First let me thank all those who attended the JERRY WILLIAMS OKTOBERFEST ALL SAINTS HARVEST TEMPLE OF THE LITTLE GREEN MAN. Special thanks go out to those who traveled the greatest distances- Marta- Paris, Rob and Caki- Hawaii, Mark- Florida, John W.- Ill., Izak and crew- Maine, Milawyer- W. Virginia, The Hampshire College bunch and anyone who was able to loosen Manhattan's evil grip long enough to travel upstate. It wouldn't have been half the fun without you. Now that that is taken care of lets breathe a tremendous sigh of relief. Nothing flooded. Nothing caught fire. No one went to the ER and aside from Jarvis, no one got too loaded. Oh yeah, did anyone realize that they left Jarvis here?
On Sunday, after cleaning up the mess, we popped a couple more cold ones, twisted a number or two and the inner circle headed down the road to the church cemetery to scatter Willie's ashes. The town may have made me take my signs down but they can't stop me from using the cemetery for its intended purpose. Jerry's brothers Tim and John, wife Debbie all said a few words, we said our goodbyes and the ziplock plastic bag containing Willie's remains was emptied onto the soft bed of moss. Done.
I had told everyone it was about a 15 min. walk. I guess it was more like a half hour each way. So Rob and I left the pack and fast walked home to get the church van. Jarvis walked just fast enough to get out of sight of the main group and not fast enough to see Rob and I up front. This is where it gets interesting. About this time whatever my man Throbbing Jarvis was adding to the beer started to kick in. And when he focused his eyes nothing looked familiar. There's one turn between the church and the cemetery and Jarv was lost. He stopped and asked some carpenters. "Excuse me could you spare some water and a crust of bread for a weary traveller?" They pointed up the road. Church that way.
By dark everyone had left but Jarvis and Marta. Marta and I sat by the fire as Jarvis came and went, a shiteating grin on his face, elbows akimbo, arms flailing about his head, sometimes glasses on, sometimes off. Scott Julien Jarvis was the drummer in 'th cigarettez- the NC punk band that Jerry fronted in the 70's as well as Purple Geezus. He'd known Willie from the time he was a pup. Whatever poison he'd imbibed to reach this state of pure drunken bliss was sorely needed. Marta worried that he was going to fall down the outhouse hole but I assured her that I had made the hole smaller that Jarvis' head specifically for this purpose.
During the night my well pump kept tripping and I heard alot of mumbling, snoring and what sounded like raccoons fighting over a crust of pizza. In the morning I surveyed the property. The outhouse door was ripped clean off and a shower of water washed over my chop box and table saw. Jarv was sleeping like a baby on the couch. As planned, we had sent Willie off in style. The demons had been vanquished. A few more nails in the door frame and the tools laid in the sun and all was as it should be. We took Jarv to the train and Marta and I came home to catch up. The church is now closed for the winter. Hunting season opens this weekend. And if I'm lucky some supermodel pics will begin to fill my in box. Stay tuned for more......