Mary is the local shaman in these parts. She rubs some folks the wrong way, but she'll always tell you what you need to hear. And if she seems part crazy, it's probably because she is. There's trade offs to every gift. But being toothless has its advantages. Neil Cassady was the driver of Ken Kesey's Magic Bus, and Jack Kerouac's enduring muse. On February 3, 1968, Cassady spent a night of hard drinking in the Mexican town of San Miguel De Allende. In a state of extreme inebriation, he wandered along a deserted railroad track with the intention of walking the fifteen miles to the next town. It was a cold and rainy night, and Cassady eventually passed out wearing only a T-shirt and jeans. He was found beside the tracks the next morning in a coma. He was taken to the nearest hospital, where he passed away the following day. Typical of Cassady, even in death, a legend persists - that he had been counting railroad ties, and his last words were "Sixty-four thousand nine hundred and twenty eight." Lore has it his eulogy included the quip: "He wasn't crazy, he was counting." Fred used to love that line!
The photo is Roberta in center, my ex, Cyndi, on the left, and my beloved sister Lynn Angela on the right. This song is dedicated to all the old ladies (as yet not toothless) who have hung in there with me for the long haul. And to Kathy Good, for doing likewise, and taking such incredible care of Fred for a lifetime.
lyrics
Her name was Maggie Old Bear, she was about that size
I met her on the full moon, counting railroad ties
She said folks are like trains, they go forward and go back
But I never met no one until I jumped the track
Now for 30 years I looked for God until I lost my mind
Then one day I ate a peach, and guess who I did find?
It seemed so sudden in a flash, the juice ran down my cheek
But without them 30 years, it's just another peach
Toothless old ladies are the happiest kind
like their old lovers, their regrets have all died
They sit and watch the world go by and grin their toothless grin
and dream about the wild mistakes they’d love to make again
She said I've had my share of men, they're all like little pups
I've never met one yet who really wanted to grow up
They're either whining pitifully or barking way too much
and if they don't get pet enough, they pee right on your rug
She said I did construction, and then I took up dance
Now I build my own ballet each time I get the chance
I ain't no Pollyanna still I try to make the most
Sometimes a little jam is nice when everything is toast
And then from underneath her coat, the bangles everywhere
She passed me something in a flask, it nearly curled my hair
We spoke about religion and the soul's eternal quest
Then we played a little game to see who spit the best
And she won. She spit longer and straighter than I ever thought possible. And right there on them railroad tracks I had me a revelation. I realized that being toothless has its advantages.
Grew up in L.A., next door to Rodney King. Foster kid, on welfare, muttsville. Heard John Prine at the Roxy when I was 16,
changed my life. Stumbled into KROQ in the 1980s, got my 15 mins of fame. Moved to the Northwest, found community, then lost them when compassion became their justification for fascism. I'm over humans. These songs feel like phantom limbs. Cats are my gurus now....more
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