girls at wedding dances and they too got married in the halls of their parents. I slowly sipped my Jameson thinking about Jeannie and Joseph and all the other good people in this town. Nodded my head and wondered who was next.

"Under the tongue. Just under the tongue. Go peacefully, my friend.”

It was a rough couple years. My mind and body had started crumbling. The great Scalia was dying, looking in the mirror.

I had kept the little tab in a safe place. Assurances had been given that time wouldn’t affect the potency of the drug. I had to say goodbye before I left.

My mind had dulled. My beliefs crumbling before my very eyes. Feelings started cropping up that I had not felt in a long time. Awareness finds its way as you find out Antonin Scalia is no longer in charge, the smartest man in the room. Time gets us all.

I had come from a family of immigrants, teachers, professors. Best and brightest all the way through. Catholic, educated in the classics and history by Jesuits with a conservative bend. Brightest guy in the room.

My heart beat America and was fueled by a mind that didn’t rest, didn’t stop. My heart responded when young but then like all things it began to wear out. Faster, faster it beat as time inflicted its toll.

“Antonin, Antonin. You must exercise, eat well, lose weight. Take these pills they will help.”

Invincible I thought of myself as a young man. Hardly, I think now as wisdom touched my bones.

“Think, think my Noni,” as I said goodbye to my family. The sounds of the old neighborhood brought me pleasure.

I had a good life. I got to use my mind for its entirety and tonight, tonight I shall go peacefully into that good night. No bible, no gun, no righteousness, blocking my thinking. I hear Bible thumpers saying it is Gods choice. I say to them how I wanted to live was my choice, my responsibility, and in my last remaining days it is again my choice as I prepare for dying.

Hypocrisy shows its face as I start stepping through the curtain. Choice to live, to love, to die, to marry. Choice rings through me here in Nowhere, Texas. I hear the ancient tomes of old Catholicism. No, no they cry as I take my last breaths peacefully, calmly.

I cover myself, put my head on my pillow and get ready for a long, long nap. I know not what awaits but I put away my shields, my armor, my thoughts, close my eyes and gently place the tab beneath my tongue and start my journey. 

Scalia

“Under the tongue. Just under the tongue. Go peacefully, my friend.”

It was a rough couple years. My mind and body had started crumbling. The great Scalia was dying, looking in the mirror.

I had kept the little tab in a safe place. Assurances had been given that time wouldn’t affect the potency of the drug. I had to say goodbye before I left.

My mind had dulled. My beliefs crumbling before my very eyes. Feelings started cropping up that I had not felt in a long time. Awareness finds its way as you find out Antonin Scalia is no longer in charge, the smartest man in the room. Time gets us all.

I had come from a family of immigrants, teachers, professors. Best and brightest all the way through. Catholic, educated in the classics and history by Jesuits with a conservative bend. Brightest guy in the room.

My heart beat America and was fueled by a mind that didn’t rest, didn’t stop. My heart responded when young but then like all things it began to wear out. Faster, faster it beat as time inflicted its toll.

“Antonin, Antonin. You must exercise, eat well, lose weight. Take these pills they will help.”

Invincible I thought of myself as a young man. Hardly, I think now as wisdom touched my bones.

“Think, think my Noni,” as I said goodbye to my family. The sounds of the old neighborhood brought me pleasure.

I had a good life. I got to use my mind for its entirety and tonight, tonight I shall go peacefully into that good night. No bible, no gun, no righteousness, blocking my thinking. I hear Bible thumpers saying it is Gods choice. I say to them how I wanted to live was my choice, my responsibility, and in my last remaining days it is again my choice as I prepare for dying.

Hypocrisy shows its face as I start stepping through the curtain. Choice to live, to love, to die, to marry. Choice rings through me here in Nowhere, Texas. I hear the ancient tomes of old Catholicism. No, no they cry as I take my last breaths peacefully, calmly.

I cover myself, put my head on my pillow and get ready for a long, long nap. I know not what awaits but I put away my shields, my armor, my thoughts, close my eyes and gently place the tab beneath my tongue and start my journey.

Tough audience.  Not certain what to title this.

“Under the tongue. Just under the tongue. Go peacefully, my friend.”

It was a rough couple years. My mind and body had started crumbling. The great Scalia was dying, looking in the mirror.

I had kept the little tab in a safe place. Assurances had been given that time wouldn’t affect the potency of the drug. I had to say goodbye before I left.

My mind had dulled. My beliefs seemed to be crumbling. Feelings started cropping up that I had not felt in a long time. Awareness finds its way as you find out Antonin Scalia is no longer in charge, the smartest man in the room. Time gets us all.

I see the curtain and it gets me thinking. Beliefs tell us what lies on that other side but do those thinkings, beliefs about life after death, make up who we are, how we act, think, believe?

I had come from a family of immigrants, teachers, professors. Best and brightest all the way through. Catholic, educated in the classics and history by Jesuits with a conservative bend. Brightest guy in the room.

My heart beat America and was fueled by a mind that didn’t rest, didn’t stop. My heart responded when young but then like all things it began to wear out. Faster, faster it beat as time inflicted its toll.

“Antonin, Antonin. You must exercise, eat well, lose weight. Take these pills they will help.”

