Jack Kerouac: End of the Road at the Fringe

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Southern Winds Theatre, from Orlando, Florida presented Jack Kerouac: End of the Road at the Orlando International Fringe Festival. In July of 1969, three months before he died, Jack Kerouac, the father of the “beat movement,” appeared on William F. Buckley’s “Firing Line.” In a tirade of booze inspired talk, he shared stories about his insane, yet creatively inspired travels on the road.

The play is staged in the waiting room before Jack goes on the air. There he drinks and reminisces about his life, family and friends. He is labeled as a “Beat” which is similar to many with “Hippies” as they became known in the 1960s. His views however are rather conservative and Republican. He himself viewed hippies as degenerates. As he sips alcohol his speech slurs and hiss views become blunt.

I have done many sketches of resident authors who write at
the Kerouac House here in Orlando. The Dharma Bums was written right
here in a tiny Orlando house which Jack shared with his mom. When On
The Road became a best seller, Jack needed to borrow bus money to go up
to NYC to talk to his publisher.With such strong Orlando connections, how could I not want to learn more about his life?

He only wanted to go on the TV program to recite some of his poems, but Buckley wanted instead to get his views about the Beats. In the rare moments Kerouac does wax poetic, a sax player appears out of nowhere to perform an accompaniment to his angst. It would be nice if the history of his life flowed as if in a Benzedrine induced haze, but the writing seemed forced as if for a historic made for TV movie. Perhaps I was just put off by having to see a young vibrant man wasting away needlessly on stage. Jack died an alcoholic. We will never know what was left unwritten.

Ciara Shuttleworth’s Farewell Reading

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On May 23rd, Ciara Shuttleworth gave a farewell reading at the Kerouac House 1418 Clouser Ave, Orlando, Florida. Ciara had been a writer in residence, and after her stay in Orlando she went on an extended road trip back out west to her hometown in Washington State. She traveled with a cardboard cut out photo of Jack Kerouac and she took plenty of pictures of him “On the Road.” She was one of the more social and inclusive writers to take up residency at the historic home. She invited several of her writing friends to also read on her final evening in Orlando.

Ciara read a poem about people who are in love with the idea of be in in love. They crave the rush they get when they first become enamored with someone new. In this social media age, I suspect this phenomenon is more common.

As with most readings, there was plenty of wine, and I’m sure that writers gathered on the front porch to discuss literature late into the evening. At an earlier reading I stayed late, and Ciara had suggested that there be an impromptu Karaoke session. I think that I held my own as we followed the lyrics on a cell phone. The music was new to me but I liked it. On the evening of the farewell reading however, I didn’t linger. There had been drama enough during the reading for one evening. The living room was packed full of people. In the back of the room, several people were startled when a large cabinet case rocked with no one touching it. Some felt it might be the ghost of Jack Kerouac making sure no one was complacent.

“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to
live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same
time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn,
burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders
across the stars.”
– Jack Kerouac “On the Road“

A Kerouac House Poluck

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The Kerouac House Project supports writers wit no a writing residency program. It was part of the lore of College Park, a cozy northwest Orlando neighborhood, that Jack Kerouac lived in the area for a short time in 1957–58 when his classic work On The Road was published to much acclaim. It was also the place he typed the original manuscript of his sequel, Dharma Bums. Very few people knew exactly where in College Park he lived, and nobody seemed to be aware of the historical significance of such a place. When a new writer arrives there is usually a potluck dinner so that the writer can get antiquated with the local literary scene.

On this evening I arrived early, so I decided to sketch the house in the gloaming hour after sunset. This is the first tome I saw the historical marker outside the home. The marker was erected a few months ago to honor Jack’s legacy. Now that the home has been researched, it has become a literary pilgrimage site for visitors from out of town. Almost every author who has been a part of the residency program has reported that groups of of people will randomly show up at the door wanting to get a peek inside.

