The Fool's Journey Day after day, alone on the hill the man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still It's a gray day, and I keep thinking about Detroit. Recalling the day I  arrived with my six-month-old baby, had no place to stay, and no money. The  situation felt deliciously dangerous to me. I should have been scared, but  wasn't. The phantom of the blind faith that I had in Detroit, that  "everything would work out fine," returns when called. An aged shadow of  hope, cloaked in Fool's faith, has been my constant companion. but nobody wants to know him they can see that he's just a fool and he never gives an answer I rode from New Mexico to Michigan in the back seat of a 1967 navy blue  fastback Mustang. I don't remember the tiny baby balanced across my knees  ever complaining, just her smiles. While I was hungry most of the time, she  was getting plenty of mother's milk. It's a good thing that I was thin as a  pretzel, because I was flanked by two fellow commune comrades, also holding  babies in that Mustang. That road trip ended in Detroit, October 1970. But the fool on the hill sees the sun going down The riots of 1968 had left Detroit's inner city looking like a war zone.  Towering old brick houses that had once belonged to the rich were in varying  states of decomposition. Scavengers were robbing the finely carved and  crafted woodwork from their insides, leaving only rats and ghosts behind.  Most of the faces that remained in the windows of these crumbling old houses  were dark skinned and brooding. My white skin felt like a flashing neon sign  that read, "You don't belong here." and the eyes in his head see the world spinning around Somebody in the commune knew an old guy who was "cool" and living in one of  the rundown brick mansions. He let us "crash" at his pad until we found a  house to rent. I remember his slightly balding head, and how he tried to put  the free-love-make on every woman in our group. I don't recall his name,  (maybe Al?) or if he was successful or not. I do remember that he left the  nursing mothers alone. Well on the way head in a cloud the man of a thousand voices  talking perfectly loud Within a couple of weeks we rented a house down the street from an obese  trickster named "Bobo." It was next door to "Andre the Pimp" who was helping  local high school girls earn some money after school. The mattresses on his  floor were framed with red velvet drapes, and foot traffic to his front door  seemed unending. Andre had the biggest Afro I'd ever seen, and drove a lime  green Cadillac El Dorado with a leopard skin landau top. It was months before  we figured out that Bobo didn't own the house he rented to us. It was an  abandoned building. But nobody ever hears him or the sound he appears to make and he never seems to notice There was no money for food. We became experts at sorting the trash bins  behind the A&P grocery store looking for wilted produce, and other edibles.  Combining veggies with bread we got from Mother Walker's foster care home  satisfied our hunger. Toasted raisin bread was the all-around favorite, and  occasionally there was a little margarine or peanut butter to divvy up. We  became excellent foragers, by combining both hunting and gathering skills.  But the fool on the hill sees the sun going down The retelling of the Detroit saga may sound horrible, but it didn't seem like  it at the time. Everyone knows that money can't buy you love or happiness.  Our group had big plans, and just needed a little time to get them started.  We pooled our energies and immediately started to connect with everyone in  the community. Some of us got jobs while others became involved in local  politics. A local politician named Ed Brown befriended us. He connected us  with inner city programs, and hired us for roofing jobs. We became the people  from "Tacos, New Mexico," because no one could pronounce Taos. and the eyes in his head see the world spinning around I got a job working in the camera department of Hudson's Department store in  downtown Detroit. I would go to the company cafeteria for lunch, eat my  bread, and fantasize that it was lemon meringue pie or something equally as  delicious. I struggled with my mother's milk in the black marble restrooms  during my breaks. Our inadequate collective paychecks did manage to feed and  house us during that first winter in Detroit. And nobody seems to like him they can tell what he wants to do and he never shows his feelings Christmas came and went that year, and only the department stores celebrated.  Their lights and tinsel only magnified our self-imposed poverty. The "hawk"  attacked me with his coldness outdoors, and made a forced entry into our old  house. He made it impossible to stay warm, so we huddled together wearing  coats and hats inside the drafty house.  Our hot water radiator heating  system never seemed to get beyond lukewarm.  But the fool on the hill sees the sun going down All the children caught chicken pox that winter in the Motor City. Just when  the disease had seemed to run it's course I came down with it. The sores  covered every place on my body, including the inside of my mouth and the  soles of my feet. The itching drove me temporarily insane, and I couldn't  bear to look in a mirror at my scab encrusted teenage face. Just when I was  ready to give up all hope in Detroit, the weather changed.  and the eyes in his head see the world spinning around The gray skies changed to pale spring blue and my chicken pox sores began to  fade. Many of the babies learned to walk, and we were all survivors of the  hard winter in Detroit. Green shoots began to pop up from the cracks in our  front sidewalk, and Andre hired us to re-roof his house. Even the old,  toothless, wig-wearing woman next door, "Camille," started sending over corn  bread and greens on special occasions. In return, we became her plumber and  electrician. He never listens to them he knows that they're the fools they don't like him I fell in love with a smooth creep who lived on the other side of Camille; a  youthful mistake. I announced that I was searching for absolute truth, and  questioned whether it existed at all. (More youthful folly?) We opened a  health food restaurant, and had to call it a "dining club" to avoid Health  Department hassles. We made banana milk and Hiziki seaweed rolls by the  droves, but our most popular item was the egg fried rice. Our biggest battles  were waged with the hungry cockroaches and Peter, Detroit's Poet laureate,  who wanted to eat for free. We thought we were invincible, and maybe we were. The fool on the hill sees the sun going down I don't own any possessions from Detroit. Only the gray shadows of memories  that seem to follow me around on cloudy days.  Whenever I have reunited with  a person that has the same Detroit memories, our shadows merge and are made  clear again. They remind us that anything is possible if you keep the faith,  and are willing to take risks. I find myself today in a situation that requires that Detroit faith. It may  take a few days to surface because I've grown more cynical and isolated over  the years, a contented complacency. Living life on the edge of a cliff like  The Fool on a Tarot card requires the ability to make leaps of faith into the  unknown. It's scarier now that I'm older, but still feels deliciously  dangerous. The hawk is on the prowl, it might be a cold winter. Ready or not, here comes the Fool. It is a time for new beginnings. and the eyes in his head see the world spinning around *

 

Copyright © 2003 Susan Mountain.

*The Fool On The Hill
from the album - Magical Mystery Tour
(John Lennon, Paul McCartney)
Lead Vocal: Paul McCartney
1967