Page 38 - The Myth and the Moment

Afternoon

“I’m Nate Evangelino. Don’t you remember Freedom Stage? We
worked in that together. Must have been about 1964.”
“Freedom Stage? Yeah, yeah, yeah, man. Right. Right on! It was
that street theater thing we did for a couple of years. Now you’re in
focus. Evangelino. The guy who helped out on printing the posters,
right?”
“Uh, no, Ham. Actually I wrote a lot of the material. And tried to
direct it for a while.”
“Far out. I’ve been through a lot of scenes since then. Sorry. Hey,
those were some times we had, eh, Evangelino?”
“Yes, indeed; they were.”
What is this crap? Has the great Hamilton Jefferson lost his
memory?
“You still in show business, Ham?”
“Oh, I still free-lance. A bit of this, a bit of that. I get all kinds of
calls. You?”
Why is he looking at me like that? Oh.
“Now look, Ham, did you see me rummaging around in those
trash cans?”
“Well, you know, man. I have eyes.”
“And you have no doubt noticed my somewhat dirty and
disheveled appearance.”
“Hey, you tell it like it is, Evangelino. Really! Ho-ho!”
“Well, dig this, Ham. I’m not a bum, despite appearances. I’ve just
been through a terrible experience. And you know what? If all that
hadn’t happened, you would be minus your camera right now.”
“Oh? Say, I’m sorry, man. Sit down and tell me about it.”
“All right.”
God, it feels good to sit down. And tell someone.
“Well, it boils down to this. I live in that apartment building across
the street there; that green one. I just got back from a job—I do
swimming pool maintenance—and I found my place had been
broken into. The police were there, but they weren’t any help. I was
missing some papers, and they suggested I look for them in trash
cans, because the thief would probably get rid of them nearby. Those
were the same police I used to bluff those kids away from you. My
sartorial splendor is the result of changing a tire bare-handed this
morning. That is the story. Any questions?”

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