The Last Duke Of Kentucky(pg. 6)

     I didn't waste time with many formalities while I walked up to his jalopy and it was 90 degrees out here in Kentucky's Ohio Valley, "Hey gals, I'm Tim, so glad to meet y'all!" I jumped in the passenger's side and away we went.

     "Hit this liquor store on the right," I sounded off, I wanted to get these gals toasted. 

     We pulled in the liquor store and I thought the front wheel was going to fall off, this old clunker was barely running on two cylinders much less one, the brakes barely brought us to a crawl and no air condition. This boy didn't have much class or money, but the gals loved him just the same. One must bow to the absolute absurd at times and accept the glorious facts. 

     "Two-fifths of Jim Beam and a six pack of cokes sir," I hollered from the passenger side of the car and looking back at these two lovely dolls in the rear seat really set a complete lovely nuance within my brain. 

     "That'll be $14.69, and do you need some ice?" He said through the drive-in window and noticed or glanced back and saw the two lovely promiscuous gals in the rear seat and looked at us and smiled. 

     I gave Joey $15.00 dollars to hand over to him and said, "no ice, keep the change." 

     We headed through town and Joey practically turned up a fifth of Beam right in front of a sitting cop in a patrol car, and luckily for us, he didn't notice us and why we didn't stand out in this old pile of junk like sitting ducks is another mystery to me. 

     "Man let's get out of town and take a slow country tour," I said it hopes that would sway Joey from driving with two bottles of whiskey in broad daylight through town.

     "Yeah man, sounds good," Joey said while feeling already giddy and brave from several shots of whiskey from the bottle. 

     He then drove off a steep hill and was flying, really accelerating, and I bit my tongue in complete fear, and I screamed out, "slow down!" 

     "Man come on, I wanted to jump this creek below here, see," as he slowed down he pointed to a dirt pile over a creek, that was mowed off neatly but the jump was risky, it was a 15 foot drop off into a bedrock of limestone if you didn't make the jump and the jump itself was over 20 feet, and we sure didn't have an old 1969 Dodge Charger with a V8-powered engine either.

                                                                    6 

The Last Duke Of Kentucky(pg. 5)

     The Bluegrass Tavern was a very unique place, Joe Lawrence hired a professional artist to paint his walls with art years ago, the back wall was a magnificent art rendering of the famous Triple Crown winner Secretariat, this portrait covered the whole back wall, this artist asked for no compensation other than free mugs of beer while painting; his portrait of Joe Lawrence pouring a mug of beer with a cigar in his mouth still hangs on the wall there,  along with a portrait of the original Blues Brothers, Jake, and Elwood, several other modern portraits of oddity hangs there as well. Now, the artist's son painted a canvas of artwork of Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night all over the back wall and ceiling where Secretariat once stood, and he painted it with premium acrylic paint and strontium aluminate glow powder, very lasting glow in the dark glow paint. Quite something to behold at night. After several mugs of draft beer, one can really slip away into the decadence of artwork there, I still loaf in wonder there staring all night.  I have no idea who made off with the Secretariat piece, whoever owns it has a great piece of artwork. 
     I was shooting pool at Joe's, Joe's was actually called the Bluegrass Tavern, but all of us faithful drinkers and patrons just simply called it "Joe's." I loved shooting pool there, Joe had the best and cleanest pool tables around, had it cut off away from the bar, but the walls were sectioned off halfway down and Joe had barstools alongside the cutoff-sectional walls where bystanders could sip their mugs of cold draft beer and enjoy a great game of pool, and trust me, there were great hustlers in that little joint and Joe Lawrence could shoot with the best of them, and I never saw Joe Lawrence back away from a bet to shoot pool. 
     I was shooting a game for pleasure, I rarely shot for money, I wasn't that good of a shot, but loved the game, but I sunk the eight ball when Joey Hilton arrived and he immediately spotted me and I knew I was going to lose another twenty.
     "Hey, Tim, can I talk to you for a second," that was always the key opening of getting the sad stories, and can I borrow money and who never has one intention to ever pay you back.
     "Yeah man, what do you need?" I blurted out loud to embarrass him. 
     "Man I got these two hot gals out in the car, but I'm broke, do you want to come along?" He said with anxiousness.
     "Hell yes," I said feeling quite horny after I saw these gals lovely faces outside venturing into what I haven't a clue, but I jumped in the car and off to the liquor store we went. 

