I first heard him out my window. He's got a loud voice: "I got false teeth. I'm deaf in one ear. I been shot at, stomped on and stabbed. I've run with the Hell's Angels Minnesota, Hell's Angels Los Angeles, fought the Outlaws in Joliet. I've seen it all, man..." I looked out and
he was standing at the corner across the street giving this speech to no one. He continued "...and like a lot of roadies do in the off season, I ran coke for the C.I.A. out of Bogota..." With that I snatched up my camera and dashed outside to lend him an ear.
As I approached he
panhandled me for a dollar and when I obliged he introduced himself as Bradley Bartell ("you might have heard of me") and we
started down Franklin Avenue. "Used to play bass for Emmylou Harris back
when we were dating," it began. "Mostly I was her roadie - did that for her on the Stones '69 tour, and off and on for the Grateful Dead in the early 70s. I filled in for John Paul Jones one night when he was too drunk to go on. Emmylou started jamming with me after that night..." The wildflowers in the dewbottle were for Emmylou. He gushed about her for the next two blocks.
As we
passed by the Holiday station he spotted some guy leaving on a Harley and
dashed - midsentence - out into traffic to beg a ride, nearly getting hit. The dude on the hog told him to fuck off. When I caught up with Bradley, he was was in a
foul tongue and
threatening passerby. "Motherfuckers never give you a break. Egg sucking dogs have NO CLUE who I am!" He hushed down and passed me the dewbottle, looking both ways as he went for his pocket. Then held up his thumb, and on it
a gold ring. Proof. "This was given to me by the Virginia Freemasons."
Sensing my supposed awe, he smiled the twinkle of secret knowledge and went on his way, head high. I turned toward home and walked a block before I realized I was still carrying Emmylou's wildflowers.
