Book of Sketches

by Jack Kerouac

Blank Universe stared

  me on Main Hiway out of

  Greensboro — storm rose —

  driving wet drizzly winds —

  I was positive I was lost —

  faces of passing cars — Staring

  porch people — bakery trucks —

  but I got a spot ride

  to junction — & there in

  storm, got ride to High Point

  — but woops, already wrote

  this — Walked clear to

  Furniture factories at junction,

  & stood an hour 45 minutes, near

  bleak aluminum warehouse

  with tin chimnies with

  Chinese hats, & smoke, &

  Southern RR yards —

  & funny Kellostone apt.

  house with Italian in-porches

  with potted palms, silent

  & dismal & unfriendly

  in the blank gray day —

  Certain again I was

  lost — But — ride to

  junction from a guy (I

  forget now!) — &

  there, on open hiway, I

  get ride from new car

  to Hickory N.C. 90

  miles — with furniture

  veneer wood agent who

  knows Yokleys of Mt. Airy

  & talked & was intelligent

  (Sheepshead Bay, book review

  for High Point etc.) —

  at Hickory I was at

  foot of my worse trip

  — mountains — but had

  no time to despair, a

  blond hero boy in a

  red rocket 88 (’52)

  with frizzly dog (half

  terryland Terrier & Sheep

  dog) — zoomed off to

  100 mile straightaway —

  was only going to Kansas City

  — 1000 miles! — I

  helped him drive — we

  rolled thru Mountains fast,

  thru Asheville (Tom Wolfe

  sign on road) — (right

  across Woodpen St.) —

  to Knoxville, to Louisville

  at midnight (pickt up

  lost hitch hiker in rain

  outside Mt Vernon, Ky.)

  — but Oh those Cumberland

  Mtns. from Lake City

  & LaFollette Tenn. thru

  Jellico to almost Corbin

  Ky. — dismal, bleak,

  I dreamed em, hillbilly

  shacks, hairy buttes, smoke,

  raw, fog — wow — at

  Louisville the great Ohio,

  the redbrick wholesale

  bldgs., soft night, — cross

  to New Albany, Ind.,

  where I drove straight

  across the Vincennes etc.

  to St Louis in the morning —

  he drove to Columbia

  Mo. — I drove another 60 mi.

  to Boonville — outside

  Warrenton he wanted to

  show — attendant —

  ranout gas — on road —

  went 117 M.P.H.!!!

  Kansas City Kansas at

  noon — I lost dark

  glasses in his car — wild

  kid — KC washed in

  station, spent money

  on cokes & crackers

  & ice cream — ride

  to junction — Two Texas

  boys work in car shops

  for Santa Fe RR in El

  Paso drove me Topeka

  — got there just as boys

  were coming out of

  work in Rocky Mt N C

  car shops! — moving —

  Then Beryl Schweitzer,

  Negro All American back

  from Kansas State, drove

  me to Manhattan Kans.

  — we talked — Then

  two cowboys, the driver

  14, drove to Riley

  on Route 24 — talked

  about horses, calves, roping,

  drinking, girls, cross country

  riding on “Satan” their

  unshod bronc — etc. — with

  red hankies of cowboys

  hanging on dashboard in

  old rattly car — cowboy

  Sam called my seabag

  war bag — ! — at

  Riley I despaired, got

  truck to junction — sun

  going down — 2 boys

  who come home from work

  drove me to Clay Center,

  where I ate tuna in

  backyard — & it got

  dark, I was souldead,

  I wanted to die —

  so got poorboy port

  wine, then $1.75 hotel

  room with fan, sink —

  right on tracks of R I R R

  or C B Q — slept 12

  hour log — washed, shaved,

  wrote, ate sardines —

  500 miles to Denver, I

  have $1.46 — but

  feel alive again & even

  that I will be saved, i.e.,

  I am not a dead duck,

  not a criminal, a

  bum, an idiot, a fool

  — but a great poet

  & a good man — &

  now that’s settled I

  will stop worrying about

  my position — & — concentrate

  on working for stakes

  on Sp. RR so I can go

  write in peace, get

  my innerworld lifework

  underway, Part II,

  for Doctor Sax was

  certainly part one!