                                                                       5  

  

The Last Duke Of Kentucky(pg. 4)

     Now, there were some characters too that hanged around and fraternized in our inner circles, many clowns, ladies of easy persuasion, and some who looked like a steamroller ran over them and then backed up on them with a bulldozer and had eyes that were so sunken in their heads they looked like they were peeping out of a Hubble Telescope the other way. The owner of the Bluegrass Tavern was Joe Lawrence, and he was a great and faithful bartender as well, the man loved his weed too, yet was a great guy, who once saw a man get his brains splattered all over his bar by a killer with a .44 and this shook him up for quite some time, for no one forgets a tragedy like this. 
     I saw many fights that go with hanging around with drunken people, but Joe Lawrence nipped many fights in the bud before they got out of hand, but many were outside and in the dark, this man who thought he was a boxer messed with the wrong dude one night, I thought the man killed the supposed boxer into submission, he really beat him severely, but I grabbed the man off him realizing the man was unconscious, but the man tried me, but I said in defense, "look sir, he's knocked out, do you want to kill him?"He came to his senses and I let the injured man up, and then led the man to his car, thank God his friend got him to safety. I learn to fight by a black man who was a golden glove boxer in the army, so when it was time for me to fight, well I could and I rarely ever got hit because quickness and where to hit a man was the key, shots to the temple or a nose shot usually brought the end to any fight. 
     I also frequent another lounge across the river called Boots N Bourbon, a nice nightclub where music was played by real musicians, and ladies loved that, they loved bodies brushed up against them on those hot nights, and I always snagged the prettiest lady in there, but late one night in came Joey Hilton, drunk on whiskey, and he was looking for trouble, immediately he knocked a bouncer out cold, then another, the bartender called the police, and I walked up to Joey and said, "hey, calm down!" He then knocked me over a chair that bent the chair opposite of the way it normally bends, I took the shot without getting knocked out cold, but Lord I  hurt for three weeks after that in my back. Joey walked out and how he managed to stay out of jail over that is still a mystery to me. 
                                                                      
                                                                       4

                                                                            

The Last Duke Of Kentucky(pg. 3)

     We moved to Louisville later that year, I found a job, but it wasn't enough for a family of three, so I enrolled in the University of Louisville. There I found refuge in education and a timeout from a woman who always wanted more, far more than my supplement of a pittance, and a spoiled rotten son who refused to work. I eventually grew tired of this, for I was 15 years younger than my wife, my virility still much intact, so divorce was inevitable, we moved our separate ways, and I never missed one step as far as picking up and loving and leaving women, life was too short, way too short having an old hag yapping down my throat at every turn. Goodbye Bunny, sayonara, good luck I said, at a distance, I'd love to have seen her eyes when those divorce papers showed up at her mailbox, mistakes made are experiences rendered.
     I moved back to Bardstown on the weekends and stayed with my dearest mother in a quiet room in her duplex condo, there in Bardstown again I found my welcoming, old friends, young women, and endless entertainment. I frequently attended this bar called the Bluegrass Tavern, there I would drink my beer and shoot the bull, and picked up the endless young gals that entered there. One particular Friday night here enters Joey Hilton, who was bigger than he ever was, he just got out of prison and clearly, he pumped a lot of pain in there. He saw me and immediately headed my way, told me his life story in a minute, and more importantly, said he was broke. 
     "Hey Tim, can I borrow twenty?" He said with despair and sympathy.
     "I haven't found a job yet, I just got out of prison," he added.
     "I guess, but promise to pay me back," I said knowing that was a stupid promise, no one in Bardstown ever paid a soul back. 
     Joey said, "thanks Tim, love you, brother!" 
     Joey then shot pool awhile, and I drank a few and then met up with a young pretty gal and we left together and headed out to my buddy's home. I was enjoying my single status. These gals in Bardstown were plentiful and beautiful and thought what a fool was I for marrying an older lady who didn't have any education beyond the school who dismissed her. Things were looking up, and I was enjoying one of the best summers of my life. 

                                                                       3
       . 

