The Lonely Artist

The story of Van Bro

As I peered out the window I could see him there on the sidewalk, he stood as still as a bronze statue.  After what seemed to be an eternity,  he slowly turned his head as a car passed in front of him. I had not seen a person move like he did, it was with the rigidity of a robot, he looked stiff and awkward . Later, I came to believe that he was probably aching from sleeping on concrete in the cold.

I was frequently downtown in those days. My youngest son was in college and he played many gigs at a place called The Riverboat, located on Dauphin Street right next door to the famous Heroes Bar & Grill. I was eating a grilled cheese sandwich,while watching my son, Eric, set up for his show. As I looked around that night; I saw this man for the first time. He looked like he had lived a tough life with no love or attention; sort of a castaway from society. Those are the thoughts that filled my mind that night as I stared out the huge glass windows at this stranger standing there in the streetlights.

He walked into The Riverboat one night and I knew he was the guy I had seen the week before in the street. As he passed my table I noticed he was carrying something in a raggedy cloth bag.  He walked over to Eric and they spoke for a few minutes. Soon he had Eric pose for him, then he pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and a pencil. He smiled as he sketched his vision of my son.  When this artist finished, Eric handed him $5 and shook his hand. The picture was unique, it did bare a likeness to my son and was much better than I could have done. I looked it over closer and realized this man had some artistic ability for sure.

This gentleman was familiar to the college kids that frequented the bars on Friday and Saturday nights. Many of them paid him to paint their pictures over the years and they enjoyed showing others their picture once he was done.  He did not have a set price, just whatever they had to spare would do. There was one or two in the crowd that were not pleasant to him, but that just reflects the differences in the people walking this earth. I am sure this man had learned to avoid those folks.

Most of the kids downtown called him “Van Bro”…(like Van Gogh), no one I spoke to knew his actual name.

When he stood nearby, I could sense his deep loneliness.  He was always polite and he had a smile every time I saw him. As I think of him I am reminded that often a person smiles on the outside while he weeps on the inside. I think of the comics Red Skelton and Robin Williams who made us all laugh while they were tormented beneath those smiles they wore for us. I suspected the same was true for this man with his pencils and paper.

We spoke briefly several times; he would stand and talk pleasantly about nothing specific.  There was a show on the local news that told of people like him living on the streets, sleeping under bridges, or in the recessed doorways of empty or closed businesses; occasionally they would find the lobby open in a church and curl up in a corner. It spoke of the trek they would make as they looked every day for a place that would enable them to feel safe enough to catch a few hours of sleep. I suspected that true rest was something that had eluded this man for so long because he looked very tired. 

When I go downtown with Eric as he plays his gigs, I sometimes think of Mr. Van Bro and his kind disposition.  I shook his hand a few times and it felt like rough leather that had been outside flapping in the wind; gritty and dried out. Such a simple act of extending your hand to shake his seemed so special to him. 

People like this lost artist just need someone to interact with, even if its only a brief nod and grunting acknowledgment that he was there, he was alive, he was human, he was somebody. I sensed he wanted to be “normal” and he needed to feel like he was a part of this world.

Wrinkled paper and crudely sharpened pencils were his only worldly possessions, yet he could smile and be pleasant.

Years have passed since I have seen him downtown. For some reason he popped into my mind yesterday and would not leave, so I decided I needed to tell the story of Mr.Van Bro. I once heard he was sick with Hepatitis C, but I do not know that for certain. I do hope that things changed for him and he was able to find peace, warmth, safety and even happiness. Inside that homeless man there was a beating heart, a kind spirit, an artist, a person who wanted more in life but he did not know how or where to find it.

She got carried away...

She was distracted…I was too!

We arrived about an hour early for the singer/songwriter show that evening. My son met up with the other musicians and I took my seat as close to the front as I could get. This was a familiar venue very close to the state line between Alabama and Florida.

My eyes were drawn to a woman sitting at a nearby table. She was wearing a pretty mint green summer dress with a yellow sash. She looked to be in her early forties, with blonde hair, which was held back away from her face with a matching green barrette. I watched as she dug frantically in her purse in search of something. Whatever it was that she needed in there was very important to her. I realize now that I must have stared way too long at her, but she never looked up to see me as I watched her.

