It was in my hometown, oh, I guess not so long ago.But naturally it seems like oh, so long ago. Some of the older folks out there will know where I am coming from. ( I must remember that there isn't really anything out there. Nothing at all. It's all here, now.) I was up on a hill, Finnish Yoakum, an old time preacher named Mount Pisgah. It is safe to assume he named it after the one in the bible. His church, the oldest building in Highland Park, is located off of Avenue 60, on Echo Street. Pisgah House Of Prayer, is the name.
I looked out and started to remember old Brother John. He was an old man all my life. (Some of us have decided he was always old.He was just born old.That's all.)And when we were kids, coming home from the swimming pool at the Highland Park Recreation center,(By the way,not to get all Andy Rooney and stuff,but did you ever notice when all the businesses in Highland Park had to have Highland Park in it's name? The Highland Park Hardware, The Highland Park Footdoctor,The Highland Park High School- for delinquents of course-even the Highland Park Theater.Which really isn't the Highland Park Theater.It's just the Highland Theater.)
Brother John,he use to be waiting at the back door of the old church for us kids.And he would hand out juice and cookies.Sometimes doughnuts. I wonder what would happen these days if a kid told his parent(s) he was getting snacks from this old man brother John.Well, these days the parent would probably slug the kid and warn him to keep away.He might be a child killer or a pervert. And really these days,who could blame the parent(s).And as I stood on old Mount Pisgah, looking over the Arroyo Parkway-excuse me, that is the "Historic" Arroyo Parkway( I have to remember to add stuff like "historic" because some of those fine ,good people on the Hill-you know sitting on all the Councils and Associations and stuff,they might be reading this so...) and I recall being a young man,with no place to call my own,and not really caring.Because I was young,and life was good.Besides, Brother John use to feed us bums.
Everyday,except Sunday, he would give a ten minute sermonette after which followed a chicken leg lunch.Everyday.This meal included a chicken leg,baked potato,salad,milk and margarine,coffee and water,and of course good old white bread.I almost forgot the big pot of greens he'd keep out there too.And he'd preach. Telling us men,and there were only about 15 or 20 regular bums in Highland Park back then, (I can't imagine how many of them there are now heh.) how the most important thing in this life is knowing where you were going to spend your time in the next life. It took me a little over 7, or maybe 8 years to realize that the old man was right about that. It is the most important thing. it will dictate everything else you ever do.And as Bob Dylan wrote,"You have to serve Somebody. It may be the devil,or it may be the Lord.But you will have to serve Somebody."
Brother John would look out and tell us he was just like us at one time.I must admit we doubted that greatly.He talk about being in the bunk house (Bunk house????? There's still the Highland Park Stables,my buddy Earl's daughter keeps her horse there,but a bunk house?????) And he'd talk about how he was just like us,drinking whiskey and playing cards in the bunk house. I'd lean over to the fellas and say,"When were you guys in the bunk house?" They'd try to suppress giggles and guff haws. Someone would whisper he was never "that heavy",least not in a bunkhouse. "Me neither," I'd say."It's against my religion." And well, we had a fine time.and learned about Jesus.
I stood on that hill and thought,those were the days.And then I thought, I am too young to feel so tired,and old.And then I walked down to Hermon and bought a 40.