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A Bakersfield punk writer meets Fortuna in Washington D.C.
Topics: Bakersfield, Bakotopia, Bakotopia.com, music, Bakotunes, entertainment, Belardes, Washington DC, Ska, Punk
Posted by thenovelist Wed Nov 8, 2006 14:51:22 PST
Viewed 261 times
0 responses 0 comments I was feeling brave. I don’t always. I’m human. I get scared just like anybody else—even on Bakersfield’s streets of cowboy mystique. During league championship and playoff hockey games my stomach was the worst and went into knots. Giving speeches? More knots and heart attacks. Reciting poetry to 10,000? Fuggedaboudit. I was resurrected without the steel heart I hoped for.

Dark city streets? You have to be safe. You look over your shoulders. You try to gauge the intentions of people milling in the shadows. Then there’s the absolutely insane moments where you seek adventure and you have to just be as safe as you can because adventure simply means risk. Like when I wandered Baltimore at midnight. Like when I hopped an evening train from Baltimore’s Penn Station to Washington D.C.’s Union Station to meet up with Fortuna.

I was pissed. A kid with long black dreads pounded on a ticket booth—he was pissed too. A little old lady came out and shook her head. He was lost; I was lost. She didn’t care. They stopped selling tickets from Camden Yards—that’s Baltimore Orioles Stadium area—so I took a taxi from the nearby convention center to Penn Station at Mt. Vernon. I sat up front and got to know Clarence Mack, the nicest cabby you could ever meet. He’s a taxi driver of twenty-three years. His son’s a Baltimore cop, undercover.

As I sat down I heard some good Thelonious Monk bop from the radio. The announcer talked about John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, and Miles Davis. I instantly felt far away from Bakersfield, far from the roots of Buck Owens and Korn. I didn’t hear a lick of Latino ska. This was a different America.

I pulled out my phone and asked Clarence if I could shoot some video. He grinned. I was making his day, swaying him from the boredom of stuffy suits and downtown ties. He knew I wanted to connect to his city… “My man,” Clarence said a few times, drawing out the words as if he blew them from a be-bop horn on a smoky stage. He loved that he was going to be on video and delighted in pointing out landmarks to me. I recommend that anyone going to Baltimore take a little ride with Clarence downtown for some great city flavor (410.790.6046).

We talked about undercover cops. Clarence nearly missed a car as he spoke, “They’re everywhere in Baltimore. They could be the guys sleeping on the streets. You never know,” he said. A few days later I hung out in Lexington Market. After I bought a Polish dog I walked from the market and saw a cop dressed like Shaft, full on black leather, tall, ominous, straight-lipped and a badge around his neck barely poking from his tough city streets coat. Not quite what you’d see in Bakersfield, California.

Clarence nearly crashed into a car as lanes merged. He didn’t seem bothered. A car honked. Maybe that was just the way driving was done in the Eastern U.S. He pointed to several more landmarks and then to Penn Station as we pulled up. “Go through the doors, my man… you’ll love DC. Great restaurants.”

It was close to 5:30pm. I tore into Penn Station and stopped at the information desk. “Last call for Baltimore Penn Station to Union Station, Washington D.C.” the announcer said. She sat at the information kiosk without a smile.

That’s me, I thought. “Which doors?” I asked.

“You better catch the train right now. You can purchase a ticket from the conductor,” she said and pointed in the general direction I needed to go.

My heart lunged. I rushed out the doors, jumped on the MARC train, and off it went. The conductor wore one of those cool hats you only see in the movies. He stopped and asked for my ticket. “You have to pay $3 more for buyin’ on the train, son.” I bought a round trip for $17...

(Read the full article and see video clips)

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N.L. Belardes is a novelist and blogger out of Bakersfield, California. He’s on:
www.nlbelardes.com & www.myspace.com/nlbelardes

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