We kept the afterburners on and blasted into 1991, with me clawing my way forward professionally and growing up further alongside my sweetheart. I wrote an original short script for producer/director Bill Waxler, and his plans to produce it brought together a very talented group of production professionals and friends. Entitled “Bumper Crop” that project gained steam through the Spring, and by June 29, we were on location, ready to shoot it on 16mm film. I’ve written about this project in the past, beginning with Feb. 22, 1991: Bumper Crop, Part 1.
Part 2 of that series recounts the unforeseen drama of June 29.
Brothers, 1986.The Bumper Crop story is about an older man who awakens from a dream that shines a new light on a long-held misconception which had affected him deeply throughout his life. Finally understanding that he was not responsible for his brother’s accident long ago, his awakening represents a new lease on life. On Saturday, June 29, 1991, a really great group of people came together at a little, vacant, roadside gas station in Sanford, Florida, to begin shooting the film. Little did I know that, later that day, while we were trying to get our shots, my own brother would suffer his own life-changing accident, after diving into a lake in our hometown of Greenville, Illinois. It was about 1:30 AM on Sunday when my mother called with the news which led from one thing to the next, and in those hours, I didn’t know if I’d ever have the chance to talk to Scott, my one and only brother, again. By Monday, I was at the hospital and hearing the dark forecast — never walk again, life hanging on by a thread. Happily, my big brother survived all that, and though he doesn’t walk, he stands above most people I know as an amazingly resourceful, industrious, upbeat person who, among many other things, is a pillar of my family and the town of Greenville. On July 1 of 1991, though, I had a rough night trying to sleep in a hospital waiting room. I had Spalding Gray’s “Swimming to Cambodia” to read, and for my therapy, I wrote this poem…
I invite you to follow the link above to read “John Wayne Dies Again,” which I wrote that night as an attempt to pacify my thoughts in the midst of so much sadness, fear and frustration. Scott’s girlfriend Rachel, my parents and many other close family members were there, also suffering through those first nights, trying to comfort Scott and each other, as various doctors, specialists and nurses delivered updates that were anything but reassuring. But in the main bout, Scott’s body and mind were fighting for life, and we all tried to help in whatever small ways we could, hoping for a miracle.
Those days and nights in the hospital taught me a lot about my family, many close friends, my girlfriend, my brother, and my coping abilities. Moving forward, I lost most of my appetite for pretend medical or crime dramas, like TV’s “E.R.” Somehow, feeling the pain of real, life-threatening hardship for my bro made me despise television’s imaginary tragedies. In other aftermath, some hard emotions I experienced at that time with my father made me vow to protect myself better in the future.
I should mention: Mom wrote a book about these experiences. Those interested can find more info here.
Salad days, 1992.One wise leap I made soon thereafter was proposing to Beth. She said yes, and my life’s been getting better ever since. The positive effect kicked-in right away: Immediately upon returning from our engagement trip to the Bahamas, I was hired by a feature film development company to help package, sell and produce a remake of “Flipper.”
In the meantime, Scott moved through all the steps of stabilization and rehab in various St. Louis area hospitals, with constant help and support from Rachel, back-up from my dad and step-mom, and semi-regular visits by my mom, who lived in Florida like us. Everything was hard on Scott, but through his unbelievable strength, perseverance and determination, he rocked onward, encouraging each of us to carry on with our own lives… and freeing us to do so.
For a long time after “John Wayne Dies Again,” I did not write much poetry … but I did read a lot. Just around that time, my friend Hardy Edwards introduced me to the writing of Charles Bukowski. I began reading all the Buk books I could get my hands on, and his constant references to other fine writers led my literary and musical interests in exciting and fun new directions. Bless you for making it this far in my bard’s tale, please accept my deepest thanks. You are among a few people of whom I am very proud. Knowing me as you do by now, I hope the following much-shortened version of a great lesson from Mr. Bukowski will delight you as well. Of all the wonderful, powerful artists I encountered by age 24, Buk made me realize how very much I had to learn, all while putting a smile on my face, which remains even now. I soon came to love this most unusual man, and even received a letter from him one day.
an ordinary poem (excerpt)
by Charles Bukowski
since you’ve always wanted
to know I am going to admit that I never
liked Shakespeare, Browning, […]
and I don’t like The Nutcracker Suite […]
and all the women who should have loved me but
didn’t and
the first day of Spring and the
last
and the first line of this poem
and this one
that you’re reading
now.
At least this shows you really care, since it’s from the heart, it’s prblaoby a really good poem, and showing something really well written is better than showing something rubbish at any rate. If you’re really not comfortable however, write something else that you are comfortable showing people. Try not to let the quality suffer by actually writing a poem about not wanting to show people your work. Be ironic. (Whenever you seem to hit a wall creatively, you can get around it by writing about hitting that wall. Or write about your frustration etc, it’s a nice little trick that keeps it meaningful.)
Arc of the Poet
For a long time after “John Wayne Dies Again,” I did not write much poetry … but I did read a lot. Just around that time, my friend Hardy Edwards introduced me to the writing of Charles Bukowski. I began reading all the Buk books I could get my hands on, and his constant references to other fine writers led my literary and musical interests in exciting and fun new directions. Bless you for making it this far in my bard’s tale, please accept my deepest thanks. You are among a few people of whom I am very proud. Knowing me as you do by now, I hope the following much-shortened version of a great lesson from Mr. Bukowski will delight you as well. Of all the wonderful, powerful artists I encountered by age 24, Buk made me realize how very much I had to learn, all while putting a smile on my face, which remains even now. I soon came to love this most unusual man, and even received a letter from him one day.
At least this shows you really care, since it’s from the heart, it’s prblaoby a really good poem, and showing something really well written is better than showing something rubbish at any rate. If you’re really not comfortable however, write something else that you are comfortable showing people. Try not to let the quality suffer by actually writing a poem about not wanting to show people your work. Be ironic. (Whenever you seem to hit a wall creatively, you can get around it by writing about hitting that wall. Or write about your frustration etc, it’s a nice little trick that keeps it meaningful.)