•9:16 PM
Sometimes, as a reader, you are just surprised. And, sometimes reading one thing leads to reading another. And to learning about new things, people, or times in history. When all these things happen as a result of one reading, you've pretty much hit the jackpot.
When I began reading Ray Robertson's, Moody Food, I was a little sceptical. I mean, Ray Robertson grew up in Chatham .... that's where I grew up. But that's not what made me sceptical ... he grew up living just down the street from Jonesy, playing road hockey with all the boys in the neighbourhood. Now, I don't mean to stereotype writers or anything ... but, in my mind, literary genius does not begin with a little boy tripping other little boys so he can get a good shot on net. In my mind, literary genius begins with a child who spends all his/her spare time reading and/or writing; he is quiet, and reserved. He does not spend his afternoons screaming "I'm open!" to teammates, or practicing slap shots, or slashing "friends'" shins. No, in my mind, literary genius cannot develop from a little boy who probably sat on the curb, trash-talking his opponents just because it was his turn to sit out a shift. Writers are sensitive observers of life, right?
Wait ... perhaps I am projecting what I know (and understand) of Jonesy's hockey career on to poor, unsuspecting Ray Robertson. Because my mind is wrong ... Moody Food is the work of pure literary genius.
Plus, Robertson was able to do one thing that no other person in the other entire world has been able to do for me ... but more on that later.
Moody Food is the story of Bill Hansen, a University of Toronto drop-out, working at a Yorkville bookstore in the summer of 1965. The story is fresh and cool and written in a way that is sure to draw you in. Bill inadvertently becomes friends with Thomas Graham, a draft-dodging American musician with a penchant for drug experimentation. They ultimately form a band and make a run for the big-time. They even brush elbows with Jim Morrison and The Doors. And, the way it is written you feel like you are actually on the road with these guys ... like you are at The Whiskey.
Although the story is of Bill Hansen, it is Thomas Graham who fascinates me. He is loosely based on singer-songwriter Gram Parsons. In fact, the similarities are unmistakable ... Thomas Graham = Gram Parsons ... from the beginning of their lives to the end.
Do you know who Gram Parsons is? Me either ... I had never heard of him but he has a wonderfully tragic story and I can understand why Robertson was drawn to him. Parsons was born in 1946, the son of wealthy citrus farmers in Georgia. Sadly, his childhood was fraught with tragedy ... his alcoholic father committed suicide when Parsons was only twelve years old; and his alcoholic mother re-married a man who would devastate the entire family because of an extramarital affair shortly before her untimely death in 1965. Gram Parsons became active in the music industry in the early 1960s, playing in rock and roll cover bands. He eventually joined The Byrds and in 1969, he formed his own band, The Flying Burrito Brothers. Parsons also collaborated with Emmylou Harris toward the end of his life.
Parsons was set to begin a (musical) tour in October 1973, but wanted to get away and relax with friends before leaving. He had become infatuated with the Joshua Tree National Monument (in California), so Parsons arranged for some friends to stay at a hotel just outside the park for a couple of nights. This would allow him to wander around in search of UFOs while high on LSD ... a preferred way to pass the time. Parsons died September 19, 1973 of an accidental overdose of morphine and alcohol in Joshua Tree, California.
But here's where things get really crazy ...
Parsons had mentioned to a couple of friends that, when he died, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread over Cap Rock, a prominent natural feature of the National Monument. So, on the day his body was to be returned to his family, these same friends stole the hearse (with Parsons' body inside) from the airport in LA. They drove it to Joshua Tree, where they attempted cremation by pouring about five gallons of gasoline into the open coffin and lighting it with a match. Of course, a huge fireball resulted. The culprits fled on foot and outran the police. They were arrested a couple of days later, and charged with some petty offences, resulting in only a $750 fine.
That is a true story. Sometimes the best stories are based on fact ... because really, you cannot make something like that up ...
So, I bet you are wondering what the thing is ... the thing that Ray Robertson did for me that no one else in the whole world has done. Get ready for it ... because it so unlike me ... He made cocaine seem appealing - which is not a postive thing, of course. And everything my Mom told me would happen if you mess around with drugs, happened to Bill Hansen and Thomas Graham. She taught me that dabbling in small-time drugs like marijuana inevitably leads to trying more hard core (highly addictive) drugs - which is essentially what transpires in the story. But, the way in which it is written makes the descent seem not so bad ... I mean, they got a lot of stuff done while snorting cocaine. Like, I could get all the laundry done and clean the whole house in one day 'cause I could stay awake for 24hrs in a row. Or imagine all the reading you could get done! Obviously, I will not be trying to score any blow/nose candy/snow/coke but this was the first time (in my whole life) that drugs (other than my good friend, alcohol) did not thoroughly disgust me.
I was very excited when I read that Ray Robertson had attended Bookfest Windsor in 2009, hoping that I could get a chance to chat with him this year. But he did not attend this year ... so I'm left hoping for next year? Oh ... I just wish I could hang out with him sometime ...
