Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley

Chapter 40: On the Road Again

40 On the Road Again N ovember ’76 brought us things to celebrate. Jimmy Carter was elected to the White House, and Depty Dawg, despite his frustrations, could still write letters that held glimmers of hope. In a note written on Election Day night, he listed the acts playing in Atlanta that evening: Marsha [sic] Ball & The Misery Brothers are at Rose’s [Cantina] tonight, Willie [Nelson] & Co at the Omni, & Dr. Blaze Foley at Good Ole Days (still $5 plus tips) and Underground (tips only). At the end of the month there would be our long-awaited reunion in Roanoke , dampened only by the fact that my mother put us in separate rooms again. This time I didn’t object. By silent agreement we all steered away from the subject of marriage and the ill-fated conversion attempt. Daddy still had our picture in his wallet, and Momma seemed resigned; at least my clothes didn’t smell of wood smoke any more. Desperate to be alone, Dep and I borrowed their Dodge and drove up the Blue Ridge Parkway, rolling down the windows so the car wouldn’t smell of weed. Fiery leaves clung to the hardwoods, the fading fields brightened by the last goldenrods and asters. We found a secluded pull-off where we could make out; we would never master making love in a car. Besides, we had things to discuss. My parents had offered to buy us two one-way train tickets to northern Indiana.There we’d be able to stay with my older sister, Susan, before going on to Chicago. “They’re shipping me out,” Depty declared. “Probably wondering why I ain’t made an honest woman of you yet.” “Please,” I insisted. “If I was really honest, I’d tell them we jumped the broom.” 154 On the Road Again | 155 He buried his face in my hair. “Cold up there in Chicago right now, Vidalia . Brrr! Newspaper says minus below.” “But you still want to go, right?” “Oh, sure. Just pray we got money enough.” He lit a cigarette, making circles with the exhaled smoke. “Austin’s cheap compared to Chi-town.” “Thank God for Scott.” Our friend had written to say we could stay with him in the suburbs as long as we needed. Depty frowned. “We got to be close to the music. We’ll need a place in town. And a telephone and—” “Dep. Stop. I know where this is going. We’re not selling the Empire State.” “Just to pawn, little onion,” he insisted. “First paying gig in Chicago, I’ll come back and get it.” “Great. You’re already talking about leaving again.” “Tell me something. How much we got?” Sighing, I started the engine. “Fifty bucks.” The owner of the downtown pawnshop was a member of my parents’ synagogue ; in high school I had briefly dated his son. Coming into the store with Depty Dawg and the guitar, I spotted him behind the cash register, a soberly dressed, southern businessman with neat ’70s sideburns. Before I could say hello, he’d already taken in Dep’s long hair and pierced ear, and was coming around the counter toward us. “Get out of my store, you scum,” he yelled. It made no difference that I was with Depty; we were both being shown the door. Here it was again: every time I brought him into my world, seemed like there was always someone to judge him by appearances. Fleeing the shop, I glanced back at Dep; there was no mistaking the fear on his face. Out on the sidewalk, catching our breath, we laughed about it—but it had cut deep. That might mark the moment we started running from each other. Thanksgiving was subdued. Dep was anxious to get on the road; I wasn’t sure what to be grateful for. Two days later, my father put us on the train to Indiana. Settling into our coach seats, Depty tucked the Empire State under his feet. “Can’t seem to get rid of this ole thing,” he murmured. “Must be a sign.” 156 | Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley The train chugged west into the mountains, curving around a bend. From the window we could see the length of cars following the locomotive up into a craggy ravine. “I need a long rest in your arms,” Dep breathed, eyes looking out. He turned to me, frowning. “Don’t know how long I can do this for...