Barker Ajax was leaving town.
“If enough rain falls on it, even a rock will change shape,” says the local writer. “I’ve been in and around this town twenty-five years. I think it’s time to leave. Most of my friends agree with me.”
They’re all leaving town, too?
“No, silly.” Ajax makes a ferocious yet somehow fey gesture as this fish took the bait. “They all agree that I should.”
Barker Ajax is known best for his provocative AT LARGE column, one of the few reasons anybody ever had for reading THIS WORKS. Ajax’s arrival at the staid shopper was a mind-boggling surprise to most observers. In between all those recipes and coupons, the man stuck out.
Iconoclastic. Funny. Sensitive. An exceptional story teller. Credible. Different. He usually had something to say. Something worth listening to. Railing against politicians who would reduce the juice allowance for impoverished children while giving themselves a huge pay raise, Ajax included the free phone numbers of the Oregon delegation.
You knew he wouldn’t last long.
“I had this dream. I’m in a doctor’s office. Everything’s white except the doctor. She looks exactly like Broderick Crawford,” Ajax wears a straight face. ” ‘You have a year to live,’ the Doc tells me. There’s a stunned moment of silence as I absorb the news.
“Finally, I found the strength to speak. “‘Fiscal or calendar?'”
Barker misses the column. He misses the photo that accompanied his byline. “Certainly. I miss the free tickets more. The money,” he means it. “I miss the forum. I miss the opportunity to compare my work with the other columnists in town.” He misses the attention.
He wanted more money. The publisher decided to go with Erma Bombeck, less expensive and unlikely to irritate the local advertisers and their politicians. Whatcha call your Freedom of The Press.
Hell, the publisher’s own mother wrote a letter in protest.
How does he think he measures up? “Like Pee Wee Herman, my work holds its own,” Ajax states. “Read their stuff, read mine. Compare. And if you’re not 100% satisfied, I’ll gladly return your money.”
Actually, “AT LARGE” continues as Ajax still writes a column weekly. However, only a couple friends ever see his current efforts in Wild Dog. That’s a long way from a half million copies a week. He likes to think he’s over the loss.
“Truman Capote said that really successful people are like vampires: you can’t kill them unless you drive a stake through their hearts,” Ajax says rather cold-bloodedly. “The only one who can destroy a really strong and talented writer is himself. Besides, if I still had the column, I couldn’t leave town.”
So, it’s back to that.
Mike Limpberg said just a couple of years ago, “It’s the attitude in Portland that we can’t do too much at one time or go too fast.”
Have you have heard anybody – yourself perhaps – say,” If I just had it to do all over again…?”
Right about there the voice trails off. Followed by a wistful sigh. Hell, it’s simply time to turn the page.
I think I came to Oregon to find out who I was. I’m leaving Oregon, it seems to me, to discover what I will do with the rest of my life. That’s really all that’s very important once you get to a certain level of spirituality.
This again with a straight face. His face is very straight.
I like to think I’ve paid my dues, I’ve learned, I’ve grown. I figured some stuff out. And one thing I figure is, we need to get away more often.
He smiles.
Right. I know, everybody hears that and they think, hey, not exactly breakthrough material. But it is exactly that. Civilized man has become a trapped beast. He needs to break away. To get free. To soar to new heights. Loftier levels.
Reminds me of some grafitto I saw at Hung Far Low’s:
“When you’re born, you cry out. When you’re born again, you just talk loud.”
You must be joking? Barker Ajax, a born-again?
Well, not in any organized religious sense. What I mean is, I’m brand-new. Optimistic. Full of hopefulness. Childlike with wonder and awe at the majesty of my world.
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the Wild Dog just decided to start anew.
David Cale, the monologuist, talked about it. Listen to this.
“I’m gonna take my life in my hands and shake it and shake. Till all the bad parts fall out. Till they’ve all dropped out of me. Like dead leaves shaking from a living tree. There they go. All those rotting leaves. There they go. I’ll shake and shake till only the living, the present, the alive is left. No dead leaves. No dead leaves. No past. I’ll shake off the past. Let the past get past. Let the past get past.”
That’s from Cale’s The Redthroats. He continues. “Then I realize, I’m saying what I feel. Doing what I want. I get nervous again. I’m afraid of what I might want to do. I’m scared of what will come out of my mouth. But I can’t stop. I’m being taken over by me! The me I haven’t been yet. The me I’m going to be when I start being myself. The frightened. The angry. The me that got buried in childhood. All of the me’s are all out at once. All acting and singing, asserting, saying,’ Let’s see where the future can go! Let’s see where the future can go!'”
TIME TO HIT THE FREE WAY.