Robertson has published six books and a book of essays. What Happened Next is next on my "Ray Robertson" reading list. Jonesy read it and he really enjoyed it ... it recalls some of Robertson's time as a child growing up in Chatham and his obessession with Jack Kerouac. And so, it was with great enthusiasm that I found some Kerouac in my American Literature Anthology ... hopefully that means I'll get to study his work next semester.
Check out Ray Robertson's website.
Source for information on Gram Parsons.
When I began reading Ray Robertson's, Moody Food, I was a little sceptical. I mean, Ray Robertson grew up in Chatham .... that's where I grew up. But that's not what made me sceptical ... he grew up living just down the street from Jonesy, playing road hockey with all the boys in the neighbourhood. Now, I don't mean to stereotype writers or anything ... but, in my mind, literary genius does not begin with a little boy tripping other little boys so he can get a good shot on net. In my mind, literary genius begins with a child who spends all his/her spare time reading and/or writing; he is quiet, and reserved. He does not spend his afternoons screaming "I'm open!" to teammates, or practicing slap shots, or slashing "friends'" shins. No, in my mind, literary genius cannot develop from a little boy who probably sat on the curb, trash-talking his opponents just because it was his turn to sit out a shift. Writers are sensitive observers of life, right?
Wait ... perhaps I am projecting what I know (and understand) of Jonesy's hockey career on to poor, unsuspecting Ray Robertson. Because my mind is wrong ... Moody Food is the work of pure literary genius.
Plus, Robertson was able to do one thing that no other person in the other entire world has been able to do for me ... but more on that later.
Moody Food is the story of Bill Hansen, a University of Toronto drop-out, working at a Yorkville bookstore in the summer of 1965. The story is fresh and cool and written in a way that is sure to draw you in. Bill inadvertently becomes friends with Thomas Graham, a draft-dodging American musician with a penchant for drug experimentation. They ultimately form a band and make a run for the big-time. They even brush elbows with Jim Morrison and The Doors. And, the way it is written you feel like you are actually on the road with these guys ... like you are at The Whiskey.
Although the story is of Bill Hansen, it is Thomas Graham who fascinates me. He is loosely based on singer-songwriter Gram Parsons. In fact, the similarities are unmistakable ... Thomas Graham = Gram Parsons ... from the beginning of their lives to the end.
Do you know who Gram Parsons is? Me either ... I had never heard of him but he has a wonderfully tragic story and I can understand why Robertson was drawn to him. Parsons was born in 1946, the son of wealthy citrus farmers in Georgia. Sadly, his childhood was fraught with tragedy ... his alcoholic father committed suicide when Parsons was only twelve years old; and his alcoholic mother re-married a man who would devastate the entire family because of an extramarital affair shortly before her untimely death in 1965. Gram Parsons became active in the music industry in the early 1960s, playing in rock and roll cover bands. He eventually joined The Byrds and in 1969, he formed his own band, The Flying Burrito Brothers. Parsons also collaborated with Emmylou Harris toward the end of his life.
But here's where things get really crazy ...
Parsons had mentioned to a couple of friends that, when he died, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread over Cap Rock, a prominent natural feature of the National Monument. So, on the day his body was to be returned to his family, these same friends stole the hearse (with Parsons' body inside) from the airport in LA. They drove it to Joshua Tree, where they attempted cremation by pouring about five gallons of gasoline into the open coffin and lighting it with a match. Of course, a huge fireball resulted. The culprits fled on foot and outran the police. They were arrested a couple of days later, and charged with some petty offences, resulting in only a $750 fine.
That is a true story. Sometimes the best stories are based on fact ... because really, you cannot make something like that up ...
So, I bet you are wondering what the thing is ... the thing that Ray Robertson did for me that no one else in the whole world has done. Get ready for it ... because it so unlike me ... He made cocaine seem appealing - which is not a postive thing, of course. And everything my Mom told me would happen if you mess around with drugs, happened to Bill Hansen and Thomas Graham. She taught me that dabbling in small-time drugs like marijuana inevitably leads to trying more hard core (highly addictive) drugs - which is essentially what transpires in the story. But, the way in which it is written makes the descent seem not so bad ... I mean, they got a lot of stuff done while snorting cocaine. Like, I could get all the laundry done and clean the whole house in one day 'cause I could stay awake for 24hrs in a row. Or imagine all the reading you could get done! Obviously, I will not be trying to score any blow/nose candy/snow/coke but this was the first time (in my whole life) that drugs (other than my good friend, alcohol) did not thoroughly disgust me.
I was very excited when I read that Ray Robertson had attended Bookfest Windsor in 2009, hoping that I could get a chance to chat with him this year. But he did not attend this year ... so I'm left hoping for next year? Oh ... I just wish I could hang out with him sometime ...
Robertson has published six books and a book of essays. What Happened Next is next on my "Ray Robertson" reading list. Jonesy read it and he really enjoyed it ... it recalls some of Robertson's time as a child growing up in Chatham and his obessession with Jack Kerouac. And so, it was with great enthusiasm that I found some Kerouac in my American Literature Anthology ... hopefully that means I'll get to study his work next semester.
Check out Ray Robertson's website.
Source for information on Gram Parsons.