The Last Duke Of Kentucky(pg.2)

     I never knew until years later that Joey Hilton Sr. was Joey Hilton Junior's father, I worked for Joey Sr. for a few years when jobs were not to be found, very hard exhausting job of caring bricks and mortar all day in 90 degrees weather wasn't ideal work for any young man, and Joey Hilton was a bad drunk, they(his other bricklayer) worked for about three weeks and would stay drunk for a month, I can't believe I stayed in this cycle for a couple of years, I became a drunk like them. I was an exceptional card player, many times would clean these drunks out and I missed work because I had my rent money from my winnings, they always came for me though and pressed me to play, because they wanted their money back, but I wiped them out and stole their girlfriends too, sad existence it was, but I managed to stay focus on being young and free. 
     I finally moved away from Bardstown in the mid-1980s, because jobs were not to be found that suited my style, I moved to Danville and met my wife, we lived together in her dainty apartment with her son, I really had the time of my life with her in this era of mediocrity, we survived on love and joy, drank rum daiquiris all summer long and made sweet love each night all night long, one of the happiest times of my life, but reality hit, we were out of money, so we loaded up my Subaru Station wagon and headed toward the south in sunny Florida. We got married there in Orlando's courthouse and stayed with my dearest friend Paul, who was my best man, and we drank a case of wine that night, yes I bought a case of wine and me, my wife, Paul and Paul's girlfriend were hammered until sunset. 
     I loved Paul, but he was a bit of a drug addict and not too motivated as far as jobs go, I ventured on without him, and I and my wife Bunny moved up the road from them, into a room adjacent to a little ole lady who was from Kentucky too for whom we rented from, a sweet lady, not nosy and I helped her all I could, and she would cut my rent in half with my renovations too, but somehow this didn't please my wife, so after about a year in Florida my wife longed for Kentucky, she missed her son, who was an 18 year old stripling, but still needed mommy's hands and money. So, back to Kentucky, we went. We arrived in Danville in March of 1987, and things started to go south for me and Bunny, she wanted her son to live with us, which was fine with me, but the kid refused to work, always borrowing money and staying out late playing music and doing drugs, now trust me, I'm no hypocrite, I too did some stuff I was never proud of, but I always worked, never borrowed a dime from no one, I never was a smoocher.

                                                                        2

The Last Duke Of Kentucky(pg.1)

Prologue: A true story of some kid who grew up way too quick to become something more than he was ever bred to be; I was this kid's mentor early in this boy's life even though I wasn't that much older than he was, but soon the pupil rose beyond.


                                                The Last Duke of Kentucky 

     Growing up in Bardstown wasn't any different than any other town in the south, very limited in entertaining some punk kids who thought they knew everything under the sun at a young age, we managed to graduate from high school and get our driver's licenses and scraped up enough cash for a decent ride, and we cruised the streets of Bardstown, we were so cool, the gals honked and we waved back, the beat was a two-mile looping radius that every young fool drove until the night was morning-banality of teenage wasteland. 
     I had a '75 Grand Prix, and it could outrun God's wrath, it had an 8-cyl. 400cid/185hp-4bbl, and I did, I won so much money racing, that no one would race or bet me, no Firebird Trans Am, no Camaro, nothing could outrun my Grand Prix. I pulled up one day at the local Pizza hangout, where we knew the owner and drank draft beer in cups in the back, and one day sitting in here runs in Joey Hilton, a younger kid about 15, and who looked exactly like John Elway the quarterback, he was so ambitious and arrogant, I heard a ruckus up front and I checked out the barking, and it was the new kid in town Joey Hilton, busting the owner's chops for not serving him a beer, I looked at him, and said, "hey kid, come and sit down with me," and he smiled and did. 
     "Hey, I'm Tim Hardesty," as I held out my hand.
     "I'm Joey Hilton," as the kid grabbed my hand in unison, and nearly shook it off, damn this kid was stout. 
     "Here, take a swig, but do it in the booth, I don't want to piss off our owner and friend," I said looking at the manager who seemed so glad I took over that mess and winked back at me.
     The kid ended up killing my drink, but that was fine with me. I grabbed my jacket and was headed toward the door when the kid fired back, "where ya going?"
     "I'm headed home, have to work tomorrow."
     "Can you give me a lift?" He said pleading for a ride home.
     "Yes, come on," I said because I too was in the same shoes once.
      He grabbed his cheap coat and we walked to my car and he glanced at my ride and his eyes were like a kid's eyes at Christmas time, he knew cars for a young kid very well.

