Prologue
Pat Brown reminded me the other day that 2010 is the 40th anniversary of Janis Joplin’s death. That was a jolt. We had just mentioned Janis in the LSD column and started discussing Austin Days last week. So it must be time to not only combine both but to add another familiar entity to the stew, ergo….
Janis Joplin Meets Thinking Like a Mexican
(Wow, a two-for-one bargain story. We need to increase our rates.)
Gilbert Shelton was highly enamoured of Karen K. Kirkland’s fine Land Rover automobile and decided it would be the ideal vehicle to use for a trip to Mexico. Karen, Janis and I would accompany him and Gilbert would introduce us to the wonders of Nuevo Laredo.
The trip down was merry as Shelton told endless stories of past escapades south of the border and the rest of us anticipated new and wondrous experiences. We surged through Texas in no time and soon lined up at the little customs facility on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. The place was bustling, but inspections going into Mexico were cursory and we readily drove through customs into raucous Nuevo Laredo, which looked exactly like you would expect bordertown Mexico to look, shit everywhere.
Hundreds of Meskins and a healthy number of Americans ambled through the streets, either going about their business or checking out the terrific bargains on the greatest compilation of useless junk ever assembled in one place. Children on shaky bicycles surrounded the car, offering assistance with anything and everything from gum sales (Mexico is the Chiclets capitol of the world) to guide services to hookers….even though we had girls in the car. Shelton good-humoredly swam through this soup without killing anyone and gave us a brief tour of the town, with Karen waving and calling out to people and delivering smiling, sarcastic messages that fortunately nobody understood, although they did smile and wave back.
Gilbert found a place to park and pulled in. Several idling young men, of which there was no shortage, offered to “watch the car” for a modest fee and Shelton nodded agreement.
“I’ve always felt,” he offered, “that you have a much better time in Mexico when nobody steals your car or bashes in the headlights.”
Seemed sensible to me. Karen, on the other hand, railed against yielding to blackmail and muttered racial slurs. Janis was having a fine time examining all the craziness.
“Fifty cents isn’t enough to qualify as blackmail,” Shelton laughed, suggesting a beer garden we should inspect. Even though it was only late afternoon, it was never too early for Texans to have a beer. The waitress brought four Carta Blancas and we sat around a little table to cool off.
“Where’s all the whoores?” Karen wanted to know.
“They’re everywhere,” Shelton revealed. “But most of them are over in Boystown. We’ll drive through there later on tonight.”
“Oh, goody,” Karen said, less than thrilled.
“God damn,” Janis wondered, looking around. “What do all these motherf**kers DO all day? Just mill around?”
“No jobs,” said Shelton. “But more here than in the interior, thanks to the turista money. That’s why we’ve got all the wetbacks in Texas.”
“They’re taking over San Antonio,” Karen remorsed.
“Be a lot worse soon enough,” promised Gilbert, and we resumed our walking tour. The girls found items they couldn’t live without and Karen haggled mercilessly with vendors, winning great victories. Shelton engaged in genial conversation with several locals and came away with information on bullfights, whorehouses and other local phenomena. We were mostly left alone now, except by the unrelenting shoelace and chiclets salesmen of very young ages (how many shoelaces and chiclets can you USE?). The vast array of young pimps saw us as lost opportunities due to the presence of the girls and couldn’t understand why we brought them with us. Shelton explained about Karen’s car, but most were still sullen.
Around sunset, we had a small dinner and emigrated to an outside beer parlor. Shelton left to get beverages while I sat with the girls. Four young Mexican men at a table a few feet away took a liking to Karen and made quiet remarks in Spanish, which she unexpectedly understood. Karen shot something snotty back at them but it sailed right over their heads. They had been joined in conversation now, however, so they felt it necessary to carry on in a more brazen vein. Karen was a tough cookie, but nobody ever explained to her the admonition about discretion being the better part of valor.
“Specious asses!” she hissed at them, aristocratically. I think they caught the “asses” part of it and the situation was becoming unwieldy as one of the gentlemen began to leave his chair.
