Chapters Four, Five and Ten
Plus
Three HubCap Songs — Homer, I’d Go to Jail for You, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy
Xerxes Lang / Red Dog Young
©
University Hills, California, July 16, 2011
Prologue
“Poetry, schmoetry,” Richard Wilbur quotes one of the Texas recruits in the 36th Bataillon saying, though he adds he had “warm and amusing relationships with almost everyone, partly because, mostly country Texans, they were enjoyers of words good storytellers and inventive cussers.”
This is a poem in Southern speech, more precisely “Texas Tawk” ‐ a language I more or less forgot over the years. You are going to hear two chapters plus the brief conclusion, as well as three “HubCap Songs” by Red Dog.
The idea for Road House came to me when I was thinking about travel, and in particular a poem by Horace I once taught. I Fiddled at it a while till I realized I’d need some help. The proximity of my cousin Red Dog made me think he might help me speak like that again.
What they call in the movies plot, character, scenario ‐ in all that we became a tag team. The music is his, from his collection of HubCap songs, Three Chords and the Truth.
Parental guidance warning for the Ladies, and for Gentlemen present who may not like having exposed out in public how they think and what they do.
Homer – by HubCap Brown
I called my brother Homer because that was his name He really was a weirdo but I loved him just the same At the ripe old age of sixteen while dad was at the bar He grabbed all his money and he took off in the car
My daddy he was mad as hell he was Fit to be tied I began to think that’ be the day my brother died! Daddy’s tongue was sharp and cut just like a knife But bruised and battered appropriately, he came home with his life
Daddy whooped him pretty good, leather belt and all Said he had to earn his keep then get out in the fall Well Homer he paid daddy and moved out like he said I haven’t seen him since that day and now I guess he’s dead
I called my brother Homer because that was his name He really was a weirdo but I loved him just the same At the ripe old age of sixteen while dad was at the bar He grabbed all his money and he took off in the car
I called my brother Homer because that was his name He really was a weirdo but I loved him just the same He really was a weirdo but I loved him just the same
Insert for Performance Purposes:
We join our heros, Virg and Johnny, the Narrator, plus our heroine, Bea, right in the middle of things.
Virg and Johnny have just liberated Bea from the clutches of two nasty Pimps, who were carryin’ her, an underage female, into certain servitude. To do so, though, they had to abscond with the stash of dope they were supposed to be holdin’ for the beneKit of their Partners, themselves not exactly savory characters.
Together, they were all takin’ the dope to a place called Sparks City and had stopped in a sleezy motel by the side of the road.
This all came about ‘cause Bea seduced Virg, thinking he had the keys to the truck, whereas Johnny actually did. It was her only way of escape. Virg took the seduction personally, as folks sometimes do. Now he’s seriously in Love.
It is early morning. They are on the run. in my old Chevy pick‐up truck.
Howdy, D’jeet Yet?
We high‐tailed it like bats out‐a hell, Burma shave signs Flashing by so quick Virg, who liked readin’ ‘em off one by one, couldn’t keep up ‐‐ ‘bout the only reading he ever did anyway. I drove, a’ways looking back, ’cept when Virg and Bea climbed over the seat into the cubby hole. I wud’n’t gonna stop till miles stretched between us and the Partners and their new partners, the Pimps. I had a map we’d brung along, found the least obvious path of escape, one that dwindled right off the map. I drove on and on, hopin’ for a road house we could stop and eat, but we weren’t goin’ nowhere, just fast, and there was nothin’ nowhere. All I could do was dream of food, like in HubCap Brown’s song ‘bout mashed potatoes, ‘cept that I have most all my teeth.
Before too long asphalt gave out to gravel and ruts. Then a storm brew’d up, the sky grew dark, split in half. Couldn’t see a dad‐gum thing, pulled over to wait out a dee‐luge the likes a‐which I never seen. Virg and Bea crawled back up front. We sat there a bit, rain pounding down, windows fogging up. It was a real turd‐Floater, ‘nuff to strangle frogs. Bea was sittin’ between us, shoulder brushin’ up like accident’ly, moist and bare against my own. Hot and sweaty, she smelled mighty good, had a ring of Jones’ beads around her pretty neck.
Virg had an old eight‐track he’d brung along I begged him please not to play. Never shoulda hummed any HubCap a‐tall, just got him started off. He got it out‐a the glove compartment, where he’d also moved the gun, and slid it in, a tunehe loved, HubCap’s I’d Go to Jail for You.
Hung up on the tune, not sure of the words, Virg made up his own: I get there, I’ll shut my eyes, thinka you. Not HubCap’s words, but Virg, he had some right idea. He done his time, knew in the pen they do to you what they can till you Figure out how to do it back again to them. And Bea was jail bait for sure, once you got a close look. Even out here in the sticks, the Law casts a prejudicial eye on big disparities of age ‐‐ lessun you’re related.
The sky Finally cleared. We drove on till we got to a gate and, a piece behind, a trailer house set up on blocks, surrounded by dumps and sheds. A geezer, crusty coot with straggly hair, was rockin’ on his porch. He looked us over good, stood, then peered over right into the cab, almost had a hissy Fit.Then he said, like to long‐lost family jess rec‐a‐nized: Howdy, d’jeet yet? hospitality I Figured havin’ something to do with Bea. He sat us down, went for a mess of bacon and beans, a clay crock. Then in Mason jars he served us up right there in the yard some of the best white lightnin’ I ever had.