                                                                        1

The Power Of Fear

Salud to your prison sentence,
welcome to your earthly misery,
subdued by the wealthy, subservient
to their demands, the meek become the
stinking weak, stripped from every right
and ripped from every opportunity, families
starving, but we must feed the rich first, obey
or be pushed into submission, the middle class
have become the needy, the rich love their inflicting
ambush, controlled by the propaganda that manipulates
the mass, we will take care of you, poison you with drugged
water and food, you'll bend and mold to "our needs always," 
their mantra; their hands soft and always reaching out for
more, they own the global economy and dictate every curve,
they laugh at the poor, scoff at the weakminded and spit on
the working class, but out of the cesspools of wanton abandonment 
rises the modern day Spartacus, he says, "no more," they realize then
they are many and the Oligarchs are just a measly few, they call for
Revolution, and win, and America rises again from the slums of poverty
and the rich become our servants, and history will reside until that certain distinctive 
class of individuals for whom thinks themselves the hierarchy, 
will slowly rise to the top by stealing, con artistry, and manipulating their 
way back to the top of the mountain and history will blow up that mountain, and 
all shall come falling down again and again-Selah, Selah, Selah! 

The Little People(pg. 8)

     Life in Kentucky in the 1980s was very hard, there were no jobs, no money, and very few opportunities. I survived here and there, and really had no life to speak of, no girl would date a busted man, yes, there was plenty of love but very few chances to select the pretty ones I truly wanted, they simply would not give me the time of day much less a look, I was poor white trash, but I found my love in the bars and field parties, those girls were in abundance. We just passed around the hat so to speak, I always wore protection from future pregnancies, but mainly from diseases. 
     Dad came to my graduation at school and glancing back, I think my graduation and my older sister Kathy's graduation was the only ones he ever attended. Mom took photos with me and dad, he truly was proud of me and this made me very proud, one of my proudest moments in this melancholic world. 
     Dad was suffering from cirrhosis of the liver and every doctor warned him to quit drinking or die, now dad would drink anything once he ran out, and I swear he drank my cheap aftershave lotion of Aqua Velva, that alone made me almost throw up. He wouldn't quit though, this poor soldier of weakness, as sickness swept through him. I left that morning on December 31, it was on a Thursday, where most folks got off work being New Year's Eve, I had to work half a day, but I had plans to go out and celebrate the new year, but before I clocked out at work, my boss William Smith, ran out and made a sudden almost frantic plea, telling me to go home first, because there's something that came up and needed my immediate attention. I was terrified, I thought my brother first was dead because he was just diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis,  now tears were rolling down, I pulled in our driveway, everyone was there, I walked up to the front door, and Kevin one of my dearest brothers who I thought was dead came out and said, "dad died," and I was relieved instantly, because we all knew dad was on his last leg, but I couldn't bear losing my older brother this quick in life. They already took dad to the funeral home by the time I arrived, the coroner ruled his death "natural causes" and my family buried dad with a lie, because he overdosed on a bottle of Valium, but we kept this between our family for years. Now, looking back, poor dad surrendered to those Little People, they took him home where only the spirits dwell beyond the foothills of Kentucky. 

                                                                 The End

                                                                        8

The Dark Woods

Every day I get closer to this elusive woods
but my youth kept me in the meadow
now, the trees are bare, I can see through
the stripped forest, the nakedness makes it seem
so frail, so empty, so hollow, like me,
I walked through the downtrodden leaves, only to
hear the decaying crunch of another year, I no
longer fear the jaunt through this woods, my
courage withdrawn, nothing left to chance,
nothing to gain yet, Spring came, colored her
forest in garnet green, the color of life, and now
she's clothed again with mystery, I cannot go
through her thick woods, she's filled with death, even
though she's draped in green up to her nape, yet they're 
in there, they're out to take me to my home of no return,
I do a U-turn and laugh, and call myself a coward, but
I won't travel through this woods where my friend committed
suicide on that warm day in Spring.

