WEIRD FRANKIE

WEIRD FRANKIE

Clem Dundridge

HOW YA DOIN'?... YOU WITH A TV STATION OR SOMETHING?... What time they gonna start this here funeral, any idea?

Shoot, I know. Where I live, funerals never start on time, neither ...

Naw, I hadn't seen Frankie in about twenty years. Just lost touch, you know? Most people lost touch with him, right? That's how he was. I didn't even know he was still playin' until I heard how he died....

Met him? Ha! You ready for this? I met him with Elvis Presley on the Louisiana Hayride circuit, 1957... Yes, ma'am.... Yes, ma'am.... Well, hell yeah, it's a true story. I don't mind sayin' it now. I was supposed to keep quiet till the day Elvis died and the day Frankie died. But they're both gone now, and I'm eighty-two years old. What am I waiting for? I'm figuring to maybe tell it in the church. Are we allowed to speak during the service? It's Catholic, isn't it? Maybe they don't let you...

Right now? ... Tell you what. You lemme have some of that coffee you're sippin', I will... Thank you ... much obliged.... Mmmph ...

Frankie looked a lot like Elvis, there's no denying that. But in those days, nobody knew Frankie could do anything besides play guitar. I'm not even sure how he got to Louisiana. Someone said he came from Detroit in the trunk of a car. Seriously. But he kept to himself and didn't smoke or carouse, and if you don't do that in a band, there ain't hardly time to get to know you....

Marcus Belgrave

LEMME HAVE A LIGHT.... MMM ... THANKS. ...

No, uh-uh, I can't believe it, neither. Nobody dies like that. But I'm telling you, Frankie had some strange stuff going on, magic, voodoo, something ... I never told no one this story, but I swear it's true.

We were playing a club up in Detroit, maybe 1951 or '52, in the part they call Black Bottom.

Anyhow, we're playing a Friday night, four sets -- eight, ten, midnight, and two a.m. -- and Frankie's with us, just this skinny teenager playing the guitar. This was way before he made them hit records or even started singing. Shoot, I didn't even know his last name. Just "Frankie." He wasn't supposed to be there on account of how young he was, but he never asked for no money, and to the guy who owned the club, that made him twenty-one, know what I mean? We let him sit in the back, out of the spotlight, his big mop of black hair bouncing in the shadows. At the end of the night, he got a free plate of chicken, and we got us a free guitar player.

I know, I know, I'm getting to it. Well, something musta happened, because the Beard jumps up and pushes the girl against the wall, his chair goes flying backward, and he's got a knife to her throat. He's choking her, screaming, calling her every kind of name. Tilly, our piano player, walks straight out the door, because that was how he was -- "Don't-Want-No-Trouble Tilly," we used to call him -- but the rest of us were riffing on the chords with that frozen kind of look when you don't wanna watch, but you can't turn away? It was almost like if we stopped playing, the Beard was gonna kill this girl. He's screaming, waving that knife, she's choking, and nobody was doing nothing, because this guy was big.

Well, next thing I know, Frankie jumps up front and starts playing real loud, and fast. He's playing so good, people kinda don't know where to look. And Frankie yells, "Hey!" and the Beard looks over and hollers something drunk. But Frankie just plays faster. Me, Tony, and Elroy, we're trying to keep up but he's off into something, fingers moving like they're possessed.

"Hey!" Frankie yells again, and he's playing like lightning, still getting every note clear and true. And damn if the guy doesn't turn and point the knife at him now like he's taking the challenge.

"Faster," the Beard grumbles.

So Frankie goes faster. Some people start whooping, like it's a game. And now Frankie's off "Smokehouse" and he's on to "Flight of the Bumblebee," you know, from that Russian opera? I'm trying to find the notes on my horn, and Elroy is banging the pedal so hard his damn foot is gonna snap off.

And again, the guy yells, "Faster!"

And we're thinking there's no way on the Lord's earth anyone can play faster than -- but before we even finish that thought, Frankie's upped it again, his fingers running from the bottom strings to the top strings so fast I swear a buncha bumblebees is gonna come flying out of that guitar. He's not even looking at his hands. He's just staring at the guy, with his lips kinda open, hair falling onto his forehead, and everyone is clapping now, trying to keep pace with Elroy's beat, and Frankie starts this run from the far end of the neck up to the highest frets and the Beard is damn near hypnotized and he comes closer for a better look. Frankie's staring at the lipstick girl and she's staring at him, and then he jerks his head and she's outta there, quick as a bullet.

And now the whole place is whooping in that way crowds do -- you know, "Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!" -- and the kid squeezes his lips and he's up in the highest notes, sounds like he's pinching baby birds it's so damn high, and the Beard is by the edge of the stage and Frankie points the neck right at him like some kinda machine gun -- bangadedy bangedy bang -- and then he's done. Finished. And he whips the guitar over his head and the whole place is going crazy, just breathing hard, like, man, that boy can play and we're glad nobody's dead.

And then Frankie races out the door, chasing that girl.

But here's the thing.

I look at his guitar, and one of the strings has turned blue. I swear. Blue as the middle of a flame.

I thought to myself, I don't know where this kid come from. Maybe I don't want to know.

WELL.

The young blond girl with too much lipstick would have died had Frankie not done what he did. But he was too young to understand such things, or to even know he possessed such power....

My apologies.

(From Mitch ALBOM: "The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto", sphere. FICTION.)

I have never forgotten the sweet but cowardly "hippies" Y and Z. Hippy Z looked like the gentle picture of Jesus that I have seen on some calendars; I associate "hippie" Z with "Shakespeare"; we know that "Shakespeare" is also called "Bard of Avon" and Beard here sounds like Bard! The charming "hippie" Ms. Z was very sweet and defiant, while the mysterious Ms. X was very sweet too but seemed overcome with shame and guilt. Why? A long story. Thanks. Bye.

Kishalay Sinha [G]