Someone called my name at that moment and I jerked my head around to see who it could be. It was an old friend walking rapidly towards me with outstretched arms and a great big grin. She gripped me with a tight squeeze, so tight that I felt my glasses pushing away from my face as we continued to hug. I loved seeing her again and filling those  missing holes since we had last seen each other. We had texted for a while after retiring, but as time passed we both were busy with our lives; so contact was less frequent and had trickled down to comments on our Facebook pages.

When the show was about to begin, she took her seat and I sat back down next to my friends. It was at that point, my eyes immediately jumped back to the frantic lady who had been rifling through her purse earlier. I was surprised to see that she was still searching and at this point, her brow was furled and her face was scrunched up with what looked like fear or frustration. She looked up at me and our eyes locked; this embarrassed me because I felt like I had been glaring at her much longer than normal courtesy would tolerate. I offered an awkward smile and immediately looked away.

We had all gathered to hear live, original music by a group of songwriters. My son was one of them and there were two other musicians I had heard before. The fourth one was someone unfamiliar to me, but I was certain she would be wonderful.

A man grabbed a microphone as he hopped up on the stage and began the show. He was a middle aged guy who reminded me of Clint Eastwood; he wore a serious expression on his face yet he seemed confident and had lots of energy. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was happy to be there.

As he spoke of the talented people who would be performing tonight and of their accomplishments up to this point in time; out of the corner of my eye I could still see her. It was the woman who was tearing her purse apart in search of “something” that was just not there. At this point I was concerned about her sanity.

It was a listening room type of venue, so when the musicians began, all attention was directed to the stage. As I pleasantly drifted into the story being told by the lyrics in the first song, my mind drifted away from all other thoughts and was floating in the clouds this musician had so brilliantly painted with his words. Songs really touch my soul and often have a healing effect like this one did.  The saying “Time flies when you are having fun!” is certainly true. Every minute of that first set was so good that it was over before I was ready.

I stood up as most did, we mingled and meandered, some got fresh drinks from the bar in the back of the room, while others walked outside to smoke and a few remained seated. I looked up at the stage and my son mouthed the words “Do you need anything?” I smiled back and shook my head, “no”.

As my friend and I stood there sipping a cup of coffee, I could see out of the corner of my eye, someone was approaching me. She said, “Excuse me.” I turned and at this point I was looking directly into the face of the lady who had been digging in her purse all evening. I greeted her and introduced myself. I could see the tension leaving her and the once wrinkled brow smoothed itself as I looked on. She hesitated, then she spoke. “I understand you are Eric Erdman’s mother, is that right?” I nodded and confirmed she was right. She said, “I have never met him but I heard a song on 92ZEW radio the other day and it touched me deeply. When the song ended, the radio announcer said that is on Eric Erdman’s newest CD and he will be at the songwriter show coming up on Saturday! That is what brought me here.” I hugged her and told her how wonderful that was and I appreciate her sharing her story with me.  Then her frown returned as she explained she had no cash. She had been hunting through her purse and realized she had not brought any cash with her to purchase the CD with this new song she loved. I  walked over to my son’s bag near the stage, pulled out a CD, handed it to her and said, “Enjoy!”  She said “No, I can’t let you do that” as she took it from me. She hugged me again and tears streamed from her eyes. The song she was talking about was “I get carried away”. It is the story of a person who was addicted at one time and a woman’s love had pulled him from that addiction. He now is addicted to her and her love. She told me that is the perfect story of her and her husband. They have been together 8 years now.

I realize I am not the only one that is touched deeply by the lyrics in songs. I believe there is a song that can soothe any emotion, any gap in your heart, if you look for it. Music is the best therapy!

His words touched me...

Music speaks to our hearts, regardless of our circumstances in life
                                                   

It was a full room of eager people who came to this benefit. Everyone was pumped up and ready for great food by an upstart, yet fabulous, new chef. Everyone looked forward to the music and the freshly made pieces of art that were available for purchase as well. All proceeds were earmarked for an organization that truly needs help to continue helping people. These people suffer from physical or mental conditions (or both) and the money is used to provide events that help them socialize and learn and live better, more fulfilled lives. Eric Erdman, my son is a musician, singer/songwriter and he plays lots of benefits when he has the open time in his schedule to help out. Often he donates his time but other times there is money built into a benefit that covers his time, such as this one did.

 I watched as everyone came in smiling and excitedly greeting one another. They all looked at the art and the delicious food that was beautifully displayed and ready. We took our seats wherever we could find one. This worked out well as it allowed us to meet people we did not know and enjoy our meal with them. I sat down and there were two families that sat at my table. A man, his wife and young teenage daughter were closest to me. There was another family there that included three adults and one child. One of the adults suffered from cerebral palsy and slurred his words when he spoke but he could still be well understood and was a pleasant young man.