- John Hardesty 

The Little People(pg.7)

     My life was adrift between caring for my dad and now my own well being, the residue of this melancholy was running through me like some curse that was misplaced because I thought that only happened to bad people, I was a God fearing man, Lord only knows. I became our dad's watchdog, everything he did was on my watch, it seems to me that the rest of the family turned their backs on dad, either moving on with their own lives or burying deep the past of their sick and alcoholic father.
     Dad nearly died on many occasions, once from a shot through the chest with a self-inflicted bullet from a .22 rifle, then a coma, followed by endless upon endlessly drinking binges that wore upon him harder than the last, each convulsion became worse than the following one, he became erratic in thought and forgot many things, he truly wanted to end his aggravated life, this was ultimately the bottom line.  
     How my poor mother kept it together still is a mystery to me, she endured more than most endured in three lifetimes, she wanted to leave dad many times but only stayed on because she loved him and our family. She was the greatest mother on earth, always gave up her suffering to God, her only salvation was to Him the one who wrought all this misery. My thoughts on God have changed dramatically over the years if a God imposes this kind of grief on one family, then what kind of God is this? 
     Dad escaped death each time like Houdini, each feat greater than the last, and like Houdini embraced death like a warm jacket, this went on far too long, tight-roping death isn't glamorous and it surely isn't pretty looking at it up close. How long I thought can dad survive this game because to him that's what it seemed to be. Every single day was a troubling day for me because dad trumped everything before his last act, nothing he did really surprised me anymore, you grow to expect the unexpected, plan on seeing the most obscene, and accepting the things you can't change, much like the Serenity prayer we were taught at St. Thomas  School. But, breathe in the vastly despairing melancholy, it shall never leave you.  

                                                                         7
      

The Grand Finale

The uncertainty of the insanity,
waiting for the outcome,
the flustering finish,
to lope the boundary
beyond life's emblem
that separate man and myth,
to hoist above the earthly petard
that holds every creature to
this opprobrium we so lastingly 
hold on to for dear life, 
an incredible journey, we all cross
this nubilous and dubious barrier 
of disposition, we all run from it, conceal 
it with work, play, and monotony,
but, in the end, we lose it all, 
for my god is the morning star that 
shines through my window, this god
warms me, feeds me, and nourishes me,
unlike the myth that does not yield 
anything other than an obligation of
bent knees and tithe, I'll take my chances
breathing in despair than losing it to 
some obnoxious fable that steals and replaces 
my happiness with guilt and oppresses
my self-worth, no puckish allegories,
no more wasting away my life with
some penchant of salvation that destroyed
half my life with a lie. 

 - John Hardesty 

The Little People(pg. 6)

     I was dad's shepherd, I monitored everything, watched him so he wouldn't hurt anyone or mostly himself. Once he was so mad at me he chased me around with an ax, I doubt he had the strength or courage to physically hurt me but still I kept my distance, he would tire quickly. Lord, this went on so much it was almost routine until he had convulsions coming off the booze, then it turned deadly, once he almost choked to death by swallowing his tongue, I stuck a pencil in his mouth once while he was shaking, it was like a King's Island ride, but far scarer this was my dad's life. He went through Hell and back, I really got to know him better and many times took up for his drinking, all my sisters thought dad was just a drunk, they really never knew how he suffered and what he endured, mom did, but she grew very tired of babysitting a sick child.  
     My mother eventually had dad admitted to Our Lady Of Peace, a hospital for alcoholics and the mentally impaired. Dad hated that place, he called Bobby his brother, my dear hero, to come to pick him up, and like the saint Uncle Bobby was, he always obliged, Uncle Bobby was involved too with health problems, he was burnt from head to toe by an explosion at Louisville's G.E. plant back in the 1970s, but he was tough like all the Hardesty's were, he loved my dad so much, and I loved him back for it, and he was the greatest uncle in the world too. 
     Dad eventually came home again, like always, promised to stay on the straight and narrow, but like clockwork on the calendar of the third month he'd break over. Once mom took him all way to Danville to see some psychiatrist, the shrink loved dad, told my mother that he was an extremely intelligent person, and we got the call one night that dad's shrink went home and blew his own brains out. Tragedy has many stories but always has only one end.  
     I finally found a job at a local beer distributor and worked now 40 hours a week, I could no longer watch dad with safe vigils, there's a time for all things and all things come to an eventual end. I enjoyed my job, but the pay scale didn't quite fit the work, I worked my tail off, and really had nothing at the end of the week, but saved money by living at home. 