Invincible I thought of myself as a young man. Hardly, I think now as wisdom touched my bones.

“Think, think my Tony,” as I said goodbye to my family. The sounds of the old neighborhood brought me pleasure.

I had a good life. I got to use my mind for its entirety and tonight, tonight I shall go peacefully into that good night. No bible, no gun, no righteousness, blocking my thinking. I hear Bible thumpers saying it is Gods choice. I say to them how I wanted to live was my choice, my responsibility, and in my last remaining days it is again my choice as I prepare for dying.

Hypocrisy shows its face as I start stepping through the curtain. Choice to live, to love, to die, to marry. Choice rings through me here in Nowhere, Texas. I hear the ancient tomes of old Catholicism. No, no they cry as I take my last breaths peacefully, calmly.

I cover myself, put my head on my pillow and get ready for a long, long nap. I know not what awaits but I put away my shields, my armor, my thoughts, close my eyes and gently place the tab beneath my tongue and start my journey.

Tony

Trying to write with a bit more edge.  Winona, where I am from has in its near center a park named Windom.  Bill Windom was Secretary of the Treasury.  What follows is his confession.

“Bill Windom.”

“Sideburns. Quite long on the sideburns Mr. Windom.”

“Ellen likes them this way’”

“Ellen?”

“Mrs. Windom, she's inside the house. We married in 1856. I was about 30.”

“So you’ve been gone awhile?

Yeah, but we come back, every year. See old friends. It is a cozy house after all. We used to make it back three times a year. Mardi Gras, Halloween and Thanksgiving.”

“Mardi Gras?”

“Yes, Winona used to have a Mardi Gras parade. Really don’t know why the town stopped. Just before the cold set in. Whole town walking around, wearing masks. Hannibal, Hannibal Choate made a small fortune selling masks. Only in Winona would you hold it in November.” He chuckled, bouncing his shoulders up and down.

“I laugh, enjoy life on this side. I more than ever appreciate my Quaker upbringing. Inner spirit. Just like my mama said She’d lightly pound my chest and say the truth Wiiliam, is in here. She was my first teacher. Rest her soul. Now I wasn’t a perfect politician. I lost some good friends during the Sioux uprising of 1862 and my mind sought revenge. It was my congressional district and I felt responsible for its well being.”

“Starved them. Delayed extending credit and supplies. Simple as that. We were in the middle of the civil war. Money was tight in Washington. In hindsight we didn’t do the Indians well and when living I wanted to kill them all, least the Sioux whose burying places were where we settled. I contributed to the uprising and they were Indians. I didn’t think they were human. Forgot my Quaker spirit. Unconscionable I see now. Had to die to see it. Ugly part of man. Greed, greed. I mean it filled us. Lumber, railroad, Banking, all around this square. I still get a bit long winded. Politician and all.”

So you weren’t nice to the Sioux?”

“No, no.” Looking down and shaking his head. “Chased them all my years. Pushed for the hanging in Mankato.”

“Now you had your picture on the two dollar silver certificate?”

“Yes, yes a proud moment. And then…”

“And then?

“I took the land deal from the railroad. Sold me land on the cheap. Most people paid 5 bucks an acre and I think I paid less than a nickel.”

“Oh?”

“Took me a long time to get where I’m at. Had to do a bit of thinking on this other side. Peaceful, no guns over here. Winona? I would have stayed. I left Winona for New York in 1883 and died in 1891. I never saw Ellen as happy as she was in New York. She was a city girl at heart.”

“Well you were a money man. Two Presidents you served under.”

“I was Secretary of the Treasury. My neighbors were my first supporters. Lumber money, Railroad money, Banking money. But when I needed advice I would talk with CF. CF Buck. Judge, Lawyer and wit. Wasn’t very big and he was a mass of energy, nervous energy. I’m not sure he ever relaxed. Had a hard time sleeping and on Saturdays if you needed him the best bet would be to find him in the cemetery. I kid you not he visited the dead. Every Saturday. No one special, but he knew most everybody in this town, dead or alive. From its beginnings. He told me once he carried on conversations with the dead. He had a twinkle in his eye. Smart man and dammit every time I see him he reminds me that he got that right when living.”

“CF Buck kept a diary?”

“Did you talk to the bum?

“Drank his liquor and he said the diary was from Lawyer Buck but I let it slide him being a bum and all.”(previous chapter)

“Don’t let a mans clothes fool you. Especially in this town. I must admit after the war, the civil war I held out hopes, it would be the last war. There is no greatness to war. The pain lasts for a long time and over here you face your enemies, your demons. You see the devils seeds. I mean we were living in different times, but getting to see how another thinks. And don’t get me wrong, he showed me the front cover. Right there in CF Bucks handwriting, right on the front cover was a note to the man who found the journal.

“The diary?”

“I can’t say anymore. Judge Buck loves to talk with the living now that he is dead. Jokester, prankster. Great man, great man. I hear Ellen, nice talking with you.”

I came too. Goddam cars buzzing up and down Broadway. Is there no respect for the dead? A living cemetery in the center of our city and we pay it no attention. City getting run over. Faster, faster the machines of thought forgetting what was.