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| Me at Kerouac's grave in 2016 |
Each year I try to opine about Jack Kerouac's death on this date, October 21, in 1969 at the young age of 47. So much has been said already that it becomes hard to find new words with which to remember the person without whose life this blog would not exist, nor would my book, The Beat Handbook: 100 Days of Kerouactions.
So I owe that guy a lot, for a lifetime-and-then-some's worth of reading, for friends made, for opportunities given and taken.
I haven't been to Lowell or to his grave there since 2016. It just hasn't been in the cards, and -- because of the Trump virus -- this year, of course, they (wisely) didn't hold an in-person Lowell Celebrates Kerouac! event to draw me there.
Given his love for the world -- as evidenced in his writing -- I wonder what Jack would have thought of the situation we are in, with half the country hating the other half and almost a quarter million Americans dead. Would he wear a mask? Would he practice social distancing? We can only guess, but what I'm sure of is that, were he still around, he would shake his head at all the hate.
Someone famous once said, "Love one another." Keeping in mind that the hardest people to love are the ones who need it the most, I think we need to get back to the garden on this one or we're fucked as a species.
Enough for today. We remember you, Jack Kerouac. RIP.
P.S. For past musings on or about this date, see my blog post from last year HERE.
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