I've been going through a bunch of old computer discs to see what I need to keep and what should go. I've found more from the original Moonpie Chronicles Online site that I was building. Here is a piece I wrote about the origins of the Moonpie Chronicles back in November of 2001 when I was trying to recover from a divorce, the shock of 9/11, and the loss of a really good job with Furr's Supermarkets, which had recently gone tits up. This will be reexamined laterBack in the mid-1970s, I was trying, as Jimmy Buffet once put it, to get by being quiet and shy in a world full of pushing and shove. Having moved to New Mexico from Rochester, New York, I was an outcast from society in general. This, of course, was back in the days before I realized that anyone from east of the Big Muddy were obnoxious vermin no better than a skunk, or at the very least a pesky varmint.
Eventually, I found acceptance through drugs. No kidding. Really. I've always thought that, but just now I realized that half the guys in our little gang didn't do drugs. Well.... That was a real waste of brain cells. It's a moot point anyway, because this is supposed to be about how the Moonpie Chronicles came into being. It was, as best as anyone recalls, about 1975 when Vance D. moved to Albuquerque. I met him through The Kawatiti Kid (AKA Jim Jones, who is a whole other story in himself.)
Vance had come from Memphis. He talked about it a lot and taught us the hip ways of the "Sooooooul Bruthahs."
How to talk: "You fum Maymphee?"*
What constituted classical music: Booker T. and the M.G.'s
How to wear our shoes: You tie the laces when you first buy the shoes and never again. Just mash the heels down and slip them on like clogs.
What to eat: Memphis Soul Food; A.K.A. Moonpie and an RC.
Say what? Moon what?
Vance couldn't believe we didn't know what it was, this classic southern treat. Even Jones and Martin, who had grown up in Plano, Texas hadn't heard of them (in all fairness, I believe that's the heart of Dr. Pepper country). Having the munchies, and no real desire to go to our next class, we took off down to the convenience store to buy some. They looked at us funny when we asked. We went to Circle K, 7-11, Allsup's, Piggly Wiggly, The Donut Shoppe (Pronounced "Sho-Payy") - everywhere. No one had R.C. cola, let alone Moonpies. Every inquiry was met with mistrust, shock, revulsion, threats of police action, requests to buy a joint from us.
Long story short (I'll go into more detail later), one morning, while getting stoned in a storm drain pipe, we were talking again about this elusive treat that seemed to be unavailable in Albuquerque, Martin says "Why don't we just go to Memphis and get some. We were pretty wasted and it seemed like a good idea. Thus was born the Moonpie Expedition.
I happened to have one of those hardbound blank journaling books. We took some magical-type markers and wrote Moonpie across the cover. On the inside we kind or wrote what the plan was, what we were hoping to find when we got to Memphis, fund-raising efforts, progress. We also had photos, drawings and newspaper clippings. The original story was quite short. At this writing that battered volume lies in the hands of Vance, somewhere back in Southeast Maryland. (If I ever get it back, I'll scan and/or transpose some of it and post it here.) I wrote "Moonpie 2", initially in 1979 as I set out to hitchhike around the country. Only portions of this one remain. "Learn How To Pretend" is a rough draft of a novel I've been working on for a couple of years that is based on events that took place just prior to The Moonpie 2 debacle - Ummmmm, I mean, "adventure." There are other scraps here and there. Senseless letters. Photos. We'll see what we can come up with.
* Just to dispel any thoughts of racism here, this was all done with the intent of utmost respect for that culture. We thought it was the shits.
Moonpie trek to Memphis was my shining moment of how I faded down the stretch and never made it to Memphis. As Rick would say, "oh bugger." I'm sure he had stronger language for Martin and I when we failed to show at the starting gate. You see, Rick was sure that we would band together and make this road trip happen, come hell or high water. So confident in fact, Rick went to the Army and had his enlistment papers sent to Memphis for pick-up before reporting to Boot Camp. The news left me weak and pale as Rick was unaware that I had already decided that the trip was a dream. It wasn't a dream for Rick, it was his reality. I thought his mother was going to kill us all for coming up with such a notion as traveling to Memphis, and for a Moonpie and RC Cola no less! I think her rage, and monatary out lay for a plane ticket to get Rick to Memphis in time to recieve his paperwork, distracted the 3 of us and the days flew by. All of a sudden Rick was gone. My dog died one day while I was at school in Charleston, South Carolina, I felt the same loss the day Rick left. On top of Rick not being there, I had the nagging pain in my gut that I had really let Rick down. It wouldn't be the last time that I let Rick down. Thats how I remember the last couple of days before Rick left.
ReplyDeleteI remember the day I had to tell my mom what I'd done. I was in fucking tears. My dad was sure it was some plan to get out of going. Of course, he thought that the time I injured my leg a few months earlier, too. He always forgot that I was the one who enlisted.
ReplyDeleteWow, alot of emotion in very few words. I guess thats what writers do. Ya know, it's only right this second that I'm wondering if I ever told Rick I was sorry for not going to Memphis. Nay, I must have, right?
ReplyDeleteNo. You didn't.
ReplyDeleteBut then, I'm sorry that I DID go in the fashion that I went.
When I think of my son who is off bumming around fucking Hawaii right now and contemplating a trip to Asia at the same age I was in the army (in Germany, smoking hash and sleeping with an older woman) I have to wonder who got the better deal.
I do regret joining the military and not going out and following our dream. But if I hadn't joined the military, what would have happened to me? Would I be Jim Jones' room-mate right now?
Sorry dude. 31 years too late.
ReplyDeleteAh screw it, bruh. You know, if I hadn't have been going in the Army, I wouldn't have been able to go either.
ReplyDeleteSomeday we should go though. You, me, and Martin can meet up there and tour the town.
First stop, Bealle Street for some good music and ribs.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was walking in Memphis,
ReplyDeleteWalkin' with my feet ten feet of of Beale.