I first started listening to Wilco in 2009 when my mother was at the Cleveland Clinic being treated for a brain tumor. She would be gone less than two weeks later. Wilco’s music can be fun, but can also cause introspection, which is what I needed at the time.
This clip is almost an hour long. I’m listening to it at work this morning. The first song they play is really cool, so at least listen to that. Right in the middle of the song they break into cacophony, then just as quickly switch back to the music. I love the audience reaction.
as you know, i listen to a lot of different music. one day i stumbled onto Pokey Lafarge. kind of reminded me of Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks from back in the day. and then my imagination drifted.
so watch this, then read the story.
I know she wasn’t talking to me, but, yeah, she was talking to me. I know she was even though she wasn’t. Sometimes you just know.
I ain’t into music. I mean I like rock and roll but that ain’t music, you know what I mean? It’s just rock and roll. What these guys were playing wasn’t that by a mile. I don’t know what you call it, cause I ain’t into music.
The singer was a complete dork with a guitar bigger than he was. And they had one of them big fiddles and another dork slapping on the strings, p-thub, p-thub, p-thub. Some puny fellow with hair sticking up in ever direction played one of them whiny little guitars. And a fiddle player. Regular fiddle tucked under the chin. I would of thought maybe they was a country band, but then there’s the trumpet player, a tall, lanky drink of water who thought he was all that, but to me he was just a goof. Had one of them mufflers stuck in the end of his horn that made it sound weird. So I don’t guess they was country.
It was Jess’s plan. Me and Hoby went along with it cause we pretty much go along with all of Jess’s plans. Usually turns out ok.
Now the fact that I spent the night in lock-up, and the fact that I’m likely gonna spend some time in the house, don’t mean it wasn’t a good plan. Sometimes that’s just how things work out.
Besides, I’d spend six months in the hole if I knew Charlotte was waiting on me when I got out.
Yeah, she was talking to me.
Number one, I’m a fool. Always have been. Been hard for me to live a sensible life. Guys like Jess and Hoby come calling and I’m off. More often than not things end in trouble but that’s ok. What’s the point of living if you can’t get into some trouble now and then?
Number two, I’ve always had a way with the ladies. Maybe it’s the bad boy thing. Maybe it’s cause I’m the quiet one. Jess and Hoby always looking for attention. Me, I just sit back and let the game come to me.
So, yeah, it’s only natural that Charlotte would notice.
She was the clarinet player in the band of weirdos. I didn’t know what a clarinet was at the time, just looked like some kind pipe she was holding. Being the only girl in the group, she was hard not to notice. She wore a red dress that fell down below her knees. Dirty brown hair. I don’t mean her hair was dirty, it just kind of colored that way. A little too skinny for my tastes, but she was a girl, so you noticed, even though overall she was kind of plain. At least I thought so at first. Not the kind of girl that old Connie would hook up with. Conrad, as my mother calls me. My friends call me Connie, which I like all right. It’s good for starting fights with wannabe tough guys.
Hanging in the bar was part of the plan. So that night we’re in El Poopo’s or whatever the name of the joint was. It was the first one we came to when we were walking down the street. The plan was this: We were going to hang out in the bar for a couple hours. Blend in. Just three dudes in the crowd. We was going to wait until the night started to wind down cause it’d be easier to pull off, plus there’d be more money in the till.
I was sitting up next to the end of the bar by myself, which also put me right up next to the stage. When the time was right, Jess and Hoby was to start something. They was going to go at it pretty quick, cause if it was just a bunch of hollering, the bouncer would throw them out before it got going. They had to throw punches and try to drag a few more into it while they was at it. Then, when all hell broke loose, I’m supposed to slide behind the bar and grab some cash. A little fun, a little green. No big robbery or nothing like that, just a little cash and dash.
Ok, yeah, now that I say it out loud, it sounds like pretty bad plan.
Truth is, I don’t think none of us thought we’d go through with it. I figured we’d end up drinking and having a good time and nothing would come of it. And I’d probably been three sheets to the wind had it been a rock and roll band. Hell, I’d probably been three sheets to the wind if Charlotte hadn’t been in that dopey band of flake bats. But she was. And even though she was the only girl in the band, and the more I studied on her, the better she looked, she still hadn’t hooked me. She looked like she was dressed for Sunday morning church. I like my women with a little more edge.
The band was playing when we got there, some kind of rockabilly that might been respectful if they had played it like Skynard might have played it. They followed that up with some jazz crap that just wasn’t doing it, but there was a lot of them beatnik types with their fashion model beards and their cute little jeans with the rolled up cuffs and they seemed to like the dorky guitar player. Whatever. I ordered another beer.
Then they played a slow song. A sad song. I ain’t into music but I know blues when I hear it and that’s what they launched into. Ok. I could handle that. Dorko was singing and the big fiddle player quit thumping on that thing and plucked the strings soft and slow. Then Dorko quit singing and turned to Charlotte.
I never heard nothing like it. She made that clarinet cry, playing notes long and sad, then a run of notes together going from low to high and back down again, her fingers dancing over them little holes on that pipe. I don’t know how long she played but it wasn’t long enough. Dorko ruined it with his guitar and whiny voice. But it was too late. She’d hooked me.
So I paced myself. Cause in my mind, in my twisted reality, I knew me and her was meant to be. And when I finally get a chance to talk to her, I wanted my wits to be with me.
I looked over at Jess and Hoby and they was talking to some girls, drinking like there was no tomorrow. I relaxed a little, thinking Jess would just forget about the fight and the stealing and just sit back and have a good time. Suited me just fine. Me and Charlotte had our destiny to fulfill.