Homer, his name, didn’t think much of folks, why he lived way out there, his only friends pythons kept in tanks they slithered out‐a at will. Them and the wildcat he let out at night. She keeps the pole cats away. Personally, don’t mind their smell. She dudn’t like it. She don’t like the smell of nobody but me.
Homer didn’t mind people when he had music to play, cuz that’s what music’s for. Whisky, weed too. Bea herself didn’t care much for hooch, and she like the shit Homer had a patch grownin’ of back in a plot hidden in the pine trees where the sun shined jess right. We offered Homer some of ours, but he demurred: Affects my memory, when I gotta play, not like Johnny Corn. We drank a while, shot the breeze, Finished the jug, polishin’ off the beans with crusts of stale bread. Then Homer got his ax, strummed a coupla chords, launched into his version of I’d Go to Jail for You.
I’d Go to Jail for You – by Hub‐Cap Brown
First time that I saw Lorene she was waving me goodbye An ice cold beer in her left hand, a pistol by her side Said she robbed the Glendale train, then put the hammer down Off she went in a trial of dust heading out of town
Even though I had my doubts twas true love at First sight If mama was alive today she’d say that I was right I know that I love her and that she will be true I swear on mama’s bible that I’d go to jail for you.
Chorus:
Well you done the crime I’ll do the time no matter what it takes We all have our troubles and I know you made mistakes You are my sweetest darlin’ girl no matter what you do I swear on mama’s bible that I’d go to jail for you.
Tag ending:
Yes I swear on mama’s bible that I’d go to jail for you.
8
Yonder Out-a Sight
Even Virg could tell Homer’s voice sounded famil’yer as could be. I know your Christian name, he asked, whatcher fam’ly name? Brown, the old cuss replied. I’m known as Homer Brown. Virg’s eyes went wide: Related to HubCap Brown? Homer looked off into space like somethin’ was hoverin’ up there on high. We’re related for sure. I can’t tell you exactly how. From the way he sung though, you could place a bet, Homer shared the blood of Waldo HubCap Brown.
If Virg and me had been the Pimps we mighta cut a deal, Homer’s hankering hangin’ out for all‐a us to see. Virg and me, we bad enough boys, used to cheat, thieve and brawl. You know we was slingin’ dope, holding a stash we stole. But there are lines I won’t cross. Pimps are the scum of the earth, leeching like gov’rnment off somebody else’s honest work.
Homer must‐a gathered we were on the run from sump’um Virg said ‘bout the glove compartment.Y’all wanna hole up a couple of days, stay in the shacks? The snakes won’t bother ya. I’ll feed ‘em good, keep the cat in. Anybody bouncing down dat road, you hear ‘em in time to hide. Just park your truck yonder outa sight behind them trees. So Homer got his public, Bea and Virg, time to cavort. Me, a city boy, Daddy, when I was young, used to take me out to hunt in the Piney Woods. I liked it there, felt safe, like at Homer’s place, so reckoned it wise to stay there a while, bide time. Virg, too, needed time, had holt of a wishbone he prayed to break his way, shacking up with Bea. Thing was, I kept thinkin’, I seen her First, by rights Bea should‐a belonged to me. But Virg, he was my friend.
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We heard real music out there, HubCap I never knew. Homer put special feeling into one I love, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy. No one came down the road.
10
Mashed Potatoes and Gravy – by Hub‐Cap Brown
Mashed Potatoes and gravy is all I ever eat Used to eat some green beans back when I had teeth Twenty years of taters just dreamin’ about some meat Now mashed potatoes and gravy is all I ever eat
Back when I had chompers I used to could eat A big ol’ piece of chicken and some barbecued meat Then that bottle came a’ Flyin’ and before a word was said That sucker hit me in the mouth right there in my head
My teeth went every which‐a‐way, whiskey mixed with blood I passed out and hit the Floor, that’s when the Floor said THUD Next day when I woke up I wished that I was dead Cause all my teeth were missing from that big hole in my head
Mashed Potatoes and gravy is all I ever eat Used to eat some green beans back when I had teeth Twenty years of taters just dreamin’ about some meat Now mashed potatoes and gravy is all I ever eat
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Coda — All There Was Before
I was riding shotgun, should’ve been at the wheel. Just above the trees herds of purple clouds stampeeded wild across swollen bruises in the sky. The wind kicked back at Virg’s hands, his knuckles gripped hard to the wrapped naugahyde rim. Hail pelted the windshield, piled up in slush on the shoulders and the cracked asphalt slabs.
A funny kind of twilight came down on Virg and me. He turned: Sorry, Johnny, Screwed up Bad. He was quotin’ HubCap a‐course, but it applied. Then, at that very moment, things got real loud. A twister crossed the road a football Field ahead, ripping up the Lord knows what, turning into junk all there was before. I saw the makin’s of a house whirl by, Fiberboard panels in the air, dish‐pans, a closet of clothes. I swear a barbecue pit Flew by. The Chevy rattled and shook, never left the ground. Then Virg grabbed his Grand‐Daddy’s gun from the glove compartment, leaped down from the cab, tossed me the keys, headed the direction destruction went.
Silence returned with a strange new light. Cross the clearing I could see his back as he strode single‐mindedly away. Never saw the man again, know he ain’t coming back. I gassed it, rev’ed her up, laid some rubber out. How I got here now and where I went then there is no way I can say. In HubCap’s words y’all know the song ‐ My Only Home’s the Road.
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