Ort is no more

The obits are fast and furious this month. Another Athens icon has slipped the coil: William Orten Carlton has passed at the age of 73.

Our first day as residents in Athens, me and the the missus were waiting to get a document from a teller at Wells Fargo Bank and were next in line after Ort who without introduction, hesitation, or prelude of any sort started telling us about some records he found stashed at the bottom of the pile of clothes (fill a garbage bag for a dollar) at the Potters House Thrift Store (that’s what they call charity shops in the States, brits). When he took a breath, we both pointed at the unoccupied teller window and noticed the teller wince as he headed toward her and tried, unsuccessfully, to cash a check (cheque) for $1.37 which was declined because he had an account that required a minimum balance of $5. The negotiation went on for at least a half hour.

You’d run into Ort everywhere, though. At the Globe, in the library, or parked in front of the records or old magazines in another thrift shop near the 40 Watt when it was on Clayton (or Washington? long time ago, now). You could never be sure if he was a customer or employee at any of these because he always acted like he owned the place.

The photo I captured from the web is captioned, “Ort is in jail without bond for not cleaning up his yard” and why should that a) have happened and b) surprise anyone.

Rest well, weirdo.

RIP: Todd McBride

I used to show up at my High School at 7:30 in the morning having showered up after the graveyard shift at Dundee Mills (Plant #2 where the towels were finished) and hang out on the steps of the Old School building where other geeks with less bleak lives would arrive in ten to fifteen minutes ahead of the first bell at around, I think I’m remembering this correctly, 8 am. They were all a couple years younger than me and much more straight laced and I probably steered one or more of them down a bad path or two that they wouldn’t have found on their own.

One of them who walked his own path was a pan faced, grinning goober named Todd McBride, who I mentioned recently. I had an inside track to concert tickets at that particular time and he wore, at least three days a week, a Bruce Springsteen t-shirt which I regularly mocked because — primarily — I didn’t know any better. As a taunt, more than anything else, I got pretty good seats to see the E Street Band at the Omni and came back both chastened and convinced.

A few years, an early discharge from the Army, and a lot of acid and laughs later I was on the skids and, as he was moving out of this falling down rental house on the outskirts of Griffin Georgia I moved in and took over responsibility for the $15 per month rent on his old room when he moved to Athens (we — the other roommates who I’m sure I will someday sadly eulogize much to everyone’s surprise and chagrin, from way back then — tapped electrics off the neighbours meter and turned the city water on at the street whenever we occasionally needed a shower or to wash dishes). Others from then have already since passed, an unsurprisingly large number of them by their own hand so I bring up here his family’s wish that any remembrance take its form in a donation to Nuci’s Space. Please mention Todd and (or) Vic Chesnutt in your remembrance donation…it will mean a lot to their people.

He went on to fame and no fortune at all. That’s a pity. Athens will be a smaller town without him. Photo from the web:

Heroic

Of the notebooks, some of the best are the pocket ones I carried around while still in graduate school.

Heroic was often used (in this notebook, perhaps others) to describe excessively high ingestion of psychedelics. For instance, if I had a day off and 6.5g of dried Golden Teacher mushrooms I COULD do two very high doses or one ‘heroic’ dose. Typically, I would eat the heroic dose, go for a run, then come home to listen to music and let my ego collapse under its own weight (and, that of the fungus) for the next 6 hours.

Something I now find truly heroic is an entry from 15 November 2000 where Jackie, in the passenger seat of our car, started humming the theme to “I Love Lucy.” We were at a stop light, and she saw me giving her the side-eye. Pointing to the car ahead of us, she said, “see.” It had a “I Love Jesus” bumper sticker. We were home before I told her she had misread it.

Here’s another entry from one year to the day before the World Trade Center destruction:

Pulled up to the Burger King drive thru. The squawk voice asked, “Would you like to purchase a Backstreet Boys video or CD, today?”
I looked to my right, into the rearview mirror, up at the building…dumbfounded.
“Hello, is anyone there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Wait…I’ve GOT to come in.”
Met at the door by the manager who asked, “is there a problem, sir?”
“Yes, there is. Your cashier is trying to sell me her Backstreet Boys collection.”
“Yes, sir, that’s our new promotion.”
“Oh. My god. That’s awful. Can I get 3 burgers and a Coke?”
“For here?”
“Noooooooooooooo.”

Athens, GA, September 11, 2000

Oh, I had the day off, today.