These potlucks usually end with a group of people on the porch debating literature, punctuation and work events. After a few bottles of wine, all the worlds problems have been solved, or at least viewed in an entertaining light.

Ciara Shuttleworth has settled in as the new resident author at the Kerouac House.

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The Jack Kerouac Project sponsors resident authors every few months at the Kerouac House in College Park. Jack Kerouac was living in the back rooms of this house with his mother  when he got the news that his novel, “On the Road” was being published. He also wrote “The Dharma Bums” while living here. Ciara Shuttleworth is now the resident author. I first met her at a potluck dinner held in her honor. I have to confess that I knew nothing about her writing before going to the potluck. She read a poem before we all dug into the fried chicken and healthy salads arranged in the dining room. The poem was the first she had written after moving into the home. It left a strong impression, the lonely sound of a train’s horn and the beauty found in wreckage, and then the wine and conversations flowed.

Ciara Shuttleworth was born in San Francisco and grew up in Nebraska, Nevada, and Washington state. Talking to her on the front porch, I learned that she had been struck by a car while training for a marathon. She showed me the scar on her ankle. She was told she couldn’t run again, but she didn’t accept that, and she began to run despite the pain. She fought her way back to an active lifestyle and she gets up each morning at 6am so she can run before the Florida heat sets in. She said her thoughts flow when she runs.

Ciara was a visual artist before she realized she had to write poetry full time. She showed me the stark black and white portraits she used to do by letting me flip through the images on her phone. Her father is a well known poet but she has struck out early in her career to make a name for herself. One poem, “Sestina” was written in an inspired moment in college in reply to a professor introducing the class to the poetic form. The poem uses so few words to express loss and sadness. Several composers have taken this lean, succinct poem and set it to music. She sent it to the New Yorker on a whim and  her submission was accepted.

I arrived after fighting traffic that caused me to miss a turn and causing me to make an illegal U-turn to avoid a blinking train crossing. She welcomed me on the front porch and then set to work in the back room of the Kerouac House. The ceiling in this room slants down at a sharp angle and it almost touched my head causing me to hunker down a bit. She was refining a poem she was working on. She described her process briefly. She tends to write her poems in a Moleskin notebook when the idea is fresh and raw. These moments are very private and emotional. She then goes back through the notebook and begins to mine for ideas and thoughts that go into the final poem. The original hand written poems are like the sketch and when she types it into the Macbook Pro laptop computer, that is when things get serious. The screen saver showed a view of a California beach. The same image was tacked to the writing studio wall. She put it there because there was already a tack in the wall. It would be a shame to waste it.

She paused for a long delicious moment gazing out the back window at the bright green foliage. In the poem she was working on, a cormorant flashed its black wings against the intense sun which is too bright to look at directly. Her poem was full of vibrant imagery that could leave you wanting to laugh with delight and cry at the same time. Clearly her years as a painter had helped her as she related sights and emotions with brevity. There is a weightless quality to he words, like flight is the natural order of the world. While smoking outside a bar in NYC’s Hell’s Kitchen with a friend, she saw an intoxicated boy making a futile pass at a girl. That moment became art. One poem she was working on, she ripped up into tiny pieces and threw it away in the other room. “It was getting too preachy” she explained. Once that happens it is best to let go and start over. This wasn’t a loss but rather a victory since she got it out of her system. “Yes, good poems are hard to write. Someone close to me said he has
written more mediocre poems than anyone else ever, which ultimately
doesn’t matter since he’s also written some good ones.” she later told me. What is important is the habit and joy in creating.

Ciara took a break when her poem was done and I had placed my last wash on the sketch. Since she was also a visual artist, I was a bit reluctant to show the sketch which is by definition never quite finished. She seemed to appreciate it and she shared it with her dad. While talking on the back stoop, she asked me, “Do you do any creative writing, like fiction or poetry?” That caused me to pause. All I do is observe and share my thoughts. I’m more of a reporter than an artist. Perhaps I could go back through all my writing and mine out sincere moments of revelation and amazement. I tend to live vicariously always on the fringe looking in. I don’t know how to trust enough to share raw emotion, but I’m glad to know there are people who can.

