JOE BLAYLOCK
Alcoholic Preacher
By
William Kemsley, Jr.
Copyright 2011 by William Kemsley, Jr.
***~~~***
Discover other titles by William Kemsley, Jr.
Hardcover: Backpacker & Hiker's Handbook
***~~~***
Thank you for downloading this ebook. The book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - What a Friend we Have in Jesus…
Chapter 2 - Joe Blaylock’s Childhood Dream
Chapter 3 - Scott Joplin Rags
Chapter 4 - Night Club Gigs
Chapter 5 - One Day in May
Chapter 6 – More Grief
Chapter 7 - Pastor Jack Comforts
Chapter 8 - Joe’s Other Two Friends
Chapter 9 - Homeless
Chapter 10 - Hung Over in Detroit
Chapter 11 - Bar-room Priestesses
Chapter 12 - I Can Only Imagine
Chapter 13 - The Altar Call
Chapter 14 - Pastor Elihu Jones
Chapter 15 - The Pastor Listens
Chapter 16 - Joe’s Secret Sin
Chapter 17 - The Pastor Repents
Chapter 18 - Church or AA?
Chapter 19 - Joe’s First AA Meeting
Chapter 20 - Keep It Simple
Chapter 21 – Is Jesus the Only Way?
Chapter 22 - Restitution
Chapter 23 – Doing God’s Will
Chapter 24 - Joes’ Preaching
Chapter 25 - Few Are Chosen
Chapter 26 - The Greatest Love Poem Ever Written
About the Author
Prologue
I am Parking Lot Willy. I am a parking lot attendant in an artist colony in northern New Mexico. I observe visitors coming to town and going. This is a story about one of them. I, too, am in the yarn, but only as a character in the telling of it, more observer than player. But, as you will note, Willy is as much a fiction of the author’s imagination as are the other characters playing their parts in the drama.
Chapter 1 -What a Friend we Have in Jesus…
Willy accepted Joe Blaylock’s invitation after only a nodding acquaintance.
Most people were already seated when Willy arrived. It was a small church with rows of seven folding chairs on each side of the center aisle and hand-sewn pennants hanging high along both side walls with words in large letters — Faith, Hope, Joy, Love, Peace.
Musicians were playing while the congregation was singing “What a friend we have in Jesus…” Paddle fans turned slowly overhead while the song’s verses flickered upon a screen down front projected by a teen-age boy.
Willy was struck by the beauty of the blonde in bright yellow and black silk blouse leading the singing while playing a guitar. Another woman sang accompaniment from a mike off to the left, and man with a long grey-haired pony-tail played a string Ashbury Bass with its tiny guitar- shape base at the end of its long handle of frets.
One heavy-set man in the congregation swayed dreamily, both hands raised overhead. Others raised their hands high, too, eyes closed, heads tilted up reverently, seemingly to some sweet loved-one.
Willy felt uncomfortable at first among these worshipers. Congregations were more reserved back home in his family church. They would have considered such an emotional display as untoward, show-offy. Here though, the intimacy of worshipers seamed smoothly together with the music, decor, flowers and furnishings. In time Willy, too, was swept up in the spirit of it.
~~~
As the music ceased, Joe stepped up to the boxy varnished pine pulpit, a guitar hanging from his shoulder by a wide, colorful strap. He began preaching, plucking the guitar as he spoke.
Toward the end of his sermon, still strumming soft chords, Joe spoke softly.
“After his own baptism…Jesus’ first words to his followers…were for healing. He came to heal the sick…to comfort the sorrowful…to bless us with his calming touch.
“Come forth…if you want His blessings…for any reason at all…even if you were baptized long ago…come…Jesus calls…‘Come unto me all you who are heavy laden… and I will give you rest.’ These are His words. This is His call.
“If today you would have comfort from the Lord Jesus, come down to the altar…receive his blessings.
“Last week Charley and Shirley were healed by our prayers…You too can be healed…
Just come to the altar for your anointing…We are praying for your every need.
“As you know, I too was healed by your prayers. So you too will be healed. Come forth. Now is the time.”
Some who went to the altar were Willy’s friends from town. He had no idea they were religious, never mind church-goers. Certainly not this devout.
~~~
Joe Blaylock was back at the parking lot later that afternoon. He came with two cups from a coffee-shop on the plaza.
“Coffee?” he said and handed one to Willy.
Chapter 2 -Joe Blaylock’s Childhood Dream
“It was good seeing you at services this morning” Joe said. “It is not often someone we meet on the street joins us. As I told you yesterday, I’m here to preach for just one day. I’ll be leaving for Amarillo in the morning. Since I’m free this afternoon, I thought I’d drop by for a chat. That is, if you don’t mind.”
Willy said, “Not at all. Sunday afternoons are slow. It’s nice to have company.”
There were only three cars in the parking lot. They sat on the portale facing west toward the mountain peaks across the mesa.
