Four days after his 16th birthday, Kangaroo Poet K’lakokum obtained his driver’s licence, and immediately invested $25 into a 1958 VW Beetle. The car had no working starter motor, so it had to be parked on a hill in order to start by popping the clutch, or, alternatively, had to be pushed about 40 yards in order to get a running start. The car’s brakes were on their last legs, and the engine leaked oil hideously. No horn or right turn signal. Good to go! In the days before insurance, safety inspections and seat belts became required, of course. Fifty bucks for an “Uninsured Motor Vehicle Certificate”, twelve bucks for registration and plates, one buck for sales tax; $1.29 plus tax for a guest book to be signed by hitch-hikers -- total cost to get on the road: $89.35 [didn’t have to buy the pen to sign the guest book].
At the time, K’lakokum lived in a $14-a-week room above The Grab Bag in Yorkville. The room contained four mattresses wall to wall and nothing else except the seven other tenants. Those wall-to-wall hippies included Kangaroo Poet Jaymes, recently arrived after a difference of opinion with the Draft Board in Pittsburg.
Jaymes had a hankering to see his dinosaur relatives in Drumheller, Alberta, and K’lakokum had an interest in returning to his roots in the Okanagan, so the like-minded poets set out for The West.
Near Oak Lake, Manitoba, the VW’s engine gave up. Jaymes had a cursing fit – you should’ve added oil in Winnipeg! – grabbed his back-pack and started walking to Alberta. Two-and-a-half years before he was seen again.
K’lakokum sat on the shoulder of the Trans-Canada Highway and wrote a psalm.
Writing a psalm was necessary, because with less than 50 bucks in his pocket, and all his worldly possessions within the Beetle or tied to the roof rack [over six feet high!], the situation was critical. And the prayer received an immediate answer. A farmer on a tractor had been working in a nearby field and rode over to investigate. “She’s toast, piston’s right through the block” he advised. Noticing the VW back seat tied onto the top of the roof heap [K’lakokum had removed it to make more room inside the car for valuables], he said, “seat’s in durn good shape, I need one for my car. Tell you what I’ll do – I’ll give you $45 for the car, and give you a ride into town with your gear.” SOLD! This provided enough funds for a week at a cheap hotel room in Brandon, and some duct tape. K’lakokum got some empty cartons at a nearby Loblaws, packaged all his possessions, securely taping each carton, and walked these one-by-one across the street to the railway station for shipment to relatives in B.C. Enough cash left over for tinned sardines, bare bread and an orange per day for a week. Lucked out getting a job the next day and ended up spending three months in that hotel room. The room was directly above the band-stage of the bar on the main floor, and JOE SOUTH was entertaining there. South’s theme song was Games People Play and he finished off every night with the lines
At the time, K’lakokum lived in a $14-a-week room above The Grab Bag in Yorkville. The room contained four mattresses wall to wall and nothing else except the seven other tenants. Those wall-to-wall hippies included Kangaroo Poet Jaymes, recently arrived after a difference of opinion with the Draft Board in Pittsburg.
Jaymes had a hankering to see his dinosaur relatives in Drumheller, Alberta, and K’lakokum had an interest in returning to his roots in the Okanagan, so the like-minded poets set out for The West.
Near Oak Lake, Manitoba, the VW’s engine gave up. Jaymes had a cursing fit – you should’ve added oil in Winnipeg! – grabbed his back-pack and started walking to Alberta. Two-and-a-half years before he was seen again.
K’lakokum sat on the shoulder of the Trans-Canada Highway and wrote a psalm.
Writing a psalm was necessary, because with less than 50 bucks in his pocket, and all his worldly possessions within the Beetle or tied to the roof rack [over six feet high!], the situation was critical. And the prayer received an immediate answer. A farmer on a tractor had been working in a nearby field and rode over to investigate. “She’s toast, piston’s right through the block” he advised. Noticing the VW back seat tied onto the top of the roof heap [K’lakokum had removed it to make more room inside the car for valuables], he said, “seat’s in durn good shape, I need one for my car. Tell you what I’ll do – I’ll give you $45 for the car, and give you a ride into town with your gear.” SOLD! This provided enough funds for a week at a cheap hotel room in Brandon, and some duct tape. K’lakokum got some empty cartons at a nearby Loblaws, packaged all his possessions, securely taping each carton, and walked these one-by-one across the street to the railway station for shipment to relatives in B.C. Enough cash left over for tinned sardines, bare bread and an orange per day for a week. Lucked out getting a job the next day and ended up spending three months in that hotel room. The room was directly above the band-stage of the bar on the main floor, and JOE SOUTH was entertaining there. South’s theme song was Games People Play and he finished off every night with the lines
people are talking about you and me
but I don’t give a damn
damn damn damn
drumbeat for each damn, shaking K’lakokum’s room, grew to hate the song with passion, greatly relieved when the racket was finally over each night so he could get some sleep, early rise to go to work.
but I don’t give a damn
damn damn damn
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