                                                                  6

The Censurer

The bow-tied critic,
The butchering cynic, 
The hackneyed septic, 
The judicial Tu Quogue heretic, 
The purple prose linguistic,
The barb-eyed idiolect,
The coyly satirical euphemistic, 
The blue-stocking cryptic, 
The plosive acerbic, 
The annotated generic,
The diacritical rubric, 
The pontificated skeptic,
The non sequitur idiot. 

©️ 3/05/2013

 - John Hardesty 

The Little People(pg. 5)

     Dad managed or coped staying sober with his drinking almost 6 months until he had that thirst like most alcoholics crave, and to the liquor store and back to the basement, I came home from work and he was plastered on the couch, he was always quiet when he first started to drink, but trying to hide his drinking was like keeping the sun from shining, impossible. 
     "Well, I see you're back drinking dad, congratulations," I said in an upsetting tone.
     "What? I'm not drinking a thing!" Dad said with an unconcealed slur. 
     "Whatever dad."
     He was truly sorry I know for his own weakness, he was a fragile man, disturbed man, and a very troubled man, he once told me and he was very sincere, that the reason he drank was that each time he felt a convulsion coming on it was like his own death coming, and he never has a convulsion drinking booze. 
     Mom came home and was not surprised he was drunk, she knew he was way overdue for a drinking binge, she remained stoic to the wreck and ruin. My mother was a great woman, really believed in God, and prayed for help every day of worship and prayer. I grew very tired of the unanswered prayers and wandered far away from God, still think to this very day it's all bullshit. 
     "Well make sure he has plenty of water, don't need him prowling at night with those DTs again," mom said with a seriousness only a mother could know. 
     "I already placed a jug of water beside him." 
     "Okay, please don't talk back to him today, I need some peace and quiet," mom said pleading her sanity. 
     "I didn't mom, I know he's a helpless case," I said giving her a reprieve of assurance. 
     The night came and dad was snoring away, he never slept well on any given night and the whiskey was his sleeping medicine. He never slept very long though, always in short durations, then another swig or two, and back to that stupored sleep. Somehow he lived through this cycle for years is still a mystery to me, unbelievable how a person can abuse himself and yet recover time after time. He was an incredible specimen that's for sure. 

                                                                          5  
    

The Little People(pg. 4)

     My mom assured me he would be okay once he stopped drinking, she then called my uncle Bobby, my dad's brother who is my favorite of all uncles, this man is my hero, love him like no other-nonpareil, uncle Bobby could handle my dad effortlessly, dad left with him without incident of any kind, uncle Bobby's system of slowly weaning him off the booze was even better because dad wasn't here in our household, we all got a decent night's rest without dad walking around at night in harm's way. 

     I wanted to know more about these DTs, so I headed to the library, and was astounded of what I've found, they're like shaman-like trances brought on by depletion of water and food, Lord, my dad wouldn't eat food for several weeks, but would take a gulp of water by the bed from the gallon of water we always placed beside him, he simply went into this altered state of consciousness, while some who enter this realm have either a benevolent vision or a malevolent vision, my dad had a dreadful and horrid vision of "little people" and it tormented him. My dad simply went far past the supernatural realm of the sane, he entered the realm of Hell. Many times this type of sickness pushes them to the brink of insanity or death. 

     I searched endlessly about some reference to the "little people" and found that the North American Indian tribe of the great Cherokee had the Yunwi Djunsti or "Little People" who were two feet tall with long hair, they are known to lead people lost in the woods and to their deaths, they have been known to throw sticks and arrows and to drive that person to insanity and eventually to their own death.  

     My God I thought poor dad. He has endured more pain than the average drunk, his misery is far worse than I thought and we must get him some professional help. A month past and uncle Bobby brought dad home sober and clean, we were very thankful. But, for how long? 

     "Hey, dad, welcome home,"  I said with vigorous enthusiasm.

     "I'm sorry for hurting anyone and I love you all very much," dad said with a bleeding heart and I truly believed he meant it. 

                                                                        4