“I’m not trying to proselytize,” Joe said, “though I see how it might seem that way. You and I seemed to hit it off yesterday. I mean, you must have been touched, for you to come to the services after such a casual acquaintance!”
“I was surprised seeing you play guitar while you preached. I have to say, though, it did catch the mood of your preaching.”
Joe smiled and said, “When I was a kid I dreamed of becoming a musician. And I did realize my dream very early in life.”
He smiled. “I became a successful nightclub musician. But that was then. And a lot has happened along the way since. Drugs! They were my downfall.”
Willy said, “You’d never know it now.”
They talked until the sun slipped down to the tops of the mountains west of the gorge.
~~~
“Let me tell you!” Joe said. “In my teens I did quite well at the piano. As I say though, it went from bad to worse. Lost one job after another. Dumb. I know. But maybe that was necessary. I mean, I probably had to hit bottom — before I could bounce back.
“You know, when I was young I reasoned to myself, ‘Who wouldn’t do drugs and alcohol if they suffered what I had to go through?’ Just an excuse, I know! But, in hindsight, I did go through a lot.”
He shook his head, pushed back a lock of blonde hair, said, “Amazing that it was just alcohol and drugs. I mean — and not a gun! Golly, I really hit a deep bottom!”
Willy waited for him to say more. Then, when Joe hadn’t spoken for several minutes, he said, “If I’m not too intrusive. If you’d like to say more. I mean, I’m all ears.”
“It’s a long story. Sometime. If you ever have a month. Or more!” His cheeks flushed as he chuckled, “Then I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Please, don’t leave me hanging.”
“It’s getting late. Won’t you be closing so
on?”
“Actually it’s already past closing time. If you don’t have other plans how about joining me for a bite to eat?”
Chapter 3 -Scott Joplin Rags
They went to a local fast-food restaurant, got in line, studied the menu posted on boards behind the counter.
A Hispanic family ahead of them ordered bowls of chili and salads.
“Looks good,” Joe said, eyeing their servings. “Maybe I’ll have a bowl.”
Willy said, “I’ll get the same. With a chef salad. You can be sure the chili is top notch if the locals eat here.”
They sat in a corner for as much privacy as possible in the large open dining area.
“You said when you were young you played piano professionally?”
“Yes, I was just sixteen. I worked in nightclubs.”
“How in the world did you manage that?”
“It began at church. Golly, I was only ten when they started me at the keyboard. First I played for the young people’s group. Then at regular Sunday services.
“Ours was an old-fashioned rural church. One of those little, white churches with a steeple.
You know, the sort you see in Norman Rockwell paintings. Nostalgic. Midwestern Methodist.
Simple, no-nonsense furnishings. The piano was its only concession to the modern world, taking the congregation from plain-vanilla a capella singing to piano accompaniment.
“One Sunday, when the regular pianist was on vacation, they brought me out of Sunday School to play for the adults’ service. It was a trip! I tell you. I felt suddenly ‘grown up.’ That really was the start of my piano career.”
~~~
“How in the world did you get from church to nightclubs, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Well, a family at our church had a son, Dwayne. He was a few years older than me. He and I were good friends. Both of us were musical. Whenever we got together, he on the keyboard as well, we played jazz. How I loved playing jazz. And I particularly loved Scott Joplin who was unknown back then. It was only through Dwayne that I got to know about him.
“But then, I had to be careful at home. Dad and mom didn’t care for me playing jazz instead of my lessons. They were snobbishly committed to Bach and Beethoven. So, my lessons were all classical. No jazz nonsense!
“Dwayne and I had to sneak our piano playing at either his house, or before church on Sundays. My folks thought it reverent of me going to church so early, way earlier than the start of my Sunday school classes. They did not know I was meeting Dwayne to play jazz. We had such a good time.
“Dwayne was three years older than me. One day he told me he took a job with a group in a nightclub. After he’d been there awhile he invited me to come down, see him play. My folks were not pleased. But they reluctantly consented, mostly because they didn’t want to offend Dwayne’s family, who were their good friends.
“Dwayne had me sit in for him on one set. What a thrill! I even lit up my first cigarette that evening. I felt like such an adult. Dwayne had me play some Scott Joplin. He thought I was really good on Joplin rags. The audience went wild. I think it was mainly because I was so young. Still only fifteen, and small for my age. But I had their attention. And that made me play all the better.
“I’ve got to tell you, I loved playing Joplin. Even playing other jazz musicians, like Ernest Hogan, Louis Chauvin, the Ragtime Kid Tom Turpin, especially his Harlem Rag. And of course, Otis Saunders’ Heliotrope Bouquet.
“When I got going on about the second or third rag, I’d get completely carried away! Like in a swoon. I’d go into the music itself. I can’t explain it.
“It was as if the notes were coming off the keyboard itself. Just one tune after another. Without let up. They just came to my fingers as I played. It was one of the best times in my life! I just loved playing those rags, and waltzes and cake walks!”
Chapter 4 -Night Club Gigs
They spoke little while they ate.
