Dee Fords was a night club in the Stewart Lakewood Shopping Center (now “Crossroads Shopping Center“) located next to the Jolly Fox strip bar that was owned (co-owned ?) by Dee’s brother Jerry or so I was told. My dentist, Claude D. had his office located next to the Jolly Fox although he started his practice long before the decline of Southwest Atlanta. He was generally a good guy but thought anyone with long hair was a dope fiend – an idea confirmed by his refusal to provide a script for pain medications following the difficult removal of an impacted wisdom tooth. To complete the work, he used my forehead as a fulcrum to generate the necessary extraction force but that didn’t work so he broke the impacted tooth in two for easier removal – well at least for him. I half expected him to ask, “Is it safe?“ This whole scene prompted an inquiry about post extraction analgesics to which he curtly replied, “aspirin should handle it just fine, don’t chew on that side of the mouth for a few days“. “Wow. Thanks Doc. That never occurred to me. I was gonna go out and eat a T-Bone“. Anyway, he had been liberal with the numbing agent but it wore off a few hours later leaving me with raw pulsing pain the likes of which could motivate a deal with the devil. I wanted to tell Claude that if I really wanted drugs I could walk out the door and score more quickly than going the whole pharmacy route – not that I wanted to score anyway. I settled for slamming a couple of Big Mouth Mickeys down at Brothers Three and waiting it out.
“You can jail the Revolutionary but you can’t jail the Revolution“
Dee Ford’s occupied the spot previously occupied by The Paint Store lounge which itself was previously a Pittsburgh Paints store. A band called “Mighty Joe Young” played at the Paint Store lounge though I was too young to get in but my older friends raved about them. I don’t remember exactly when it turned into Dee Ford’s but almost immediately the club became a seedy destination for 70s party types, would be rock stars, fledgling drug dealers, and the occasional older guy looking to pick up a “foxy chick“. There was also a lot of redneck drama. To wit, there was a sinewy recidivist hick who would go around asking “Who was it that Cain married if not his sister or some very close blood relative?” (An ongoing conundrum for many Christians). Given his Hillbilly background it occurred to me that it might have been an attempt at rationalizing some Jerry Lee Lewis style familial fraternization. And if enough people seemed to accept the idea, hopefully without significant negative reaction, then maybe his conscience could rest a little easier at night. Then again maybe he just wanted to be viewed as Cell Block D’s most accomplished jail house intellectual. While he had a lot of “wisdom” on offer his flow was suspect. “You can jail the revolutionary but you can’t jail the revolution” followed up by ” The powdered eggs in Fulton County ain’t half bad“. Uh okay…. Wait ! What ?
“Let’s go to the Twilight Club and meet some REAL men“.
The women could be scary and sleazy. They weren’t bashful and frequently made the first (and second and third) moves which wasn’t always welcomed as many of them weren’t attractive and well known to get around. At the time, sexually transmitted diseases were colloquially known to the layman (no pun intended) as “VD” (Venereal Disease) with most people thinking that the only two possibilities were “The Clap” or “The Crabs“. Many felt such afflictions to be the inevitable result of the promiscuity so common to the 70s. Some of the more extreme felt VD to be evidence of accomplishment like a merit badge or rite of passage. In the early 70s the tenants of the North side Riverbend apartment complex (featured in the 2002 “Catch Me if You Can Movie”) became well known for its infamous nude pool parties and even more more so for reliance upon penicillin. Condom use was not then prevalent and though we offered them for sale at Bros Three, the only people who bought them were patrons of the street walkers. One guy would walk in and loudly request a pack of “Sultan the Man Protectors” as if he were a compensated spokesperson. However, that didn’t deter most guys. The Silver Ribbon down the street was a Country and Western bar (no one includes the Western anymore since the Bakersfield scene was so long ago). I was in the parking lot drinking beer with a friend when two massively intoxicated cow girls staggered towards us as one of them let loose with a stream of projectile vomit. She never broke stride. As she wiped her mouth she gave me the once over and told her friend, “Let’s go to the Twilight Club and meet some REAL men“. Guess I wasn’t her type.
“Who was it that Cain married if not his sister….”
Dee’s was well known for “Nickel Beer Night” and “Drink and Drown“. There was usually some violence resulting from unintentional body contact between men whose only way to distinguish themselves was through violence. The women could get in on the action too with crude exhibitions of primal jealousy leading to hair pulling, biting, and drink tossing that in turn triggered more action. It certainly wasn’t always a fight scene but anytime you have that much alcohol someone is going to get upset. The bouncer, a guy named Reed if I recall correctly, could handle things so it was far from being a roadhouse. Any place on The Avenue had a capacity for alcohol fueled fights – it was just part of the scene. The thing for us was to hit Nickel Beer Night and after a few hours of that then stumble over to the “buffet” at the Jolly Fox to scarf down some buffet baloney while we watched the dancers work through their set. They had this one very statuesque blond whom the DJ called “Jean, Jean the Dancing Machine” though as it got later it became “Jean Jean The F*****g Machine“. I recall one night being paralytically drunk while this dancer, “Little Bit“, did her dance for me and misinterpreted my stare as a form of interest. She had a really big “smiling” C-Section scar which I found amusing. After her dance, she came over to see if I was willing to share any money though stalked off in disgust as she realized I was incapable of any movement so there was no way I could open my wallet.
Sylvan Hills, East Point, and College Park had a wide variety of musicians many of whom were good with a few being exceptional if only in a well-rehearsed, copy band kind of way. Dee hired many of them to grind through sets till 2 a.m. when they might try to work in an original song or two. Dee always wanted to sit in with the band (an imposition I think) and offer up such classics as ”Standing on Shaky Ground” though he developed some originals such as ”I Want to do Beautiful Things to You in the Morning” which, after a night at Dee Ford’s couldn’t have been possible. One of the better house bands was an ensemble named Glyder fronted by male and female singers which gave them an edge over other bands. I recall the guy singer (Kevin?) being really short. I’m sure that wouldn’t make him feel good to know that’s how some might remember him. The wildcard was the guitar player Nicky who was a pretty good player who used to drop by Brothers Three in a hearse that the band used to haul around their band gear. This was interesting as I had another friend who interned at a funeral home who also used an older hearse to haul around band gear. Nicky had an unusually optimistic outlook (perhaps chemically assisted) to the extent that we nicknamed him “Mr. Wonderful” – not to be confused with wrestler Paul Orndorff who operated under the same name and could also sometimes could be found in Stewart Avenue bars. When I was too lazy to learn how to play a certain song I would just go to Dee’s, sit at the bar, and cop the chords by watching Nicky (and other guitarists) play. It was dead easy and I probably learned like 90 songs that way. You gotta be a visual learner for this approach to work though.
Another band that setup shop there periodically was Alien who had a variety of members over time (like many bands) before settling into a configuration in the 80s when they made a serious bid towards getting a record contract although I don’t think it worked out for them at least at the national level. Most bands Dee brought in were pretty solid with some bands being very meticulous to a point of being obsessive. One such group rolled in and the singer wore a leotard similar to the kind favored at the time by Freddie Mercury. I mean he wore it the entire night which was odd because if you saw Queen in concert then you know that Freddy would switch up his wardrobe several times during the show. But the cover band singer was quite comfortable wearing his leotard even if no one else was. In any case, they really nailed the tunes but ran out of songs midway through the second set which was awkward since it meant they had to repeat themselves way too soon in the evening. Oddly, they had no apparent ability to jam or improvise so filling up some time wasn’t a possibility. I noticed that there were several bands back then who couldn’t play outside of the parameters of the song they were covering at least in a way that was interesting. So their careers were pretty much restricted to the cover band circuit since writing songs was probably out of the question.
In the late 70s, Atlanta became overloaded with rock cover bands and it got to be somewhat competitive and, after a certain point, very boring. That’s why I started going to places like 688 since they had bands with original content. And even if some of those bands weren’t that great from a musical standpoint (at least initially) it was still refreshing to hear original music some of which fell into the then “New Wave” category. There were also places like CW Shaws which hosted a number of straight ahead rock bands on the rise. As would become a pattern I found myself out of step with both the South and North sides of Atlanta since I didn’t blindly accept various bands being offered as the “the best in Atlanta” or “the best in The South” which was a term bandied about so much then. I mean you could drive 3 hours to Birmingham and see some pretty good bands also. Or take a trip down to Florida.
Anyway – back to Dee’s – a lot of the “action” took place in the parking lot with people going to the car to “burn one” or randy couples looking to engage in some quick backseat action. You should remember that this was the age of large pimp style gas hog automobiles with enough room to host a church barbecue. Some people lived in these cars and even hung curtains or blankets in the windows whereas others didn’t mind being seen. Customized vans were also a big thing then and they always attracted since everyone assumed nefarious activities were taking place therein. This was the era of “If this van’s a rockin’ don’t come a knockin'”. Many Avenue bars had as much action going on in the parking lot as was going on in the club. In fact some nights I might not even go inside if the scene was happening in the parking lot. I mean if the band wasn’t that good then why bother because you knew that there weren’t any pretty girls inside. Plus you could drink out of your own trunk (everybody had colors of beer in the trunk back then).
I don’t recall exactly when I stopped going to Dee’s nor am I sure when it closed. Maybe somewhere around 82 ? At some point, the City of Atlanta Police started visiting some of the South side bars with teams of menacing cops looking to uncover whatever they could. They would demand identification, look in the bathrooms for active drug use, and generally come on real strong as a means to intimidate customers as well as the club owners. Then again maybe they were just looking for a payoff. Anyway, they would sometimes find some unlucky soul with an open warrant. I’m not sure that these “raids” accomplished much of anything in terms of reducing city crime. I recall hearing that Dee opened up a club in Columbus at some point. I don’t know if that was actually true but I know that I heard that from more than one person. There might have even been some overlap between the two locations but once I got busy with other things I just left it all behind and had expanded my game so to speak to include other venues and bars. In any case, from what Google tells me, Dee is apparently still at the bar and music game over in Anniston Alabama still going strong. I don’t know if he still wants to “do beautiful things to you in the morning” but he should get a longevity award for being in the night club business for as long as he has. © 2018 The Stewart Avenue Kid.
Consider the following list of wine names – Annie Green Springs, Deuce Juice,TJ Swan Easy Nights, MD 20 20, Wild Russian Vanya Wine, King Cotton Peach Wine, Wild Irish Rose, Ripple, NightTrain, and Thunderbird. If any of these bring a smile to your face (or fire to your stomach) chances are you sampled some of these popular “flavor fortified wines” as a teenage drinker – possibly not yet of legal age. Many on the list, such as TJ Swan or Annie Green Springs, weren’t as potent so these were ideal training wines for young women and first time drinkers. The most popular was “MD 20 20”. The “MD” stood for “Mogen David” (though the nickname was “Mad Dog”) and the the “20 20” came from the fact that the wine was sold in a 20 oz bottle with 20% alcohol. No one drinking this wine was concerned with image – it was cheap and powerful which is all that mattered. At Bank’s we chilled these wines in a standup cooler and from a distance one might easily mistake the MD for a bottle of cold grape juice. It did look to be refreshing and for someone looking for a buzz without the liquor taste (or smell) it wasn’t a bad purchase.
While these wines conjure images of toothless vagrants thrusting their scabby arms at passersby hoping to score some drinking money, it wasn’t just the down-and-out types who would drink this stuff. There were the functional alcoholics who would drop by to pickup some wine or a half pint of Bartons Vodka, sit on the wall next to Sylvan Motors, and chill before going off to do some menial labor to finance the next buzz. (They might not have been particularly ambitious but they were focused). But we had plenty of hard working laborers for whom a liquor store stop (sometimes several) would be factored into any day’s work. A guy riding on a delivery truck could work off a bottle of MD and keep a nice buzz going until night when he would transition to something with a little more kick. And then we had the area retirees who just had to get out of the house or die from boredom. That they might more sooner die of alcohol related illness didn’t seem to phase them.
Those with factory jobs could slip out to nearby liquor stores if they wanted but it was probably easier for them to stash the booze in their car. However that got to be dangerous as other workers (including management) might be able to see what was going on – so it became better for them to leave the premises. (I know all this because they told me). These types usually preferred liquor to wine because it packed a bigger punch. E&J Brandy was a popular choice most often referred to as “Easy Jesus” and sometimes “Eddie Johnson” in honor of the Hawks basketball player. We had a crew from the Grand Union Warehouse who would take lots of breaks over at Banks but they were mostly Seagram’s gin drinkers. The ring leader was a bony black guy with Asian features named Luke. He was the arbiter of the gang and would counsel younger guys on their various personal problems and help settle warehouse grievances out in the Bank’s parking lot. At times Luke would defer to a feisty older man named David Terrell who was retired or at least not working. David had a real mean edge and didn’t seem to like anybody. His catch phrase was “I’ll fuck you up” which he offered in response to the smallest of offenses most of which were imaginary. He reminded me of a geriatric version of the Atlanta wrestling sensation Thunderbolt Patterson. As David was then close to eighty years of age I suspected he had seen the worst that the 20th century had to offer in terms of racism and was therefore entitled to his attitude – so I let him rage on. It was only after a few sips of Orange MD that he would he mellow out and behave in any way ordinary.
She actually spiked Luke’s vodka with some of the “Demon Dick Potion” which produced a sustained erection that Luke claimed took days to subside.
One day I noticed that Luke appeared to be very fatigued and when I made an inquiry as to the cause he told me that his wife had paid a turban-wearing psychic in West End to brew up something called “Oo-Lah Juice” which I later realized was a spoken corruption of the phrase “Allah Juice” (not that I had any idea what that was either). The purpose of this concoction was to stimulate the libido which meant that every time he went home his wife wanted to have sex immediately and throughout the evening and even the following morning. Luke was intimidated (and unprepared) for this development and his wife’s onset horniness led him to suspect that she was possessed by a “Jezebel” spirit. Especially after she spiked Luke’s vodka with some of the “Demon Dick Potion” that produced a sustained erection that Luke claimed took days to subside. Ice packs and quarts of gin had not helped. His wife’s sudden sexual obsession was also concerning because it occurred to him that she might be tending to those needs with other men while he was at Bank’s having a drink.
I don’t know that he ever resolved this issue or if he succumbed to the dark power of the Oo-Lah Juice though he did consult David Terrell who seemed to understand the problem in a way that others did not. Of course the fact that these men frequently drank liquor in the morning suggested to me that by the time they got home in the evening that marital relations might not be a possibility. Speaking of the morning many times these guys would roll into Banks Liquor around 9 a.m., pick up a half pint of gin, then come to Brothers Three and score a greasy Polish sausage that we sold off a rotisserie. One guy said, “I see you have my breakfast ready”. Many times those sausages had been sitting in the cooler overnight resting in congealed grease. While in principle I was not opposed to early day drinking I could never really handle it because of generalized morning dyspepsia. Adding a Kielbasa on top of alcohol at 9 a.m. would have put me in the hospital.
If you are getting the idea that there was a lot of drinking going down in the Stewart Avenue area you are right. For most people, drinking was a necessity – a way to deal with the mind numbing tedium of doing the same thing day-in and day-out with little prospect for change. When I first started working on the Avenue I had absolutely no idea the extent of drinking and how it was at the foundation of the lives of so many people. My first job at Brothers involved helping old ladies smuggle alcohol into the recently new Lakewood Christian Manor retirement facility (where alcohol was strictly forbidden). The scam worked like this – old women would get groceries at Kroger, then come to the drive in window at Bros Three where I would open their back car door, pull out a half full bag of groceries, remove the contents, put a six pack or a twelve pack (usually the latter) at the bottom of the sack, stack the previously removed groceries on top, and then return the bag to the car. So when they took the groceries up (or had them taken up) none would be the wiser. Now they could have picked up the beer at the grocery store but this was dangerous since they might encounter a fellow LCM resident and then have to explain the alcohol. Also the grocery store clerks were usually too busy to do a good job of hiding the beer during the bagging procedure. Thus it became my problem.
These women were usually concerned with whatever packed the biggest wallop so they would buy things like Country Club or Colt 45 malt liquor though less potent brands like Carling Black Label or Falstaff were also popular. I hated this procedure because they never tipped me and they always blamed me when a facility representative found the alcohol. They would come to the store and whine, “Your boy didn’t pack my groceries correctly and I got into trouble”. (Yea – like the administrators weren’t already hip to the hustle). We had an old guy named Mike who worked at Brothers Three and also lived at LCM. He hated it that women drank for the simple reason that since LCM was a medical retirement community, the resident doors could not be locked so poor Mike would have drunk horny biddies showing up for some sleazy senior action. I was already angry with LCM because they built the facility on what was previously a large wooded area at the intersection of Springdale Road and Lakewood Avenue where I used to go to explore things as a kid. It was a cool place to disappear and chill. So I didn’t require much more to hate the place.
While there were a large number of bars in the area (which I’ll cover in an upcoming post) it was amazing how much drinking took place in liquor store parking lots, behind dumpsters, and in the mechanic shops of the various car dealerships lining The Avenue. There were ordinances against consuming alcohol within so many feet of a liquor store but if we enforced that we wouldn’t have had any customers. Larger stores such as the Old South on Cleveland Avenue had lots of business because of their better discounts so their in/out traffic was pretty intense at times whereas ours was less frenetic so guys could pull in their van and chill. On occasion we would have crews out in the lot drinking some beer and smoking weed which some feel is the best after work mixture to come down from the stress of a hard day of labor. These guys appreciated having a place for an after work drink without having to first go home and clean up. As long as no one got out of hand then it was cool. I’m sure I’ve missed a few of the popular “bum wines” and have forgotten the various cheap liquor brands – after all we are talking 35-40 years ago. I do know that many of the wines I’ve mentioned are still available for purchase. I think their overall sales might have taken a hit once the 40 oz bottles of malt liquor became available. Back in the day we had quarts of beer and I got out of the scene before 40s came into vogue. I’m sure though that there are plenty of Atlanta liquor stores that still let the patrons get loaded in the parking lot. It’s kind of a tradition. © 2017 The Stewart Avenue Kid
On September 18th, 2015 the Stewart-Lakewood Branch of the Atlanta Public Library closed its doors after 56 years of service to residents of the 30315 zip code and surrounding environs. While I was aware of its imminent demise I was overcome by a wave of nostalgia, which hit me with a level of intensity I had not anticipated. All this activated a long dormant neural pathway as I vividly relived the panic of having overdue books. My God ! What would the fines be by now ? I’d rather displease my parents than one of those eternally aging, yet never dying, librarians who, in their off hours, inhabited the nightmares of Roger Waters. Strange thoughts given that the last time I stepped foot inside the building was around 1987. I’m astonished at how fast one can regress, mentally speaking, from middle age to adolescence within milliseconds. This overdue-book neurotic flashback aside there are few places in your life that offer a respite from whatever it is that, well, causes you to seek out “respites” in the first place. And while I’ve been fortunate to have traveled to many global destinations it is the Stewart Lakewood Library Branch (and memories thereof) that has always provided a reliable “go to” psychic oasis for me in times of distress. Back in the day it was a great place to experience what the enlightenment gurus of today might call “The Now” or “The Moment”. I didn’t get hung up on what hadn’t been done or what needed to be done which, paradoxically, made it possible for me to get many things done seemingly without much effort. Before we leave this section, (and before I start trying to convince you that I’m the new Tony Robbins), it is important to know that the Stewart Lakewood Branch closed as the brand new Metropolitan Branch opened up the street near the intersection of Dill and Metropolitan Pkwy. So it’s not as if they left the area high and dry although I think maybe they should have first checked in with me before doing any of this.
My first memories of the Stewart Lakewood Branch start in the mid-late 60s when we would take short walking trips from Perkerson Elementary located right across the street. It’s not as if the Perkerson Library was deficient or lacked interesting books. Just that the teachers thought it a good idea for students to become facile with the operational dynamics of a real functioning library since that was where serious scholarship and research would be accomplished. I was a very quick study with the Dewey Decimal system and could zoom through a card catalogue faster than anyone I knew (including my academic arch nemesis Doreen). Mrs. Hemphill, the Perkerson Librarian, showed me the protocol for inspecting books: when removing a book for browsing also pull out the one next to it about an inch so you will know where to replace the first book should you not find it helpful. This simple knowledge impressed one of the craggy librarians over at the SL Branch. Perhaps thinking that I might have the stuff to be a librarian she gave me a tour of the sacred “behind the counter” area where I suspected they maintained Stasi-like dossiers on all those with overdue books and even people who simply looked like they would not return books on time. I was greatly relieved to find no evidence of such files though I did most of my reading at the library so I didn’t worry so much. I did notice 1) the overpowering smell of stale cigarette smoke and 2) that they maintained a list of physical descriptions matching people suspected of unsavory behavior. I never had any problems at the Library even as the rest of Stewart Avenue declined. However one of my classmates told me that when walking she was occasionally followed by a creepy guy (and not always the same one). So she started getting rides to and from the Library which was quite inconvenient since she lived at most 1,000 feet away from the building. As for the smell of cigarettes ? Well back then people liked to smoke in public and smoke breaks at work were very common. It was no worse than say the Teacher’s Lounge at Perkerson which at times contained what resembled a rolling bank of fog. When someone entered or exited smoke would billow out into the hallway forming cumulus like structures.
As you entered the Library they had a rack of paperbacks which was always my first stop. I would stand there reading through stuff like “The Exorcist” (it was way too scary to attempt a full read) or “Chariots of the Gods” which flipped me out with its theories of prehistoric alien visitations and discussions of extra-terrestrial landing strips such as the Nazca Lines in Peru. I even took a crack at The Autobiography of Christine Jorgenson (“The first person to go abroad and come back a broad”) until it disappeared permanently from the rack. I was told that people frequently stole the paperbacks which was quite easy as inventory control systems then weren’t very sophisticated. I also liked sports biographies such as Jerry Kramer’s “Instant Replay” which I found to be very inspirational even though I had no interest in becoming a football player. And Jim Bouton’s “Ball Four” destroyed my illusions that baseball was a pure sport. In reality I preferred the opposite side of the library because it got more sunlight courtesy of a large plate glass window. When it rained the drops would hit the glass with a pleasant sound resulting in a hypnotic effect and I would drift off to sleep. The reading area was spacious and the chairs were large and comfortable. When my friends came along we could setup comfortably in this area as long as we didn’t make noise. We had all perfected the “library whisper” so rarely did we get any grief. I found it incredibly odd that the while the Librarians wouldn’t let me check out a book rated for adults such as Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” or “The French Connection” (also a famous movie at the time) they had no objections whatsoever if I read the same book while on the premises.
I was able to rapidly read books which I believe was the result of training with a Tachistoscope – a device that was en vogue in late 60s-early 70s education in general and at Perkerson Elementary in particular. It projected a page of text onto a screen and, starting at the top, a light would overlay a series of words on a sentence moving from left to right with the number of words being adjustable by the user. The rate at which the light moved was also adjustable and with practice the reader could “take in” more and more words per sentence and even multiple sentences at a time thus increasing reading speed without sacrificing comprehension. They would test you after a reading session to insure that you were actually “getting” the material. As for me I can say that this system worked extraordinarily well and to this day I can rapidly zoom through an abstract, email, or article sometimes having to pretend to read it slowly just to convince someone else that I actually did read it. I don’t think that this technique has much to do with intelligence – it was just a matter of practice as far as I was concerned. Anyone around at the time will also be familiar with the then heavily promoted Evelyn Wood Speed Reading course that I assume relied upon similar principles though I don’t know if a projector system was involved. Advertisements for Ms. Wood’s reading system were infamously parodied on Cheech and Chong’s 1973 Los Cochinos hit comedy record.
The Branch also had interesting artistic demonstrations, poetry readings, and plays that provided much needed distraction for antsy school children especially in the brutal heat of Summer (Perkerson not then being air conditioned). It was around 1969-70 that we went to see an exhibition put on by a troupe of dedicated puppeteers led by a super serious beret wearing guy named Bernard who clearly did not dig having to do this gig. His assistant was a pretty woman who selected myself and two other guys to help move in their gear and set things up. The rest of the troupe hung back and shared a smoke in the parking lot. It was cool unpacking the various puppets and implements of the show and very fascinating to get an idea about what went on behind the scenes. Bernard watched from a distance and snorted in disapproval when someone set down a road case a little too hard for his taste. I thought he was actually going to cry – but the Assistant ran over and consoled him in warm velvety tones. I realized he might not be happy with how his career was going. From an early age I had been exposed to various creative types (mostly musicians) who were always lamenting about ongoing lack of recognition and having to forever play less than desirable gigs. But this was different in that most people could at least understand what a musician goes through – but a puppeteer ? That’s gonna be a very hard sell at the Family Reunion. I imagine the following taking place: “So Bernard, will you be joining your Father’s Accounting firm soon ?” Bernard would then storm off in righteous indignation leaving his Mother to say, “He is under a lot of stress these days. His little Ventriliquist group isn’t as popular as he had hoped”. And Bernard, hearing this horribly inaccurate description of his life’s calling, would tearfully exclaim, “Dammit Mother, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m a Puppeteer NOT a ventriliquist ! You never listen to me…….” Anyway the show came off really well but ended on a sour note when Bernard finally lost it during the Q&A session when some kid’s simple minded comment caused him to seize up in a frothy rage rendering him unwilling (or unable) to respond. The charming Assistant stepped in to smooth it all over which apparently was her primary role in the troupe – that of managing Bernard’s temper tantrums and setting right his offenses.
So where are we now ? Prior to the economic recession of the mid 2000s the Capitol View area experienced significant gentrification and Sylvan Hills was not far behind what with the proximity to the Belt Line. Nearby East Point had boomed and even Hapeville was experiencing a resurgence. I heard that the owner(s) of the “Cross Roads Shopping Center” (formerly Stewart Lakewood Shopping Center) was attempting to attract the likes of Home Depot to facilitate the anticipated flurry of repair and renovation business. This triggered some romantic notion (at least for me) that the area and the Library would return to its former days of glory when it was packed with children and teenagers though 1) it wasn’t clear that the initial wave of buyers would be bringing/starting families and 2) the whole Shopping Center would have probably been razed anyway. As developers, home flippers, squatters, and old time residents of the area pondered these possibilities the real estate bubble burst so it all became academic and since that time it’s all been in a holding pattern. I’m told that Sylvan Hills has recently been experiencing some sales activity as the Belt Line concept seems to have taken hold.
In the end I realize I probably haven’t adequately explained why I liked this Library choosing rather to relate some tales about the place. Everyone has their Zen Garden and the concept of Zen (not that I know much about it) supposedly defies explanation. It’s hard, if not impossible, to “reverse engineer” one’s serenity inducing moments and places. It just happens and you can’t force it. Sometimes it’s a key relationship or a specific positive event but in my case it was neither (that I can recall anyway). It was more of a sustained experience of learning and developing in a pressure free environment not that what was going on at home or school was bad – just that I could be myself at the Library and really get some thinking done. While I’ve been rough on the librarians in this post there were a few who were very cool and supportive once they detected that I was on the level. One guy named “Van” (last name long forgotten) used to cruise by Brothers Three to score a six pack. He was always enthusiastic about books and learning and for a librarian he was extremely outgoing and talkative. I get the sense that the others with whom he worked probably felt that he was too loud. I think my last visit was around 1987 to see if they had a certain book. Near the front there was a poster of Sting dressed like some old world scholar holding a book with the caption of “Read”. (This was from a poster series sponsored by the American Library Association) Much of the look and feel of the place was the same as it was in the 70s though equipment had been modernized (for that era) and I noticed that many of the books I had read were still there suggesting perhaps that there wasn’t much rotation going on. But the same vibe was there. Anyway I regret not making it by the Stewart Lakewood Branch before it closed so I’ll have to rely purely on memories moving forward. I have been anyway but it would have been nice to have an updated mental snapshot. © 2016 The Stewart Avenue Kid