 OK,
bear with me! I wanted to keep this short, but I simply can't. Today's essay
is about our weekend in Tipton and the ensuing joy … ahem! …
We were
(and still are) the Scruffy Rogues of Moniteau County, a.k.a. the Tipton
Seven. Having gathered at Sister's Deli from such far-flung ports as Japan
… California … Canada … Colorado … Chicago … and
Centralia, Missouri (!), the cast of characters included, in no particular
order:
Debi "Lady
of the Waay-Up North" McGee, the social coordinator and pinup girl of the
Seven (this determined by the overwhelming consensus of the local Tipton
boys);
Elyzabeth
"There's Something About the Pancake" Musser, the anecdotist and possessor
of most amazing tales;
Norm "Joker's
Wild" Batchelder, the humorist, bassist and provider of the all-important
CD player (hi-ho Silvertone!);
Alan "Number
One in a Hundred and One" Lybarger, the brains of the outfit with bootlegs
to be wanderin', having scouted out the Skylight Bar (a user-friendly base
for our operations);
Kazi &
Keiko "Eight Miles High and Better Late than Never" Goda, the International
Goodwill Ambassadors - Kazi, the mandolinist extraordinaire; and Keiko, bearer
of fine exotic cookies;
And myself,
Pam "Turn Turn Turn Signal" Richardson, the farsighted but sincere navigator
and provider of musical instruments, some of which she can even play
herself!
I arrived
in the vicinity of Columbia, MO, Friday afternoon and decided, rather than
immediately checking in at my hotel, to go ahead and blaze the trail (I am
the navigator, after all!). So I cut over to 50W, which took me to Tipton
(song playing in car as I arrived: "With Care From Someone" -- and I must
mention, there's nothing quite like listening to Gene Clark while cruising
through the hills of Missouri!). I found Sister's Deli, where we would meet
Saturday morning, and then continued on till I finally found the small gravel
road leading up to St. Andrew's Cemetery. I was pleased when I saw the cemetery
- it's so peaceful and lovely. Very small, well kept, off the road and up
on a hill. I started walking around, trying to find the grave … I walked
straight toward it but missed it the first time (I was looking for something
bigger, I don't know why). I went around to the back of the cemetery and
scanned the stones … then I spotted one with "CLARK" on the back, situated
near a cluster of pines. I'd seen pictures of it, but it still was so moving
to actually see it. It's hard to put into words how I felt, standing there
alone after my long drive from Chicago, beautiful summer afternoon, sun just
starting to move lower in the sky … hot, slightly hazy, the rolling
green hills of Ozark country all around … and lotsa corn! ("Fields of
corn on early summer mornings or late afternoon … ") And I cried - quite
a bit, really - and I started to sing the song I wrote for him, a cappella.
Then there was a nice little bit o' timing: As I reached a line in the song
about "train whistle blow", the Kansas City Southern went through the town
below, whistle blowing as if on cue! This made me laugh, but I finished the
song anyway! I stayed a little while longer … I can't stress enough
what a sweet and peaceful spot it is, it's perfect, so "Gene". I truly understand
why he wanted to be brought back there.
Norm (who
lives in Centralia, about 20 miles north of Columbia) was kind enough to
call me at my hotel that evening and introduce himself. (I was hoping I was
making sense on the phone! I was quite overwhelmed between my long drive
and my emotional afternoon.) The next morning, the two of us drove caravan
style to Sister's, where we met up with Alan, Debi and Elyzabeth. We chatted
for awhile, then just before noon decided to find another place to congregate.
Alan had the brilliant idea of finding a bar where we could play CDs. He
checked around and found the Skylight, a typical small town Southern watering
hole - two long rooms, one that housed the bar itself, the other a long,
empty room with a small stage at the back. The Scruffy Rogues proceeded to
take over the second room - and there we remained, through the morning, through
the night. The Skylight's air conditioning was largely ineffectual against
the relentless heat, so doors were left open, large noisy fans were blowing,
and past our window the Kansas City Southern shared the rails with Amtrak
off and on throughout the day … and for the next ten hours or so, Gene's
music spilled into the dusty street.
And we
all got to know each other, and we felt as if we'd known each other for years.
We shared drinks and talked about how we each first discovered Gene, we shared
other life stories funny and sad, good and bad, triumphs and doubts …
fine lines, jokes, art, photos of beautiful children … We took lots
of pictures, we toasted Gene, we toasted the GC List, we wished Cheryl a
speedy recovery … throughout the festivities stopping occasionally to
sigh over a particular lyric or song styling meaningful to one or all. Kazi
and Keiko finally arrived later in the afternoon … more drinks, more
pictures, quick, order some pub grub so we can keep drinking!
Then it
was time to jam, and the folks at the Skylight decided that we should set
up on the stage; and the denizens moved from the bar into the room to hear
us crank out a few ragged but right Genesongs. (The Tipton Seven, live at
the Skylight - entertaining tens of people!!) Kazi had had the foresight
to print out lyric and chord sheets. Unfortunately, I was unable to make
use of them, due to a combination of farsightedness and low lighting! So
I faked it on guitar, Kazi added elegant mandolin runs here and there, prettying
up my very basic rhythm thrashing … and really, all things considered,
it wasn't half bad. Everyone was in fine voice (and don't let a certain coupla
members tell you they can't sing!), and we had a grand time of it.
So there
we were, the sun had long since set, the moon was out, not quite full but
big and bright … and the navigator decides it's time to go to the cemetery
RIGHT NOW! I led the way, Norm was my co-pilot, and after a couple of erroneous
clicks of my left turn signal (sorry about that, gang!), I found the road.
(What can I say? Everything looks so different in the dark with a few vodkas
in one's system!) And we spent some time with Gene in the moonlight, the
peace and quiet of a summer night in the country, confusing fireflies and
meteor showers, who cares, it was beautiful … "just to dance beneath
the diamond sky with one hand waving free … "
Sunday
morning, we met again at Sister's, then we set out for the cemetery one more
time. Elyzabeth had brought some wine for us to share, and we each did what
we wanted and needed to do, be it ceremony, thoughts, tears - all basking
in new friendships already well-founded and mellowed with something we've
shared so many years without knowing it. The guitar came out again, and we
ran through a few more songs: "Here Without You"; I played my song again;
"Hear the Wind"; "One in a Hundred".
And now
it was getting late, well past noon. I knew I needed to get on the road back
to Chicago, but damned if Alan and Kazi didn't start singing "My Marie" …
well, I couldn't very well leave without finishing the song with 'em, now,
could I?? One more, let's play one more, just one more … ahhh, it was
sooooooo hard to leave! Hugs and promises to keep in touch, and YES, let's
do it again, PLEASE!
I drove
away blasting "Past Addresses", and my new-old-old-new friends all waved
… my six cohorts, all warm, friendly, charming, open and generous, much
like Gene himself.
And I
know Gene must be smiling big-time … And I thought, if we keep going
at this rate, we'll completely tear down that understated melancholy aura
that's always surrounded him. That's right, Gene, you can kiss that'un goodbye,
mate!
Don't you come down
You know you're the one
Looking at tomorrow
Let your troubles fade and fly into the sun …
- Pam
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