THE KNIFE OF THE SAINT
Shewho and I tip-toed around our obvious mutual attraction for a while. She was involved with a friend of mine from back in SF and even though BB and I didn't live together we were definitely trying to build a solid reletionship. For the time being it remained just flirtation. The band had recorded and was shopping a cassette (CDs hadn't been invented). We decided to hold church services only when someone in the congregation died. The buzzards were circling. We wouldn't have to wait long. I'd recieved an NEA grant in 1984 and again in '87. Miamigo, who had landed a teaching job at SFAI, invited me back to Cali to teach. The timing seemed good to get out of town. The EV was getting smaller and smaller.
Even though I'd lectured numerous times at the art institute, I'd never had an official teaching job. Thankfully, the administration turned over enough times to allow me to slip under the radar. They'd forgotten who I was. It didn't take long for me to blow it and get kicked out of The Bunker by allowing my class to paint a mural on the white walls. Not wanting to impose on Miamigo, I rented a room at Bishop McCloud's youth hostel. The room came with a lovely young lady who happened to be the daughter of a the head of the Canadian Hell's Angels, who was currently serving life for killing two Mounties. We hit it off and decided to split the cost of the bed. Rule of thumb was any indescretion over 50 miles outside of town wasn't considered cheating. I was completely innocent. The Bishop looked after the Hell's Angel princess and in turn the HA's kept an eye out for him. He insisted the FBI had him under surviellance, because of his massive blotter acid art collection (which I wrote off as paranoia). Turned out he was right. In the ensuing years he'd be arrested twice and beat it twice. The Bishop had good lawyers in the family.
One night we sat in the living room, listening to vintage SF garage rock and testing the blotter when The Bishop handed me a large knife in an ancient wooden and cloth weave scabbard. "What's this?" I asked. "Junnipera Serra's knife." he said smiling. Father Junnipera Serra was a Spanish missionary who is considered the founder of the old SF mission. I held in my hands the blade of the man who was the emissary of the Pope and Spanish empire in the new world. How much indiginous blood stained the steel? "Where'd you get it?" I asked slipping it from the sheath. The Bishop's eyes twinkled. "I was a student at Santa Clara. We got drunk one night and broke in the museum. Like it?" That was an understatement. "I'll trade you a Kristan Kohl painting." I proposed. I think the thing creeped out The Bishop. He agreed to the trade. The next day I recieved word that I'd been awarded a NYS Foundation grant and bought 12 squares of blotter (6 dosed, 6 plain paper). I had idea for a class project called "Acid Test". Could my students tell which contained the LSD?
Even though I'd lectured numerous times at the art institute, I'd never had an official teaching job. Thankfully, the administration turned over enough times to allow me to slip under the radar. They'd forgotten who I was. It didn't take long for me to blow it and get kicked out of The Bunker by allowing my class to paint a mural on the white walls. Not wanting to impose on Miamigo, I rented a room at Bishop McCloud's youth hostel. The room came with a lovely young lady who happened to be the daughter of a the head of the Canadian Hell's Angels, who was currently serving life for killing two Mounties. We hit it off and decided to split the cost of the bed. Rule of thumb was any indescretion over 50 miles outside of town wasn't considered cheating. I was completely innocent. The Bishop looked after the Hell's Angel princess and in turn the HA's kept an eye out for him. He insisted the FBI had him under surviellance, because of his massive blotter acid art collection (which I wrote off as paranoia). Turned out he was right. In the ensuing years he'd be arrested twice and beat it twice. The Bishop had good lawyers in the family.
One night we sat in the living room, listening to vintage SF garage rock and testing the blotter when The Bishop handed me a large knife in an ancient wooden and cloth weave scabbard. "What's this?" I asked. "Junnipera Serra's knife." he said smiling. Father Junnipera Serra was a Spanish missionary who is considered the founder of the old SF mission. I held in my hands the blade of the man who was the emissary of the Pope and Spanish empire in the new world. How much indiginous blood stained the steel? "Where'd you get it?" I asked slipping it from the sheath. The Bishop's eyes twinkled. "I was a student at Santa Clara. We got drunk one night and broke in the museum. Like it?" That was an understatement. "I'll trade you a Kristan Kohl painting." I proposed. I think the thing creeped out The Bishop. He agreed to the trade. The next day I recieved word that I'd been awarded a NYS Foundation grant and bought 12 squares of blotter (6 dosed, 6 plain paper). I had idea for a class project called "Acid Test". Could my students tell which contained the LSD?
posted by mike osterhout at 9:09 AM
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