  Clay Center Window —

  creamy snowy silo rising

  Farmers Union CO-OP —

  green roof & old gables

  (once English style) of

  Clay Center RR depot —

  redbrick 1-story Plumbing &

  Electrical Co. — cars

  & small trucks parked

  on angle — rickety

  brokendown shacks on tracks

  — rickety graywood oldhouse

  under noble trees, signs

  on small barn, weeds, piles

  of barrels or bldg. material

  in back — someone is hammering

  on a plank — W P Stark

  Lumber Co. hugetruck backin

  in a truckstop across the

  tracks — fellow in blue

  baseball hat in P&E doorway

  is jacking up a car — man

  in RR hat & man in Panama

  talk & watch — sun’s

  coming out — US Royal

  Farm Tires sign waves

  in breeze — small Farmers

  Co Op gas truck went

  by — Tourists — Small

  liquor store, was once gas

  station, where I got wine,

  white plaster, white fence,

  green lawn, looks like

  LA realty office —

  music from a restaurant

  juke — junkyard in distance

  — nobody on street

  — everywhere the green

  balls of trees over roofs

  — last night a thousand

  birds from the Plains were

  yakking in this town — from

  the Plains Clay Center is

  a cozy nestled settlement

  in the Huge —

  It’s the thought of Nin

  that makes this trip so

  sad — my sister didnt

  love me, I didnt know

  it —

  The drink that’s bitter

  going down, & sweet in

  memory — Life.

  I am now stuck

  outside Norton Kan.

  with no prospect of

  any ride, nightfall,

  hunger, thirst, death.

  Brierly saved my damned

  useless life — I went

  to Prairie View Kans. in a

  truck, in a vale from behind
>
  where I was, phoned

  him collect, he’s sending

  — but why make a record,

  he’s saving me — he expects

  to see me & be all excited

  in talk & joy — like I

  was — but am I dead?

  — I want to say to him

  “I dont understand what’s

  happening — any more —

  I dont understand the

  dew — I know there is

  no Why but I cant help

  it — ” But he saved me

  — I went from Clay

  Center in a car driven by

  blond handsome young

  reclamation worker — we

  drove 60 miles west to

  Beloit — I felt very

  happy, the land of Kansas

  smiled —

  days that start good end

  up bad — at Beloit I

  got a ride from father &

  son (father road

  worker, apparently drove

  to Missouri to fetch him for

  holidays, is married to

  ‘new wife’) — to a

  lone-ass junction at

  281 — hot killing sun

  — no cars — I thought

  I was done for (was,

  too) — I prayed to be

  saved — a man carrying

  a carseat load of dead

  side beef (smell of

  death) saved me —

  my meaty dumb bones

  — & carried me zipping

  to Smith Center —

  wrecked his car Feb. 29!

  nice old fella — (on 28!)

  I know the joy those

  little girls’ll remember,

  in Prairie View with their

  mother — yes I do —

  And that cunt’s tall

  grandfather — does

  my mother think I

  dont know those

  things? —

  Nobody cares —

  How can they care

  when they dont know?!

  — At Smith Center a

  ride to a country junction

  from a farmer hero

  straight profile with

  little blond son —

  at ice cream stand, the

  mother said to her son

  “Dont hang around with

  him” & I recognized her

  face & she mine — mad —

  but I got a ride to

  (this was off Agra) —

  to doomed Phillipsburg

  from carload of kids driv

  by Marine ex & wife —

  Okie — on I go with

  dignified father & son

  to that lonely hole

  on a hill where I

  think I die — 2 hours,

  no rides, zoom, sun

  going down, despair,

  — Prairie View in

  truck — but later —

  I walked in with seabag —

  Old falsefront western

  wood stores, dirt, or tarred

  gravel sandy road Main

  Street, cars crunch over

  majestically, on review on

  Sat. nites — but not a

  soul in sight, I’m going

  down over prairie hollow

  of trees bloodred, birds

  thrashing in trees, —

  I go to Public Telephone

  little old white house,

  woman long calls Neal

  for me (San Jose), he’s

  not home — her husband

  in long overalls was

  once farmer, gives me

  hamburg sandwich huge,

  says (& also huge

  glass water) — “A man

  dont know what to do

  anyway.” — Sun goes

  down, I wait, — dark,

  Prairie Viewers come round

  for Satnite, men sit in

  front gen’l hardware, some

  on ground, talk soft —

  little kids hurry to

  church suppers or whatever,

  mothers — sodafountain

  opens, I sit, watch happy

  mother & little Gaby Nashua

  joy girls — ate my heart —

  & crazy castrated lunatic

  Wellington chain smoking

  stuttering smelling somehow

  sweet & open air talks

  to me — Ah — “Born

  same date & year as

  A G Bell a great

  intelligent” — “hmph,

  a Swede, he’s a Hollander,

  there’s Mr. So and so,

  barn burned down in ’49”

