“If a member of their Indian nation was suspected of a misdeed, a friend, parent, or elder could ask them point-blank if they had committed this particular offense. It was not considered bad or dishonest for the accused to be misleading in answering the charge when it was presented the first time (the white man’s white lie?), nor would it be considered an insult on the part of the inquiring party for asking that first time. For the accuser to bring the question of impropriety forward a second time was approaching accusation, challenge, and potential disrespect. For the accused to lie the second time was of equal significance. Both parties, at this point—one bordering on insult and the other possibly a falsehood—were now walking on shaky ground. This is usually where the encounter ceased and some resolution was sought because taking it to the next step was a very serious matter. For the accuser to persist, asking the question a third time, was a full-blown confrontation, and carried life and death consequences. To deny a third time, if the denial was a lie, placed the culprit in the very arms of the wrath of the Great Spirit. Neither party could complete the third round without one of them being dead wrong.
“As serious as this traditional exchange was, it could also be used in less dire circumstances—a marriage ceremony, for example, where the equivalent of ‘Do you promise to love, honor, and obey?’ was asked of each person before saying their wedding vows. Answering yes to the question three times represented an irrevocable lifetime commitment, and, if broken, moved the offender back into the line of fire for the wrath of God.
“Joe and Kathleen used this practice in the middle ground where most of their conversations dwelled and treated it as a loving gesture. If they ran out of understanding or agreement, or if going to the third question was out of bounds, each could sense at what point to bow out of the dialogue. This arrangement was not one of negotiation but of a deep understanding developed through their union. Sometimes they would play with this solemn tradition…
“‘Joe,’ Kathleen would ask, staring intently into his eyes, ‘Do you love me?’
“Joe would answer her with a fixed stare, ‘Yes I do my love.’
“‘Then play me a song,’ she would reply with a smile.
“Without breaking stride or stance Joe would say, ‘Kathleen, do you love me?’
“‘Yes I do Maestro,’ she would reply assuredly and even a bit demurely.
“‘Then bake me a cake,’ would become his immediate and stock answer.
“Instead of getting more serious as they moved into the second phase, their tone brightened and their smiles lightened as they repeated both the questions and the answers exactly as they had done the first time. The third time they would leave the ancient pattern, grasp the other’s outstretched hands and say together. ‘Do you love me?’
“Looking into each other’s eyes, they would quietly affirm their commitment in unison…‘You know I do.’
“It was an innocent, renewal of vows between two unquestioning young lovers.
“Kathleen believed in Jesus with all of her being and would see Him through the soft mist as she looked up at the sky. She could feel Him in the morning air she breathed when walking into this special place. She could hear His words in the winds caressing the trees encircling her as she came to rest on the rock.
“Joe couldn’t care less, but felt a certain comfort in her faith and never questioned her. He had no problem joining her when asked to be a part of her journey. But, deep down, he only believed in things that had a backbeat and a tag ending. It wasn’t real unless he could hear it or feel it in his being. One day he left their gentle spot beneath the cottonwoods and poplars. There was not the warm, close discussion they usually had when it came to sharing their deepest feelings.
“He simply said, ‘Kathleen, I’m leaving.’
“He assured her in the midst of this sudden (yet oddly expected) exit that one-day he would return. They both knew she would be there despite how unfair the arrangement seemed. They hugged and said, ‘I love you,’ three times, and after the third time he was gone.
“There was a moment, an unknown point in time, where Joe’s history moved to a different place. It was about the music, the soul, the drive, and the intensity of the creative force that enters a chosen few who have worked something special into their being without even realizing it. Joe had spent years working on his fingers and their relation to flow and tempo, the hand-eye coordination, the beat that lies within being melded to the melody that flows above. But, there is nothing like the astonishment that comes in the incredible moment when suddenly the head, hands, and heart become one—when what you feel, what you hear, and what you want to do all comes together as one magical sonic entity.
“His new awareness made him realize he was no longer subject to the tangible, but instead had become strangely cognizant of what he had been gathering from the periphery. His time had come.
“Joe pulled together a band of the best musicians from the surrounding counties and named it the Ben Jammins. Benjamin was his younger brother and, outside of Kathleen, was the only one he felt would never betray him. Young Ben idolized Joe and sat at his feet for hours as he practiced his instruments. Also, Ben would listen intently to the music that shaped Joe’s understanding. Joe vowed that when he became famous he would take care of Ben.
Long Years, Many Miles,
and a Million Moments Later
“The Ben Jammins were a force from the get-go. They were a tight-knit bunch of talented musicians; and, not only were they successful, they became a real band of brothers. It was almost hard to look back and remember the garage band years, the freebie gigs, the auditions, the rejections, the band fights, the crooked promoters, the constant hunger, the cheap-shot artists, and the backstabbers. Immense fame acts almost like a narcotic, a sedative, and a deadening knockout punch, all at once disengaging the bad times that preceded the good. Joe endured endless hard miles on not-so-friendly roads. Smelly hotel rooms, eternal bad food, bunking down with five guys in a crash pad that would be vacated when the rent came due, sleeping in the back of the road van between the equipment cases became merely vague remembrances. Suites and sweets replaced the sweats and smells of the roads traveled to get to this exhilarating moment of grand success. His heart and hands never stopped beating out a pattern that was bound to lead to success. Dogged determination had been replaced by fabulous fame.
“In the early years, Joe returned home often, knowing Kathleen would always be there. This constancy, coupled with the unchanging landscape of their youth, kept them united in spirit. As his fame and wealth grew, as well as its importance in his life, he needed her ‘ways’ less. During this same passage of time, her walk in God’s way grew deeper and deeper. It would seem that this would drive them apart; but, for some strange reason, it drew them closer. She often prayed for him and for his safe return.
“Joe became absorbed by his success and took full advantage of its offerings, delving deeper and deeper into the drug world that surrounded the phenomenon of fame. As his decadence and dependence on chemical stimulation grew, so did his despondency. Something was missing in the midst of it all. Paranoia often becomes a natural companion to those who adopt this exaggerated lifestyle. In time, he developed an odd vision of his demise. In the midst of all the fancy living and good times, it didn’t make sense that he was becoming preoccupied with his death; but, he kept envisioning a day when he would walk out on a stage, look down to a specific spot beneath him, and recognize a floor he had seen in his dreams. In each dream, when he came to the precise place he saw so many times, he would die there. The reason for his death was always different, and the floor was never in the same building or town, which prevented him from seeing it coming. The only thing he recognized was the floor itself, and then it would be too late because he would already be there. The floor and its appearance were the only constants—there were no other clues he could take into real life.
“He wo
uld break into a cold sweat each time the visions came to him, and they began happening more frequently. His déjà vu began kicking in almost every time the band went on stage. It was easy to hide this feeling from the Ben Jammins because the crowds were getting larger, the auditoriums bigger, and could be chalked up to pre-concert jitters. He never shared this premonition with the band or Kathleen. In fact, he shared less and less with her. When he did think about her, he visualized her life as it had always been. However, years had passed and his detachment blinded him to the fact that things were not the same back home.
“Kathleen’s mother had passed away, and even without Joe in her life, she managed to get by, but things got tough when her father also died. She and Ben developed a special bond during this time; so, when Joe’s family moved away, everyone agreed it would be best that Ben remain with her to be raised since Joe would most likely return there during breaks from the road. What little inheritance she received was eventually gone, and the reality was that there was no work to be had without moving away. Joe’s folks were able to help some; but it was not enough to sustain them, and she found herself in a situation she never thought she would have to face. She knew of Joe’s wealth; but, country pride would never allow her to ask for help until one day she was no longer able to feed Ben. She called Joe and shared her current circumstances with him. He insisted they come live with him, vowing that the place they had grown up in would be preserved for their eventual return. He would have his accountants, managers, agents, publicists, bookers, personal trainers, and roadies see to everything.
“She had grown to love Ben and did the one thing she never dreamed she would do—leave home and join Joe’s world—in order to provide for him. Food was back on the table, but caring for Ben and time alone with the Word and God’s love became her only other sustenance. Joe was usually gone on the road or ‘gone’ when he was home.
“His repeated promise to her was that when the next tour and album were finished he would, hang it all up and take her home again.
“He even made an acoustic recording of the old song ‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen’ so she could play this promise to fall asleep to while he was gone on the road.
“He was in Albuquerque when he got the devastating news: Someone had broken into the house looking for drugs and Kathleen was shot in the back when she shielded Ben. By the time Joe was able to book a private plane and make his way to the hospital, the news concerning Kathleen’s condition was not good. When he arrived at the nurse’s station on her floor he was told she was so heavily sedated they would not be able to communicate, and the next few hours would be devoted to trying to keep her alive. He could go home or wait at the hospital, but the itinerary for this venue was very clear-cut. It was going to be touch and go and the surgery scheduled for the following morning would be a matter of life and death.
“Joe decided to stay, wanting to be close to her once again. He eventually fell asleep straddled across two chairs in the waiting room. When he awoke, he was told that she had just been taken into surgery. It would be several hours before there was any indication of the eventual outcome. He waited around for a while and then finally drove home in a state of disbelief. He began having a change of heart about the life he had chosen and decided he also needed a change of clothes and a hot shower. He hadn’t taken any drugs since he received the news; but, as the driver pulled through the gates of his mansion, he had never felt more stoned or completely out of it. He was almost to the front door when he noticed his band mates’ cars in his driveway. He felt comforted because he believed they had come to stand by him at this crucial time. Albuquerque had been the final stop on the tour and they followed his departure by a few hours in the band bus.
“As Joe walked into the grand entry, he could hear them talking in the large study beyond the curved stairway leading to the upstairs rooms. In the giant expanse of his mansion, this room was where Joe really lived, and it was where the band of brothers spent many hours creating music. When Joe walked into the room all conversation stopped and he found himself standing in the center. He felt strangely alone and felt anything but embraced in brotherhood. They were all seated on the massive couches and chairs that filled the library end of the room. The Ben Jammins looked away one by one as he scanned their familiar faces. Soon he was staring at the tops of heads as they looked to the floor. They had not come to comfort him but to tell him they were brothers no more. They felt his ego, excesses, and personal crises were too much to handle. They shuffled and stuttered in low disjointed tones and sentence fragments; but, the message was simple—they were abandoning him and sat wordless as the management team, and the professional entourage of accountants and lawyers they’d amassed around their enterprise, in very formal fashion, laid out his generous ‘severance package’ as they gave him the boot from the band he founded—cutting him out of the music that was his life.
“A very long day without drugs, a sudden betrayal, and Kathleen’s tragedy left Joe frozen. One by one, the band of brothers got up and walked silently past him as they made their way to the door and out of his life. Years of struggling arm in arm, walking the hard road of a tough business hand in hand, ended with a weak hug and a shaky, ‘See ya, bro.’
“Joe had never cried himself to sleep before, but his face was still wet when he woke to the phone ringing across the room. He was dazed and exhausted as he lay on the couch, still wearing the clothes he had from two days ago. The call was from Ben: ‘I’m at the hospital, call me when you get here and I’ll meet you in the lobby. I love you.’
“Ben and the nurse in charge met Joe at the elevator. He was told the operation’s outcome was iffy and that the prognosis was not good. They were taken to the resident chief surgeon’s office, and from there they were ushered into a private lounge to await results. The minute they walked in, Joe looked down at the floor and tears flooded his eyes, pouring out from every fiber and lonely broken place inside his being. There was the floor—that floor—the one in his dreams. It was supposed to be a stage floor in a giant concert hall, not a waiting room in a smelly hospital. He fell to his knees on its scuffed surface and prayed. This was the floor he was to die on—but it wasn’t to be from bullets or fire—it was the place he was to die to self and be born again. Everything that Kathleen had ever told him about Jesus and faith and healing and forgiveness and redemption and love and mercy and grace washed over him—intro, verse, bridge, and chorus. His crying was no longer about his loss, but had turned into crying out to God to save his soul and Kathleen’s life.
“Lord please let me take her home to the country again, he prayed.
“The doctor came to the door and knocked softly before entering. Because Joe was so anxious to hear what the doctor had to say, the time it took him to utter his first words felt longer than any international flight Joe had ever taken. It was good news and bad news: she was going to make it but would be permanently paralyzed from the waist down. He told Joe she should awaken in about six hours, so he should take Ben to get something to eat, and then go home to freshen up. Hospital recovery and therapy would take a few months and everything—schedules, priorities, home life—would all require revaluation.
“They walked out into a cold winter night. Joe put Ben in the waiting limo and asked him to wait a minute. He walked across the parking lot into a small grassy area in a park that bordered the hospital complex and knelt once more, alone in the dark. He reaffirmed the earlier deal he had made with God—his first prayer. This time he did not need a manager or agent to authorize the agreement. The deal he made on the floor in the doctor’s office would be honored from this point on, and the accomplishments and bounties of his entire life would be shared with Kathleen in her time of need. It was then he realized that Ben had come from the car and was kneeling beside him. Ben had learned about the Lord at Kathleen’s table over the many years they had spent together. He was joining Joe in agreement as they made their requests known before
the Father.
“Over the following months Joe spent all of his time either at Kathleen’s side or with Ben restoring their two homes in the country to their original beauty in order to get everything ready for her return. Joe had been too stoned and too distant over the years to notice that Ben had grown into a fine young man, a gentle man. He was a man with Kathleen’s sensibilities and love for simple honest things. Joe sold his mansion almost immediately after the night of the Ben Jammin’s breakup and easily had the financial means to move the two houses together so they could be combined as one. But, Joe didn’t just move one next to the other; he had them both positioned to face the opening through the trees that surrounded the shadowed glen where they had spent so much precious time together.
“The place was finally ready, and the day came for Joe to pick up Kathleen from the hospital. She and Joe had picked out a beautiful white outfit for her to wear home. The tragedy had brought scattered families and old friends back together, and a couple of the ladies from the reunited clan came to the hospital early to help Kathleen get dressed and ready for the trip home. She looked like an angel. Besides fixing up the old homestead during her long stay and recovery at the hospital Joe had also been able to restore the relationship with the band of brothers and they were now closer than ever. Joe was actually grateful to them because their ‘selling him out’ had actually ‘bought him’ a better life.
“Joe purchased the old band bus from the Ben Jammins to transport Kathleen home. He had removed all the bunks from the back, replacing them with a custom lounge for Kathleen to lie on. It was positioned so she could look out the window and see the outside world once again as they left some bad memories behind. The old rock and roll interior had been modified to a softer and more feminine style—swaths of white material replacing a lot of brown leather. The hospital was only four hours away from their destination, and the ride was a smooth one filled with close friends, continuous laughter, and great stories about the place of their youth: a place called home.
Philco Page 12