The father of the teenaged girl began to speak to me right away.  I had only met him moments earlier as we talked briefly; it was mostly a simple introduction, a nod and smile. I cannot even remember his name, but I will forever remember his words and the picture they painted in my mind.

The vision a father has for his precious daughter is one of tea parties with her dolls, helping her learn to ride a pink Barbie tricycle on Christmas morning; watching her jump rope and seeing her run to him as she shouts, “Daddy”. His future would hold so many glorious moments of proms, graduations, and the magical moments of walking her down the aisle and holding his first grandchild.

Yet in this father’s eyes I could see deep sadness, they were the eyes of someone whose dreams had been shattered. 

     

 As I sat there that evening with so many thoughts bouncing around in my head; I was jerked back to reality when I realized this man was speaking to me. He said, “They dropped my daughter at birth and caused permanent, significant brain damage.” When I turned and look at him, it felt like gravity suddenly increased its strength and was pulling me downward with great force. The heaviness that was in his heart continued weighing on me and it was difficult to just sit there.

I glanced over at his daughter, who looked to be about 14, and it hit me with a breathtaking punch as I saw her expressionless face and far away gaze. He said, “We love her and we take care of her but our hearts are weary most days as we think of what could have been, yet will never be.”….As he spoke on about these things my mind drifted to my granddaughter who at the time was almost 16. She has so many things in front of her. Right now she is counting down the days to  reach that ever so close 16th birthday when she will get her first car. She has prom to think about, she has classes, games, concerts, and college preparation. She is a happy, spirited teenage girl full of expectation.

What a deep, painful feeling it must be to see your child suffering and unable to care for herself; while at the same time envisioning all of the things that make life wonderful for a young girl, having been robbed from her. 

With only a brief conversation, a few worrisome thoughts on this stranger’s mind, spilling out to me; I was shaken to my core. This was painful to hear and more painful to see. As I watched his wife tending to her; a lovely teenage girl who was unable to communicate or even wipe the smeared barbecue sauce from her face. I was deeply touched. As her mom gently wiped her face clean; she seemed annoyed or upset but never made a sound. The world appeared to be moving in slow motion at that point. My mind assessed what I was seeing and I hurt deeply for this teenaged girl. These parents were not facing a broken leg that would heal, or a temporary set back from which there would be a recovery. They were looking at a lifetime of loss and a watershed of broken dreams.

 I owe a debt of gratitude to this stranger who sat at my table that night. He opened my eyes wide to so many ways my world could be different and to how fortunate I am. I feel like the luckiest person on earth as I sit here at my computer and glance up to see pictures of my nearly perfect sons and grandchildren. I am so thankful to have met him and his family. He will never know how his words left me with a grateful heart and my eyes wide open. Good food, art and music had spoken to our hearts and we were one.

Boom!

                                      A night that lifted spirits for all who were there!

     We were finally there to set things up for the evening. My son Eric Erdman is a musician and this would be a special evening we had looked forward to for a while. The place is called The Listening Room and its located at 78 St Francis St in Mobile, Alabama. 

     The Listening Room is an intimate setting with dim lighting and only a lamp shines next to the performer to point you in the right direction. The musician will take a moment to speak about the song, its origin or the inspiration that gave birth to the song; then they will perform it. Most people like that because they feel more connected to the song if they understand what the songwriter was trying to express. This kind of opportunity is a dream come true for a songwriter. 

     Most local gigs are booked at bars and restaurants that include lots of noise and distraction. Many times it feels like the artist is just background noise for the screaming and frivolity of the place. Sometimes it appears that many people are screaming louder so that they can be heard over the music. I’ve been at many shows where people screamed louder if the musician tried turning up the volume so they could be heard. I have also been to shows where people were playing pool in close proximity to the stage and now the musician is competing with the actual game and verbal activity associated with a game of pool. It is very frustrating for the musician who, I am certain feels frustrated. It is often like a Catch 22, they need to play gigs to make enough to pay the bills, but the gigs are sucking out their soul and spirit. 

     A place such as The Listening Room is a beacon of light in a mighty storm. It is a ray of hope to stir the musician and allow him or her to remember why they make music. It will boost the spirit and feed the soul like nothing else.