  etc. — Pushes hat back,

  wild hair brow pasted, mad,

  somehow Fitz, I like

  him, he’s intelligent —

  “Kansas City was in

  street 2 nights — went

  to hotel — need 55¢cut

  says man — next night,

  need 75¢ says man —

  okay, — not got it —

  pushes me on left shoulder —

  out” — “Dont work

  any more since my

  headaches started” — “Old

  Mr Jones lived to be

  98 — died a

  mile north of that

  water tower — couldnt climb

  it tho, guess he was too

  old — he was a Hollander

  too” — Farmers: “Otto

  is it? Hello Otto!” yells

  Wellington — He’s sensitive

  — listens when you talk,

  jerks to hear & reply —

  We cross street, longpants

  niceman driving to six

  miles east Norton — Meanwhile

  Old Justin’s sending

  me $12 Norton — goodbye

  — they (longpants &

  thin heroboy of Kansas

  but sad & attentive) drive

  me to hill of Western Nite

  — hail down stationwagon

  bein whaled at 85 by

  wild cunt — fixed me

  a ride as only farmer

  could — man in car

  says “Working late aint

  ya?” — (harvest he

  thinks) I get out

  car — “Thank you sir —

  and madame.” Forced

  on them — Go to

  depot, agent off duty,

  raging mad I tear up

  handful of folders &

  hurl them screaming

  across Rock Island tracks

  to where sad cows being

  waybilled to Santa Fe

  moo — I go to Hotel

  Kent, get a room, promise

  pay morning (first I

  rush for wine, Gallo port)

  — back — waterf ountain,

  grocery store, man

  wallet — hotel room hot

  — windows — shower

  no handles — curse —

  dancing below — 5 shots

  wine — sleep — cold

  in Fall morn — up —

  wipe wine from things —

  depot — joy of

  dark shadow morn on

  RR tracks etc. — rush

  to WU — back (water

  fountain) — cash hotel —

  Melroy Cafe huge

  bkfast. — go — waitress —

  read paper hurricane,

  Faulkner crash airshow

  “Please keep away —

  for Gods sake keep

  away” — bus at 5:30!

  — I hitch! —

  Cursing half hour, deciding

  never to hitch

  again, to end On The

  Road (pure hitching)

  with malediction gainst

  America — a sunny

  funeral director

  from
Hope Indiana with

  particularly irrelevant

  old bum carry me

  80 mph. to Denver!

  — “Believe in helping

  out a feller — try to

  do God’s will as best

  I can — ” Never seen

  a rattlesnake or

  a mirage till this

  ride! — Zoom —

  Arrive Denever

  ZAZA (Barbershop in Denver)

  Zaza’s — blue squares

  painted above long

  vertical panes, on

  glass — says “Baths”

  & “1821” — Barber

  Shop — little tiny

  bulb light over door

  on protruding bar, bent —

  beat up doorway, gray

  paint below the mad

  cerulean wash blue

  — in window burlesk

  ad, whitewashed flowerpot

  of tub with soil & crazy

  redblossomed weeds —

  smaller pots, weeds —

  no decoration, just bare

  chip-painted weathered

  old planks in window-

  case, a can with soil

  & greentip, — a milk

  bottle, empty — a Wildroot

  smileteeth ad card, a

  sad tablecloth over a

  rail — an upsidedown

  ancient piece of an ad

  card — “Barber Shop”

  is flaked half off —

  Gaga’s — other

  window has ad cards,

  same — Inside is wooden

  drawers, white — chairs

  white & black, old —

  cash register — barber

  coat over chair — (closed)

  — sink, bench — wood

  slat wall — calendar

  — next to beat

  Windsor shoe shop, used

  shoes ranged in window

  Late afternoon at the New

  England Sunday lakes of

  my infancy —

  The Joe Martin truckdrivers

  of the crosscountry Denver

  night — old lunchcarts —

  Early Autumn in Kansas —

  I ate a big breakfast of

  sausages, eggs, pancakes,

  toast & 2 cups coffee —

  hungry on the road — farmers

  in the Sunday morning

  cafe, the bright sun, the

  clarity of a rickety

  Kansas town alley outside

  — heartbreaking

  reminders of Neal Cassady

  — “The Energies of

  Cody Pomeray”!

  Alley: telephone poles,

  wires, Firestone tire sign

  (flamepink & blue), old

  graywood garage door,

  redbrick chimney lashed

  to a house with bar,

  aluminum warehouse, old

  streetlamp overhanging —

  Norton, Kans. —

  Old shacks! — O

  America! — What was

  it like in Lincoln’s time!

  — Where are all the

  railroad men of the

  19th Century! They’ve

  all slanted into the