So the band goes back to whatever crazy music they play. Thumping on that fiddle, goofball tooting his horn. Even Charlotte was into it, but that’s ok. You got to do what you got to do. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She smiled at me once or twice. Pretty sure. I was hard not to miss sitting so close. I smiled back.
By the time I was on my fourth beer, I was starting to want the night over, hoping the band was winding down and I’d get a chance to work my charms on Charlotte. Jess and Hoby was still going at it, but Hoby looked a little agitated. Dang. Maybe they was going to go through with it after all.
Then the band played something different. Slower. The drummer played a kind of shuffling sound. Made me think of walking by myself on the street, walking up to Charlotte. She’s leaning on the handrail of one of the walk-ups down on Fourteenth Street. Somebody’s singing but it ain’t Dorko. I think maybe it’s the horn player. Got a deep, gravelly voice. And Charlotte sees me from down the street. I’m walking slow, shuffling like the drum. I’m a few feet away. She’s wearing that red dress, but now it don’t look like a church dress, cause she looks too good to be wearing it to church. She’s looking down at her matching red shoes. Then looks up at me, locks eyes with me.
Ok, I know I was just making up the scene in my head, and truth is, maybe I made it up after the fact, but she said those words that night. So smokey, so hot. It was part of that slow song. And when she said it, she was looking right at me. For sure. Right at me. Probably.
Then that gravelly voice was singing again.
I was sweating. Trying to catch my breath. Cause Charlotte does that to me. Every time.
I finished my beer and looked back at Jess and Hoby. They was jawing at each other. Didn’t seem like they was putting on, either.
Please let this be your last song. I’m just about out of time.
Then that tinny trumpet sound and I could tell the song was winding down.
And behind me, a big crash. It was on.
I wanted to let it play out. Just let Jess and Hoby get thrown out of the bar. I could tell them later that me and Charlotte had a thing going on.
I looked back at the band they was all watching, their eyes wide. Charlotte, too. Another crash. Hoby threw some dude across a table. Two more got into it. Jess looked at me and winked just as the bouncer grabbed him around the neck and punched him the face.
I had to do my part.
The bartender was down at the end of the bar helping a couple of girls climb over to get out of the way of fight. I took out the small pry bar out of my jacket, slipped behind the bar, opened the cash drawer, grabbed a hand full and started to make my way out. It took all of seven seconds. I was just about at the door when somebody grabbed me by the collar. I looked around and it was the bartender. He looked back to the stage. Charlotte nodded. She ratted me out.
They dragged me out of there before I even knew her name. Course these days stuff like that’s easy to figure out.
That was two weeks ago. I go before the judge tomorrow for my sentencing. I’m hoping for probation but if he sends me to the house for a spell, I’m ok with that.
I’m cleaning up my act. No more drinking. Not that I was a fall-down drunk, and I when I was in the middle of one of Jess’s plans, it was a total blast. But there was always some kind of mess to clean up the next day. And truth is, I’d never have a chance at someone like Charlotte being the low-life thug that I was.
So, yeah, I’m cleaning up my act. No more Jess or Hoby, either. And no more Connie. I’m Conrad now, just like my momma intended.
Speaking of momma, I went to church with her last Sunday. Not sure if church life is for me, but hey, they talk about forgiveness and starting over and hell, that’s a good place to start. Pardon my language. Got to work on that, too.
The bridge is known as the South Side Bridge in downtown Charleston, West Virginia. Chuck Yeager, the man who broke the sound barrier and who personified “the right stuff” in the movie of the same name, flew under this bridge at 500 miles per hour in a Lockheed P-80 jet in 1948.
Local radio station WCHS re-aired an interview with Yeager from 2002 in which he recounted the legendary flight. He had come home to West Virginia to visit his parents in the little town of Hamlin. He took off from the airport that now bears his name and buzzed the state capitol as he admired the masterpiece of architect Cass Gilbert from a vantage point that few will ever know. The capitol sits on the Kanawha River and it was only natural that he would follow the beautiful river from the air. And then he saw the bridge. At 500 miles an hour, it would have taken him less than 10 seconds to reach the bridge from the capitol. He could have pulled up. But why? He went under the bridge.
Then he saw people jumping off their boats to get out of the way. He pulled up and flew back to Dayton.
In his book, Hillbilly Elegy (which I haven’t read) J.D. Vance tells how he clawed his way out of Appalachia and his own unique family struggles, and eventually made it to Yale Law School and a better life.
Chuck Yeager tells a different story.
He was one of 19 guys in his graduating class at Hamlin High School. All 19 signed up for military service. Yeager, of course, joined the Air Force. Or so you might imagine. Surely he was fascinated with flying and saw the Air Force as his way to see the world. Actually, there was no such thing as the Air Force in his day. He joined the Army. Flying wasn’t even on his radar.
He describes his path to becoming a pilot as dumb luck and being in the right place at the right time. He first became a mechanic in the army. On his first plane ride, he threw up. But eventually he got in the cockpit and discovered that he had extraordinary eyesight and superb hand-eye coordination. Not to mention his cool demeanor. The right stuff, as author Tom Wolfe would say. The rest is – well, watch the movie if you haven’t seen it.
The way to success? Conventional wisdom suggests hard work, grit, and determination. Which is no doubt true for many people. But then again, sometimes it’s just dumb luck. Or divine providence, if you prefer.
And sometimes it’s hard to explain when things don’t work out for those who do all the right things without success. Sometimes it’s not being in the right place at the right time. There are no guarantees of anything.
At the end of the interview, Chris Lawrence asked Yeager, who was then 79, how he wanted to be remembered when he “finally augered into the the earth.” Yeager’s response – and I paraphrase – “I don’t give a damn. People are going to think what they think.” He genuinely didn’t care.
Yeager, who had every reason to be full of himself, showed us what the right stuff really is: