Scott Fagan's Mem.wa?

 Book 4. Dear Carol and Book 4. De Barracks Yad Bay And Beach Club And Book 4. “Yeah But Can You Sell 300 Tickets?”

 Dear Carol,

Please forgive me for not responding more quickly, I was away from my computer and in New York, as you will see later in today’s postings.

Gale and I have thought of you, your big sister Ruth your little brother Kent or “Kennet” (as people call him), and your parents, many more times than I can say. I am very sorry to report to you that Gale died not long ago (April of 08) and up and to that time we spoke about you and your family often and with great fondness.

I recently did a concert at the “J. Antonio Jarvis Museum and Learning Center” in Pollyburg, which is also the defacto home of “We from Upstreet” (an organization that you may be familiar with, or may find interesting to look into.)

In any case, because of the time that Gale and I spent living “Upstreet” (we had already moved twice, and had been in both Catholic and Nisky schools before coming  upstreet) I was invited to join the organization and I did with great pleasure.

 During  the concert I performed a spoken word piece called “De Barracks Yad Bay And Beach Club” which was very well received, I am posting it here again today in hopes that you will enjoy it. There is much more to write about the people, places and things of upstreet and you can be quite sure that you will find the Daniels family therein.

I have seen Kent from time to time through the years and have often asked about you and Ruth, I am glad to know that you are well and I certainly hope that she is also. Please pass my warmest regards along to her if you can, and know that because of your many kindnesses the memory of you and your family is always with me. Do you remember our little club and its Theme Song “Home Home on The Range”? Yep! And when we children would pack a little picnic lunch and follow Ruth along “Beljan Road” to go swimming at “Long Bay” (before Pearson Gardens and Yacht Haven?) Yep and.. and..well, God Bless you Carol, thank you for writing. My email address is scott@lilfish.com looking forward!  

Book 4. De Barracks Yad Bay An Beach Club

 It jus so happen dat one day roun de bay dere by de Barracks yad a big truck come an dump out a truck load a san. Wha! Yeh meboy, (I se to meself) now yu talking boy, now yu talkin’ lemme go lay doun in it.

 No sooner said dan done an I was de fus man dare. Boy, ah lay back an cross me leg an crass up me han dem behine me head like ah contemplating de clouds in de clear blue sky. De nex second, ah jump up ana run back home to de head a pave street for me Muddah towel ana umbrella fo style, den ah grab up a can a sardine, two French bread ana red soda ana fly back to de beautiful new san at wha I kno gon soon be “De Barracks Yad Bay an Beach Club” Yeh meboy, ah se to meself now yu talking now yu talking.

 By de time ah reach back, three o fo touris had done fin de spot, but ah tro doun me self right in de middle ah dem, put an me shades ana open me sardine.

Jus den a big hard face man se “Hey Buckra, wha de hell yu tink yu doin, yu can’ see we come tu mix up concrete an cement?” Ah se “wha? Yu crazy? Wha yu commin’ to de beach tu mix up concrete and cement” De man se “Is you is de one who crazy, who de hell tell you dis is a beach, we makin’ a watahfront fo  bigtruck cou pass here” Ah se “wha? Is YOU is de one who crazy, look de beautiful blue watah de, look de san here, look de people in de middle. We here in de Barracks Yad waitin’ bocoups an many years plus fo somebody to bring de san fo de beach. Man de people dem  been laydin doun in de mud full a crab hole an rock stone an badein’ in de watah  wha de bottom fulla broke shell an beer can. De chrirren dem billin san calsel outtah mud an don’ talk abou when de gut runnin and de nightsoil commin’ doun, den dey makin mud pie outta dat!

 No man, we waitin’ two hundred years an mo for dis san tu come (an fo somebody to plug up de gut) We ain’ wan no concrete and cement fo de beach, how de people dem gon lay doun on concrete and cement?, why yu wan tu have to jump up wid yu coal pot an yu fry fish and yu mabi an yu blanket an everyting, everytime some schupid muddah skunk ina bigtruck want tu pass. Yu crazy? No man, bring mo san! Dis is de place right here me boy, in fac we should exten de beach all de way from Wes Indian dock to Cha Cha Ta…ah.. ah mean French Toun!

Yu kno de beach belongs to de people dem and dat way every day will be like Christmas Mahnin fo de whole ah Charlotte Amalia me boy. Man sellin fraco an jumbi bead lef an right, woman sellin pate an benye by de poun. Touris frum all ovah de place commin to see de most beautiful town in de wurl, wid de bigges an de bes and de most beautiful beach in de wurl, rite in de middle ait. An de people dem will own de whole ting!. Man ah tell yu bring mo san! Bring mo san!

 Book 4. “Yeah But Can You Sell 300 Tickets?”

 I have been a Recording Artist since I first signed with Columbia Records in the fall of 1964, and have been subject or exposed to most every original and derivative permutation of art/music and business related bull jive steamin’. Every hipper than thou conceit, confabulation, confusion, slight of hand obfustication (compounded I confess by crock pots of chemistry guaranteed to lift the veil, and expose the heart of matter AND the matter too, listened to every triple speaking squeaky charlatan and predatory Piranha, every well intentioned honey, and her Father AND her Mother, Cuzuncle, Cuzauntie, Police Chief, School teacher, sponsor, Chaplin, shrink, business and financial advisor and attorney, music biz, patent, copyright, real estate, personal injury and divorce. Every cross-eyed, trembling lipped visionary, explicator, explainer, translator, voice from the clouds, fortune cookie, Gypsy and know it all, know nothing available. Every ambitious author, handbook scribbler, how to coach, wanna be publicist, agent, and queen bee, every bartender, dealer, secretary of the meeting, founding director, Psychologist, Professor, lunatic and even to my partner in lilfish records, Tutsie.  And nothing has ever been quite so clear, so illuminating, so to the point, so completely question AND answer in one, so insulting and inspirational so in out all and every thing, as the question put to me this past Friday October the 8^th, 2010, in New York City.  “Yeah But Can You Sell 300 Tickets?”

Continues….