When Jack Kerouac Came to Venice
By John
Thomas
Jack I didn’t know. Never
met him. Only saw him once -- not much more than a glimpse, then.
And he surely wasn’t at his best that night.
What night? Back in 1959 -- late summer, if
memory serves me. In Venice. I was running the Gas House and cooking
free meals twice a day for some twenty artists, sculptors, writers. Well,
Bill Riola came bopping in from the Ocean Front, looking even more amped than
usual.
“Hey, man!” he said to
me. “Kerouac’s out
there!”
“Kerouac?
Really? Where?”
Bill
drew me to the front door and pointed up to the Match Box, a lesbian bar a block
away.
“See ‘em all up there?
They been drinking their way to Larry Lipton’s pad. Wanna go
to Larry’s? Come
on!”
And it was Jack, with a few
hangers-on. They were obviously drunk. Jack was shit-faced.
He was trudging along, swigging
wine from a half-gallon jug. White port and lemon juice it was, by later
report. As they headed north towards Park Avenue and Larry’s place,
he periodically burped loudly and yelled out into the
night.
“I’m a genius!
I’m a fuckin’ genius!” Over and over.
“Listen, I’m a
genius!”
They disappeared into the
Match Box, only to emerge again, cursing, in a New York minute. Scotty,
the double-tough night bartender, would serve no man. The only time
I’d gone in, she’d hefted a machete. God’s truth.
After that I drank (when I drank) at the Bamboo Hut. Peaceful.
Just outlaw bikers.
“Well,
fuck you too!” Kerouac shouted as they left. “You just
eighty-sixed America’s greatest living writer! I’m a
genius!”
I turned and headed back
to the Gas House kitchen, where I’d been cooking barracuda
chowder.
“I’ll pass, Bill,
but you go ahead. You can tell me about it
tomorrow.”
Which he did. And
since Larry Lipton taped everything, I heard the entire evening months later.
Not inspiring. Essentially it was Larry asking lame questions and
Jack repeating (you knew already, right?), “I’m a
fuckin’genius!”
Later, I did
try white port and lemon juice. Just once. I don’t recommend
it.
But let me lay three truths on you.
Truth: I loathe most drunks. I detest them. A personal
prejudice I can’t overcome. Truth: Kerouac brought a great new
spirit to America ... and reading him surely changed my life. Truth:
he was -- at least in several of his books -- a lovely writer. As he
yelled to Scotty that summer night, Jack was a fucking
genius.
Jack Kerouac, author of On The
Road, was the leading inspiration of the Beat Generation. John Thomas was the
bouncer/cook at the Gas House Coffee House at Market Street and Ocean Front
Walk. He was one of the great Venice West poets and, later, husband of Philomene
Long.
Posted: Tue - January 1, 2008 at 04:07 PM