     The show that night began with an opening act by Hannah McFarland. She played a set from 8:00-8:30pm of cover songs. Hannah is young and gorgeous, yet she seems right at home on the stage and has one of the most beautiful voices I have heard. She has a great career ahead of her. She did a marvelous job and the crowd loved her. I heard some people say they would be looking to see where she is playing and going to see her again.

     Eric took the stage and played to the “sold out” crowd. It is a small venue, only holding 54 people, though we had a few more that were happy to just stand in the back. Unfortunately, many  had to be turned away due to lack of space. The show was wonderfully received as everyone applauded vigorously after each song and sometimes during the song. There was a standing ovation at the end, making it a stellar night.

     The Listening Room is small, yet it is very BIG to those who write their own music and want to have it heard by others. It is very BIG in boosting the spirits and morale of true musicians who love what they do for a living. I want to thank Jim Pennington, the owner and operator who makes very little for his efforts. He does it for the musicians and his love of original music. Jim, you are an angel.

                                                                                     

                                 

What a Night!

A Night I will Remember

As I walked into the room I was in awe of the beautiful handmade clay pottery, and just as taken back by the next room displaying canvas after canvas of paintings that ran the gamut from beach scenes to quirky looking characters out of a Tom Robbins paperback novel. All were available to purchase for very reasonable prices. I was like a kid in a candy store, unable to decide which was the sweetest. However, I was distracted by the opulence of the design of the building and the gorgeous courtyard outside as I thought about which piece or pieces I may get. By the time I returned to the pottery pieces I loved, they wore stickers that said SOLD. 

This event was an annual one that is held by MARC (Mobile Association for Retarded Citizens). All of the art on display for the event is a collaboration between very talented local artists and pottery specialists who were coupled with disabled individuals from MARC. The pottery was signed on the bottom by both artists and most pieces had a message engraved as well, i.e. “Live for the Moment”. I wish you could have seen these bits of talent and hard work and felt the love that went into it.

My son played music for the event and it turned into a hootenanny with dancing, clapping and a sing along. What an inspiration to watch people happy in that moment, seemingly without a care in the world. The people I have met from MARC are people who enjoy their lives. The directors, organizers and associates of this organization just ooze kindness and compassion from every pore. One cannot help but feel good in their presence.

One of the “coolest” happenings of the evening was when so many of the people were dancing and there seemed to be many more females than males out there. Suddenly a handsome young man dressed in black appeared and danced with the ladies. In some cases he was dancing with a circle of 5 or 6 at one time. He danced with grace and enthusiasm and a great big smile. He was one of the waitstaff from the bar and he tirelessly danced with any and all who wanted a dance partner. 

The star of the evening was an awesome character named Sandy. I had seen him before when my son played at MARC. Sandy has a harmonica and wears an apparatus around his neck to hold it in place. He was dressed so handsomely and soon after the music began, Sandy made his way to the makeshift stage in the corner where Eric was playing. Immediately he offered Sandy the microphone to play, but Sandy was happy playing a short distance away. He remained right there as part of the show for the entire performance. Sandy danced, he sang, he played his harmonica and he encouraged his fellow MARC friends as they danced; with an occasional pat on the back or sweet words of kindness. This gentleman named Sandy is a fine man, a polite man, a talented man and a confident man. What more could a person ask of themselves than to live a life like Sandy, whether you have a disability or not; you can be a positive presence in this world.

If you were planning an elegant affair and wanted the finest of people to attend, there could be no better group than I saw last Thursday night at Azalea Manor on Dauphin Street, for the annual MARC Art Show. It was wonderful and filled with good vibes and great spirit; overall a magical night.

 

Happy Ever After?

WHO KNOWS

We were at a wonderful seafood restaurant on the Causeway between Mobile and Baldwin County, and everything seemed special that night. I had just finished singing happy birthday to a young boy who was celebrating his 6^th birthday; I was finishing my wonderful cup of gumbo and enjoying the beautiful sunset over Mobile Bay and my mind was racing with the awe that is my life.

My youngest son was singing on the small stage there on the deck and both the upper and lower decks were packed with people who were happy, festive, eating, drinking and being merry. As I looked around at the happy faces of those people, my thoughts were the evening could not have been any better. It turned out I was wrong.

My son played the entire gig without a break. He often plays straight through with no breaks for numerous reasons, one of which is that he is enjoying himself so much he finds it hard to stop.