Jack Kerouac’s Girlfriend Interviewed at the Kerouac House

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In 2010 one of Jack Kerouac‘s girlfriends, Joyce Johnson, visited the small College Park Cottage where Jack wrote “The Dharma Bums.” Jack and his mother rented the back rooms in those days. “Listen Joyce,” he wrote from Orlando to his girlfriend in New
York City on a winter day in 1957. He had big news. He was tearing
along on a new novel, “greater than ‘On the Road‘.” he wrote. It would be
called The Dharma Bums, and he described gazing up at the stars over
Florida for inspiration about how to wrap it up. Joyce recalled, “I thought I’d never met anyone who’d lived with more
absolute freedom … A need to keep moving, as if whenever he stayed
anywhere too long, he exhausted the present by soaking it in too
intensely.”

Several college students were filming a documentary about the legendary “Beat Generation” author. David Amram, a musician who also knew Jack was there to be interviewed as well. “Jack had a kindness and devotion to writing.” Amram explained. “He was always listening and watching like a great reporter. He was always writing epiphanies and inner feelings.” “By your words ye shall be known.” Yet for many Kerouac remains an enigma. Local news journalist and writer Bob Kieling has researched Kerouac for years, while writing about Kerouac’s Orlando connection. New material always surfaces. While in Orlando, “On the Road” was published and suddenly Kerouac was famous. Kerouac’s life spun out of control and he drank himself to death in 1969 at the age of 47. “How shall we pass most swiftly from point to point, and be present
always at the focus where the greatest number of vital forces unite in
their purest energy. To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to
maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.” wrote Walter Pater. The key of course is to not burn out.

Kerouac House Yard Sale Raises Money for the Resident Author Project

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The Kerouac Project hosts resident authors every few months in the house where Jack Kerouac wrote the Dharma Bums and where he was living with his mom when On the Road became a best seller putting him on the literary map. Jack really couldn’t handle the fame and he ended up drinking himself to death at a very young age. Jack is a writer who burned bright and was insanely prolific.

The Kerouac Project is a grassroots local organization hat purchased the College park home and maintains it for resident authors. The author get to live rent free with all expanses paid giving them the freedom to truly focus on their writing. The present author is Anne Marie Ni Churreain. She hails from the North-West of Ireland.
Her work has appeared in various journals such as Poetry Ireland Review
and The London Magazine. Anne Marie is the co-founder of the Upstart Arts Collective. I met Anne at a recent potluck dinner held in the Kerouac House. She comes from an incredible family with so many siblings that she can’t even be sure of the number. Her father was raised in an orphanage and so the home is filled with multicultural foster children along with her actual biological siblings. At home she is seldom alone, so the Kerouac House is a very different setting.

Once a year the Kerouac Project asks people to donated items for a Yard Sale. This is an awesome place to find books since these folks actually read printed books. Terry always finds some item she can’t live without and I relax in a lawn chair to get a sketch. Proceeds from the yard sale help keep authors coming to Orlando. Caitlin Doyle, who was a resident author last year has returned to Orlando to get away from the constant cold in Milwaukee. This is a testament to the warm reception writers get when they call Orlando Home. She will be going for her doctorate degree so that someday she will find a secure university position with tenure while she continues to write her poetry. Conversations at a Kerouac House potluck get intense, ranging from domestic violence to the state of art in America today. With enough wine, we just might solve the world’s problems.

Mark Your Calendar! On Wednesday October 22, at noon, there will be a dedication ceremony at the Kerouac House (1418 Clouser Ave, Orlando, FL), commemorating the houses recent induction into the Florida Historic Marker Foundation. Local Newscaster Bob Kealing discovered this homes tie in to the author of On The Road as he was researching an article commemorating the posthumous 75th birthday of Jack Kerouac.