Joe swallowed and suddenly said, “It picks up speed from that point. Our crew’s leader asked me back a couple of weeks later. Said he’d pay me this time. Can you imagine? How it went to my head! Not quite sixteen and being paid to play. And in a nightclub. He said the crowd loved my ragtime pieces so much that he wanted to hire me to come regularly. Once a week. He would pay me. I mean it was more money per night than I’d ever imagined.
“And so, I managed to persuade my parents to let me go. They dickered with me. In the end though they thought it might keep me occupied. Have me doing something useful on Saturday nights. Instead of sitting in front of a TV screen. Or worse, ‘going out with the boys.’ They always grumbled, worried, and griped about my going out with the boys on Saturday nights.
Mom and Dad were sure I would get into something wicked, maybe drinking or drugging. So, they figured it was safer for me to go with Dwayne.”
Willy said, “What a story.”
~~~
“Yes. It was. For a while. Dwayne and I played between sets of the regular club group. I was such a straight-shooter at the time that I refused to drink or take any of the other things they passed around. Nothing but a cigarette at the end of the first set.
“Then it happened. There was a tumult just before the opening of the first set. And it seemed impulsive, but Hog, that’s the leader’s name, rushed me to the piano, whispered imperatively, “Gimme the opening bars!”
I did as he said. Not easy to look down at those inert piano keys with a blank mind and the whole crowd watching. But, in moments I was hitting a couple of chords, giving Hog his A, then waiting until Hog gave the signal to launch into the last eight bars of ‘I Can’t Give You Anything but Love, Baby,’ which was invariably our opening song each evening. That was it. Lonny was drunk when he showed up that night, and Hog made the switch pronto. Like lightning. And I became the group’s pianist.
“From then on, I loved the feeling of walking into that club, moving slowly up to the bandstand, standing there a moment to light a cigarette, calmly surveying the guests, then sitting down at the piano bench, playing those opening chords.
“On my better nights I could stand the audience on its ear with a rollicking barrelhouse rag, or tormented gutbucket blues.
“Everything I did in those days turned to gold. I was like King Midas. Great magic touch!
“One night a patron of the nightclub asked if I’d be willing to play at his daughter’s wedding reception. Her wedding was on Saturday. The reception was in the afternoon, going on into the evening. Again, my parents weren’t particularly happy, but reluctantly arranged to get me there and back. Dad recognized my patron as someone he’d met at a social event. Dad was a cardiologist. The president was one of Dad’s patients. So Dad was well-acquainted around DC.
“This gave Dad ideas. Though he didn’t let me in on it, he let his friends know what I was doing, for after all, it did not interfere with my school work. At least not at that time. So, through his friends I became a sought-after pianist for parties, especially what they were calling ‘retro’ parties.
“I was making such good money that I did something rash. I eloped with my girlfriend and got married. Neither my folks nor hers approved of our marriage. So, as I say, we took off one evening and got married, down in North Carolina where age was not a problem.
“Shortly we had two children, two boys. I loved them so much.”
Willy said, “You say loved them? Past tense? Has something happened?”
“More than something. Let me tell you about it in sequence. It is easier that way.”
Chapter 5 -One Day in May
They stacked their empty plastic bowls on their trays and settled in for a prolonged chat.
“You said tragedy?”
“Yes. A series of them. That’s what eventually set me off on drugs and drinking and my big downfall! I sure didn’t think I deserved to endure such suffering. That was my mistake.”
“How do you mean?”
“The mistake of believing I didn’t des
erve to endure such calamity. Here is what it comes down to. I was trying with all my might to show my parents that what I was doing was both respectable and highly moral. They were critical about each of my decisions – playing jazz, taking nightclub jobs, playing at parties, and especially running away to get married, and to the wrong girl, then having two children. One after the other.
“My parents expected me to follow in dad’s footsteps. They’d been touting ‘cardiology’ since before I could remember.
“It seemed that I couldn’t do anything right in their eyes. So, I was out to prove them wrong.
I would live as clean and moral a life as anyone at church. We had a fine apartment in a good, safe neighborhood. I took my wife and kids to church without fail. Every Sunday and on all special religious occasions.”
~~~
“Then one day in May. I was not yet nineteen. I got a call from the police. They notified me that my parents had been in a serious auto accident and that I ought to get to the hospital immediately. Of course I went to their bedside as quickly as I could. I hardly got there than Dad died. Mom lingered on for a while before she too went over to the other side. Two parents gone! On the same night! I couldn’t believe it. I was in such a state of shock. I still don’t know how I got through it.
“There was their funeral, of course. And all their friends and relatives to contend with. Then taking care of their house and all their unfinished affairs. It kept me busy in ways I’d prefer not to think about any more.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Willy said.
“There has been so much tragedy that I now have dry eyes. My eyes wept tears for so long, there aren’t any left.”
“I can see why.”
“Well, tragedy didn’t stop there. As I said, it was a series of them!”
Chapter 6 – More Grief