Keith

For the past several months, various members of the Old Crow Book Club had told me urgently that I had to meet Keith, a semi homeless young man roaming the neighborhood, in his late teen or early 20s. He was apparently a guitar and songwriting prodigy who busked in various neighborhood gathering places. It was reported to me that he carried his guitar and tiny battery-powered amp everywhere. He played originals and covers. Everyone couldn't believe I hadn't met him.

It was an overcast Sunday afternoon and I went to the grocery store to improvise dinner.

Donnie, a member the book club, manned the back entrance and hawked the newspaper advocating for the homeless. A young man slight of build, with dark features, dressed in all black and sporting a pencil-thin mustache, stood next to Donnie with a guitar in a case slung over his shoulder.

It had to be Keith. He might be rock and roll and I would like it.

I walked over to them and Donnie greeted me with his usual enthusiasm. He looked good, smiling, off the sauce, and in housing. Both of them were eating croissants. I noticed Keith was wearing a Pompadour hairstyle and shiny black wingtips with no socks. He had to be the only semi-homeless man in America wearing a Pompadour, wingtips, with a guitar slung over his shoulder, and eating a croissant. Like I said, he might be rock and roll and I would like it.

I bought a paper from Donnie. He introduced me to Keith. He reminded me of Sal Mineo.

Keith looked at me and said, “I read the Old Crow book. I liked it a lot. It's the only book I've ever read.”

That now makes three homeless people in my neighborhood who have told me that the Old Crow Book Club is the only book they have ever read.

That's got to earn me some kind of title!

“Thanks for reading it,” I said.

Donnie interjected by praising Keith's musical and songwriting abilities. Keith said his father named him after Keith Richards.

Now it really was only rock and roll and I already liked it.

I mentioned to Donnie and Keith the upcoming Street Roots (newspaper advocating for the homeless) vendor poetry event. I was going to attend and show my support.

“I'm playing at the event,” said Keith.

“That's great,” I said, “what song?”

“King of the Road.”

I knew the song well. I played it on guitar and knew all the lyrics because my high school guitar teacher taught it to me. My mediocre rock band from 90s Portland also covered it.

I started singing the song:

Trailer's for sale or rent
Rooms to let, 50 cents
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes

Keith jumped in to harmonize. Donnie joined in. A couple of shoppers in the parking lot looked over.

I stopped singing and said I was looking forward to hearing him perform.

“I've changed the lyrics. Updated them for today,” said Keith.

As well he should, since “King of the Road,” released in 1965, is a song about homeless men, drifters from an earlier era, who WERE NOT ACTUALLY HOMELESS, but living in box cars, flop houses and trailers.

I told him I used to play and sing the song on my guitar.

Keith lit up on hearing that.

“You should play with me,” he said.

“I haven't played guitar in public in ten years,” I said. “Those days are done. I don't rock anymore.”

Keith laughed.

We then discussed how writing songs, poems, prose, letters, helps people transition through troubles. It's not possible for everyone suffering as they try to make sense of themselves and their world to write. Then again, people who can't write are often moved by what people who can write have to say.

Keith returned to the subject of his namesake and how Keith Richards always drank Jack Daniels during shows back in the 70s and 80s. He had a fifth on one of his amps.

“I'm not drinking Jack Daniels anymore when I play,” said Keith. “After reading your book, I've started in with Old Crow.”

I laughed. I think it was a unique literary compliment.

“That shit is pure rotgut swill,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“Rock and roll,” I said.

He nodded.