(Extra)Ordinary People

In 1978, I traveled to Pine Greek, Montana in hope of meeting author, Richard Brautigan. When I pulled up, he was sitting on the porch drinking whiskey. I introduced myself and asked if I might briefly talk with him? He said nothing, so I quickly told him how I traveled, meeting those who’d discovered their individuality, to use their stories to inspire others, especially troubled youth, to find their own extrodinary true self. He gestured for me to join him on the porch! As soon as I sat down beside bushy-haired, bearded Brautigan who was 13 years my sendior, I’d begun telling him about stories and related objects I’d collected to present from stage. After brief silence, he said in slightly satiric tone “You’re a writer aren’t you, Jim?” I said nothing. “What do you write?” I was awkwardly trying to explain to him how I had invented my own form which I named “Farwestern Highcoup”. This caused him to raise an eyebrow. In the midst of describing my storypoem form as a title and a five-seven-five syllable body, Richard asked “You have an example of your writing?” “In my car, I’ll get it.” I bounded off the porch, quickly retrieved the notebook from my car. When I handed it to him, he took a slug of whiskey and began to silently read my work. Richard read all twenty storypoems, closed the notebook, stared off, then turned to me and sighed.

I was both equally excited and fearful to hear the analysis of my writing by author I so respected! “Jim, what you have written here reveals such a unique talent, your “highcoup” will never be intellectually bought by, thus sell to your own generation! If you live long enough, it’s the next generation who will understand it and will embrace your work!” Richard seeing my confusion over his comment, added. “Just remember many talented people, artists are not recognized in their own lifetime. Keep in mind an artist as talented as Van Gogh never sold a painting in his lifetime!” I believed in own heart and mind what he’d said about my life’s course, but so inspiring to hear it from another author I had so respected! At this moment, his Japanese wife pulled up, as Richard disappeared into house. When he’d come from house, he handed me the medal with author Goethe’s image on it. “Jim, I’m going to give you this because you’re probably not going to be awarded much in own lifetime for your writing or what you’re about in your story collecting.” At the car his last cryptic words to me “Jim, don’t get so frustrated with absence of acknowledgement, YOU SHOOT YOURSELF before it had happened!” These words came back to me that day in 1984 I’d been told Richard Brautigan had shot himself!

This frame is for you Richard in thanks for troubled, reclusive literary genius taking the time in 1978 to inspire a young writer!