Old shoes,
bandannas,
t-shirts,
pictures,
socks.
Always socks.
When the musicians
aren't playing,
the vendors
take over
the bandstand,
outside,
out of scrap
lumber
made
by Bluesman Frank
Little Sonny
Scott Jr.
with a green
tarp
roof.
Meeting hall,
community place,
cooling center.
To sit,
sell,
talk,
gawk.
Like
a front porch.
What a cool site,
shaded
from the summer
heat.
The music
of the people
without
the musicians.
**
Piano C. Red
comes by
in his
American
United cab.
Wants us to come to
the Rhine Club
on 79th.
He's playing tonight.
**
On Maxwell
Street
he's parked
by Johnny Dollar
Thrift
Shop.
Every Sunday
he played there.
On the street.
The last blues
of the old
market.
He's off
somewhere.
Hardly plays
no more
here
anymore.
**
John,
on crutches,
comes by
from Original Jim's.
To tell me
about
original sin.
He works
at Goodwill
Industries.
He's
getting
a drink
of water
at the hydrant.
Cool
water.
He don't
need help.
Now going
for the bus,
he hands me
a tract
about the cows,
the plastic cows
all over
Chicago.
They are
heathen,
a blasphemy,
lies about God.
It says,
"The hoity-
toityness
of the
inhabitancy
of Chicago
is a stench
before
the nostril
of God."
It goes on
about the
"Cretans
are liars,
evil beast,
slow bellies
(idle gluttons)."
The preachers
still come here.
**
Later
the women
come by
and sit.
Shirley paints
her nails
blue
on the Blues stage.
Blind Kimberly
takes a rest
from selling
incense.
Gets her nails
done
two-tone,
her feet too.
Which incense
do you want
Steve?
Jasmine, musk
or mixed?
I always like
it mixed.
She sings
a little
for us.
Then they all
sing.
**
Carolyn,
in shades,
talking
about the
Blues.
Her blues.
Maxwell
Street
is her place.
Where she comes
when she feels
bad.
Cheers her up.
The people,
the community,
the Polishes
at Jim's.
Doin their own
thing,
looking out
for each other.
People fed
her family
in the old
days.
Husband gone.
Now they feed
her soul.
"Here's a picture
of my son,
at the old market.
He's eight,
playing the
guitar
with Dancin Perkins."
**
Lenore, hangs with us.
She washes her feet
in the water
of the fire
hydrant.
And comes back
to dry
them off.
The Pope
if here,
would wash
their feet too.
**
There's a feeling
here
like no other
place.
And its waiting
…
for the gallows
of UIC
to strangle
the spirit
from this place.
I am
blessed
to record
these
last
rites.
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