Watching City Hall #394 (9-14-05)

“No dear, one of the Raiders lives with me.”

Neska

I love women more than anything in the world. I adore them. They’re smarter than men. They live longer. They can endure more pain and deprivation and hold everything together. … They’re like, just so cool. And, my friend, Neska is definitely one of my very favorite women.

She was born, Linda Rudman but when I met Neska, she was named ‘Linda LaFlamme’. It was the mid-70’s in St. Louis and my friends and I had just opened the biggest nightclub in town (called, modestly: ‘h. brown’s’). My manager rushed up to me and pointed out the beautiful hippie woman sitting at the copper-topped bar. A rainbow knit hair net covered her glorious & curly raven black locks. She was wearing gold wire, Ben Franklin glasses and had a heavy knit shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The shawl fell past her waist and framed a full peasant blouse and matching white linen skirt. What a looker. I approached.

h.: “Hi.”

Mike: (my club mgrl) “She’s gotta play here!”

h.: “Who is she?”

Mike: (very excited - looked like a young Jerry Garcia) “That’s Linda LaFlamme, dude!. From ‘Beautiful Day’!! She wrote ‘White Bird’, man. She’s a genius!”

h.: (went over to introduce myself) “Hi. I’m h. brown.”

Neska: (wastes no time) “I’m supposed to play here.”

h.: “Look, I don’t have money to hire someone of your caliber.”

Neska: “I didn’t say anything about money. … I’m supposed to play here.”

h.: (beginning to uderstand - lots of stuff like this happened around me) “Who told you that you’re supposed to play here?”

Neska: (points up)

h.: “Hmmmm. Did He send any money?”

Neska: (laughs) “It’s not about money.”

h.: “But, I don’t even have a piano.”

Neska: “Let me know when you want me to play.”

She left and I turned to the crowd at the bar that had heard everything. There was a young Mexican piano player, an 84 year old drummer/piano tuner and a 40 year-old music teacher. There were a couple of speed freak day laborers. There was a foot of snow on the ground and heavy ice on the streets. It was still snowing. Let me tell you what happened fast.

I asked Mike how much we could spend on a piano. “$75″ he answered. I phoned the big Salvation Army store 2 blocks away and they said they’d sell me a piano for that. Sight unseen. I grabbed the speed freaks and went and got it. It was buried in the corner of the basement of their wharehouse and I swear it called to me from under a pile of boxes as I came down the stairs.

It was the cutest little upright. Burled walnut case & details of inlaid mother-of-pearl. And, probably hadn’t been played in 50 years. We brought it back to the bar. Elijah Shaw (the drummer from Singleton Palmer - the 84 year-old) laughed when he saw it. “Why that thing hasn’t been played in 50 years. The strings are crystalized. No one will ever play that again.”

Out of the bathroom walked the young Mexican piano player. “Yoooo!” he called out as he saw the piano. “I learned to play on a piano just like this!” He pulled a chair over, ran his fingers across the keys once and started to play!! In one touch he’d identified broken cords and pedals and pads and he played that little piano like hell. We were astounded.

The music teacher also repaired pianos. The speed freaks pulled the front off to begin cleaning it. There were a dime and a penny under the keyboard. They were from around 1906. I followed my instincts. “Mike, call the first coin dealer in the book and see what he’ll give us for these.” Guy offered $76, again, sight unseen. We cashed them in that afternoon and came out a dollar ahead. Neska played her first gig at the club, on that piano, the next night.

Point is, I wanted you to meet Neska. She’s one of my dearest and most talented friends and you’re going to get an opportunity to meet her and watch her perform when I get around to throwing the Bulldog benefit. Neska has continued to play and teach piano all of these years. And, to compose. My God, the woman is the best American composer since Leonard Bernstein. You’re gonna see.

But, here I am sitting with Krissy Keefer on this quiet afternoon having coffee with a bit of Amaretto and a bit of cake. Listening as Neska presented old and new pieces on the chestnut colored, highly polished grand piano. Lace curtains. A 19 year-old cat sleeping in a ray of sun. Cases of books in Hebrew. Embroideried details on cushion covers. Neska gone gray in her hair but still with the sparkling eyes and total spirituality.

We’d been there a couple of hours when it occurred to me that there was no one else in the large apartment. For over 20 years, Neska had always rented out a room or two to get by. I’d lived here myself in between San Francisco residences. In my many Shabbaz meals, I’d met hip-hop artists, dancers, symphony musicians and more. Finally, it appeared she was alone. That’s when she noted that there was a member of the Oakland Raiders renting her back bedroom.

I had to crack up after I got my jaw undropped. Here’s this little pacifist senior hippie composer living with a member of the famed skull & crossbones local football team. I think he’s on the practice squad. His name’s Tony Provost (we never met him, though she swore he was back there - “Just got a 56 inch plasma TV yesterday when he found out he made the team.”). “He’s number 32!” Neska said in excitement. I doubt she’s seen a football game in her life.

That will do for a column not specifically about politics. Of course, me being me, it is ultimately about politics. I put Krissy and Neska together because I want them to collaborate on a play I’m writing about naked people and the Board of Supervisors. My two favorite topics. It’s called: ‘My neighbors have sirens’ … we’ll let you know.

art lives