Any Road Will Take You There

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Terry and I went to the Kerouac House (1418 Clouser Street Orlando FL) on Saturday, July 20th at 8PM to hear David Berner read from his book “Any Road Will Take You There: A Journey of Fathers and Sons“. David, a past resident author at the Kerouac House, now resides in Chicago. He felt his life was at an impasse and decided to take a road trip with his sons to loosely follow Jack Kerouac‘s journey’s cross country. Rather than travel in a vintage automobile, he decided to travel in an RV. One of his sons said, “Its not cool dad, it is a tin can.” Regardless his son was up for the adventure.

David found a family photo which hinted at strained relations due to infidelity. He realized he had never been told about the hurt feelings and anger as he grew up. He wanted to know his own sons better. The mid-life “On the Road” trip would be a way to connect. While writing in the Kerouac House, David felt Jack’s presence in the back room and he decided that is where he would have to write.  David knew quite a bit about self publishing saying most authors never sell more than one thousand books.

After the reading David signed books at the dining room table. Brooks Teevan, the present resident artist, told us all about a news cast about a plane crash of Asiana Flight 214. The names of the pilots had been researched and a call to an intern at the MTSB confirmed the names. The captain was Sum Ting Wong, and the other pilots were Wi To Lo, Ho Lee Fuk, and Bang Ding Ow. The newscaster never skipped a beat as she read the names off the teleprompter. Someone must have been playing a prank which somehow slipped through the rigorous checks needed before the story aired. As horrible as the news of the crash was, it was impossible not to laugh. Long after the conversation had moved on to a more literary topic, Terry kept laughing uncontrollably. Just when she could catch her breath, she would start again and everyone would join in.

On the Road

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Kelly Medford was visiting Orlando from Rome, Italy. She decided she wanted to do a plein air painting of the Kerouac House. Kelly does a plein air painting every day which is astounding and ambitious. The last time I had sketched the house, I sat on a small patch of grass between a chain link fence and the street. The home owner walked her dog while I was working and when she returned, she yelled at me. I was certain the old lady would call the police. I of course told Kelly the horror story. She decided to set her easel up on the road. Traffic was light on Clouser Avenue but I had to admire her chutzpa. A garbage truck roared by and Kelly waved to the driver. I sat “On the Road” a few yards away from her and started blocking in my own sketch.

The yard around the Kerouac House had experienced a major overhaul. Palmettos and other dense foliage had been removed leaving the side of the building looking naked and exposed. I respected the buildings modesty and didn’t sketch its newly exposed flank. The house to me, had a sad worn look to it. Roof lines sagged inward and the tired beams struggled to support the weight of the tin roof. A giant live oak towered over the house, letting in only thin beams of sunlight. What a gorgeous day. I don’t sketch outside much since I’m usually sketching indoor events. This was a nice change of pace. Kelly moved the garbage can and recycling bins so they weren’t in her picture. I rather liked them, since they show that the place is and always will be occupied and alive, full of creative energy and the buzz of independent minds sharing thoughts and experiences.

A women power walked past us saying, “Hello, how nice to see artists in the neighborhood!” Kelly laughed afterwards saying, “Why doesn’t SHE live across the street from the Kerouac House?” As if on cue, the old lady came out with her bloodhound on a leash. I sucked in my breath. She disappeared around the corner, past the STOP sign, without incident. She returned and re-entered her home quietly as well. When my sketch was finished, I walked up to Kelly to see her progress. Her oil painting was completely blocked in and she was refining the details. She extended an open invitation for Terry and I to visit Rome to paint and explore. That is a very tempting invitation. A private Prix de Rome, learning about that ancient city from a resident artist. Jack Kerouac would have certainly jumped at the chance to leap over that vast expanse of the Atlantic and soak in the ancient ruins.