The Commodore
by Steven Gowin
The Commodore skippers a 57 Caddy rag top
All fin and boatish power
The original hipster, a sport in gold braid nautical cap
Epaulets on a bomber jacket
He guards his parking spot on the rise
Off Bayshore at Boutwell, not Columbus
With orange pylons for the Caddy's estationment
Like Josephine told him on Avenue Montaigne
He practiced, practices cool jazz and beat
Even now thirty Luckies a day and a fifth of Kesslers
With no trace of cancer or emphysema, none
Sometimes beating the Chinese in San Bruno card rooms too
The Commodore remembers Lenny at the Purple Onion
And drank with them all in the day
But now rarely pilots the Caddy actually
And still looks after his dear mama, 98 years of age
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Author's Note
This is a song not of the "old" San Francisco, but of its remnants.
Other stories by Steven Gowin
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Sounds like someone I might want to know.*
***
Definitely a part for Bogie. *
Made me think Vertigo. Good piece.
*, Steven. Excellent work. With apologies to the Bellamy Brothers, this story reminds me of:
"He's an old hippie
And he don't know what to do
Should he hang on to the old
Should he grab on to the new
He's an old hippie."
Enjoyed meeting this well rendered character.*
Screw technocracy.
I remember this guy. Great rendition of a character. There is an underlying sadness that supports this. That is damn good. *
Fun to read!
Kessler. Whisky for the drinker. My friend Jack drank it. He owned stock. Kessler sent him some in the mail.*
Thanks everyone. The Commodore is alive and well and has been enjoying the fine days in San Francisco (our summer is late summer and fall).