Fortuitously, Shelton arrived back about this time. He noticed we had made friends and said something neighborly to the Mexicans. Taken aback by this unexpectedly friendly gringo, one of them answered him, though not cheerily. Gilbert continued the conversation in an upbeat manner, unaware that any unpleasantries had occurred, and before long he had them laughing away, as if nothing untoward had ever happened.
Janis, aware as I was to the impending threat, looked at me and flashed a relieved smile.
“The Lone Ranger,” she cackled, “rides again!”
I made a mental note to leave Karen home when travelling in foreign countries.
Apologia
Yes, we know the above article is not politically correct. But it was written long ago and it is accurate. You want nice or you want real?
Janis Joplin Meets the Unwelcome Guest
A night never passed without a party to be found somewhere in Austin, but the greatest of all were the magnificent Ranger parties, subsidized by the sale of magazines at trillions of little stands around campus. The stands were manned by volunteers, generally Ranger staffers and their friends, and since the labor was gratis, the Publications Office cut loose five cents from each sale and this went into a giant Party Fund, the main purpose of which was to buy liquor and beer for the staffers and salespeople and legions of interlopers who would invariably show up despite our efforts to keep the party locations secret.
The first Ranger party was to be held the same night as the football opener against the venerable Oregon Ducks. Since the Ranger got four free tickets and nobody usually wanted them, I told Shelton I’d like to go. Gilbert seemed surprised at this, but then decided that he, too, would go and we would bring Janis and Karen Kirkland.
Janis was very amused at all this and busied herself putting together an outfit that would be appropriate. This included a white men’s shirt, tasteful black pants and black heels. She was very happy with herself and eager to participate in something “the straight people” were doing.
“I’m gonna call my dad and tell him I’m going to a goddam football game! He’ll be so proud.”
Janis was enthusiastic about the large crowd, the noise and the spectacle, but less so about her shoes, which drew greater wrath as the evening wore on.
Karen K. Kirkland was good-humoredly snobbish about the whole affair, scarcely believing she was attending something of this nature. She took great delight in raising mock cheers and being generally sarcastic.
Shelton, who would rather participate in any event than watch it, seemed to genuinely enjoy himself, although he had to keep an eye on Karen.
“Woof Woof!” Karen went on, standing and waving her arms.
“Easy there, big girl.”
“Push their eyeballs in their head
And don’t give up until they’re dead!”
She was rolling now. The game proceeded to the general satisfaction of most, though Janis grew increasingly concerned over its length.
“Gawd damn, Killeen, are we gonna stay for the whole thing?”
“Yes, we are my dear.”
“What about the Ranger party?”
“The Ranger party will roll on into the night. There will be plenty of Ranger party for all.”
“Well, what about the liquor? They’ll run out of liquor and we’ll get stuck with Lone Star.”
Shelton advised that they would not run out of liquor.
He was wrong, though. They did. And Janis, hurling expletives everywhere, did get stuck with Lone Star. Several unrecognized wayfaring strangers could be seen savoring the remnants of the liquor supply. This, of course, was intolerable.
“Gimme that, you goddam unwelcome guest!” she wailed, grabbing a bottle of Johnny Walker Red from a surprised inebriant. “I didn’t sit on my ass four hours sellin’ magazines for any lousy Lone Star!” She cackled and scurried off, leaving confusion in her wake.
Gilbert was impressed.
“Maybe we should hire Janis to come to these things and keep out the trash.”
“Hey, man” pondered the goddam unwelcome guest,….”who was that masked woman?...”
Horse Bulletin
Crimson Streak is running this afternoon in the sixth at Calder. We’re expecting a top three finish. Cosmic Song, after an impressive 48.20 work last week (2nd best of 65) is running Saturday in the last race. By then, the track will probably be wet. We expect her to win, but the track surface could throw a monkey wrench into things. We’ll keep you posted.
Old College Magazine Joke (from 1963):
An eccentric rich matron decided to refurnish her house in antiques. She went to a dealer who started off by showing her a beautiful vase.
“This vase,” he exclaimed, holding it up to the light, “is over 3000 years old!”
“Don’t pull that crap with me,” snorted the woman, “it’s only 1963 now!”
That’s all, folks.