At the end of four straight hours of playing with no break, I could see that he was worn out and ready to call it a night. The restaurant manager walked over to him as he was thanking everyone for coming. They spoke for a few minutes and I watched my son re-connect his guitar strap and steady himself back on the stool where he had been perched for hours. Then I watched as he appeared to be searching his memory and practicing a song; I figured there was someone special there who wanted a particular song played; one that he does not usually sing.

Moments later the manager came and took his place in front of the stage, facing the crowd.  He announced that he is an ordained minister and a wedding was about to take place. Then one of the wait staff ladies and a young man walked up and stood directly in front of him. Next came the announcement, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are about to have a wedding ceremony.” Everyone stared in awe and surprise at such an event taking place impromptu on the deck right before their eyes. This grabbed our full attention as we watched in disbelief.

As the manager/clergyman performed the ceremony, the vows were initiated and my son played the song “Somewhere over the Rainbow” …instrumental only. Once the vows were completed and they turned to face the crowd, he sang and played the same song as they had requested, while they exited the deck. It was that quick. It was sweet, it was a little bit awkward as she stood there in her blue work tee shirt and khaki shorts and he in his jeans and grey pull over shirt. On closer inspection I could see sheer joy in their faces.

I have always believed the wedding ceremony is not as important as the marriage. I have attended extravagant weddings with all of the fanciful dreams of a lifetime on display in every direction as I looked around. I have seen wedding cakes that were enormous and opulent. In a surprising number of cases, it is only  a few months before there is word that they have split up and divorce is eminent. After all of the effort and huge expense, the actual marriage did not work out well. Unfortunately in some cases the ceremony received more attention than the love or the marriage; "until death do we part", suddenly falls to the floor with no real meaning. I am not judging, that is just how life works out sometimes. As we mature, we can better ascertain relationships and truly see a person's heart. But some people get it right the first time, those are the lucky ones.

I believe this couple is in love and their marriage has as good a chance of being “Happy ever after!” as those hugely expensive ones. Who knows? 

She whispered...

“Please Help Me!”

She whispered, “please help me!” from the other side of the door and I was intrigued.

It was a new venue but actually it was a very old venue; one that had new owners, new spirit and a welcoming atmosphere which made you happy just to walk through the doors.

That is where I was on that Wednesday night, the first time my son played at this New/Old place. At that point they had a very limited menu, but there was plenty for us to choose from and we ate well.

The show began and I spoke to some friends who had come out to see us. There was a couple I had known for years sitting with me and we talked a little and listen a lot to the music. A couple of hours passed and I consumed three large glasses of water. Since my bladder is nearly 70 years old, it began letting me know how badly I was treating it. So I stood up and told my friends I would be right back.

Now the way the restrooms are set up here is a bit different from the normal bar and grill. The sign above the original door says RESTROOMS. As you enter the Men’s room is immediately on the right and a brief hallway takes you to the Ladies room.  That door takes you to a sort of holding room where you stand waiting for the actual bathroom to become free. I stood there standing on one foot, then the other and trying to think of things to occupy my mind and to stave off the possibility of wetting my pants (I was not about to let that happen).

As I waited in deep thought and with much tension, I realized I could hear something. It was a lady’s voice calling out in a whisper. I moved closer to the latched door to the bathroom and heard, “Please help me!”

Now a multitude of things were going through my mind at 100 miles per hour and I suddenly had an out of control imagination as I answered, “Sure, what do you need?”

She said, “I am locked in here!” I immediately thought there must be some defect in the lock.  I asked her what kind of lock was on the inside where she was; she replied “A normal lock!” Then I asked “Is it some sort of latch or sliding lock?” She said, “It is just a normal lock!” Then I said, “Did you slide something or hook something?”

She said, “ I am pretty sure I slid a thingy over and pulled it down.” I said “Grab the thingy and pull it up, then slide it the opposite direction  from how you slid to lock it. I heard a click and sliding sound, then “Oh thank GOD!” Seconds later she walked out with a very tense and frustrated, yet slightly relieved face. She said, “I am going to report this problem to whoever is the manager here, that is dangerous to get locked into a bathroom!”

I could not wait around to converse further with her, I just smiled and got into that bathroom as fast as I could to avert my own disaster.

When I got ready to exit the bathroom, unlocking was no problem. I have thought about this woman several times since and my concern is how she functions in this world. Her reasoning ability was quite impaired, yet she is still going through her life just like me. I wonder how she deals with REAL problems and how she keeps herself alive in this complicated, wacky world.