Most Friday and Saturday nights during college were predictable. I was either at a friend’s place, my place making stuff, at the art building making something, or an occasional bar like Roses where Kostas and his band often played. One particular night, a friend and I spent the evening at his house on South Fifth. He shared it with a roommate who I rarely saw when I was there. At some point, we spontaneously ate mushrooms and spent the entire evening drawing and listening to albums and the university radio station. The living room was warmly lit by a few incandescent floor lamps and a cluster of burning candles on the coffee table. After an hour or so, everything surrounding us began to bloom.
Eventually we realized our supply of cigarettes was dwindling, so, we discussed the necessary strategy required for us to physically leave our cocoon and interact with the outside world. We pondered it, discussed it, over thought it, and finally gathered ourselves and hopped on our bikes. The store wasn’t far, maybe a half-mile or so, but it was far enough that we felt exposed, while simultaneously relishing the speed and curb jumping. A block away from Safeway, we exited the darkness of the neighborhood and were spit out from Eighth Avenue past the Lewis and Clark Motel and onto West Main Street where the brightness was shocking. There wasn’t much traffic at that hour, even for a Saturday night, so we maintained our speed and crossed the four lanes quickly. We rode through the large parking lot, locked our rear brakes and made large serpentine skids, before dismounting in front of the store where the bike racks were. It was even brighter there, standing in front of a solid wall of glass, and florescent light like an x-ray. We headed for the entrance and the huge glass doors that opened automatically like they sensed we were there. We looked at each other, and I noticed how big his eyes were. Mine must have been too because we exploded in laughter next to the shopping carts.
Eventually we remembered the strategy outlined at the house and quickly realized we needed to separate to be effective. After five minutes or so, which seemed like fifteen, we met back up, each with cigarettes, a beverage and a snack. We made eye contact and without a word, walked towards the front of the store and the only functioning check-out lane. Out of the corner of my eye I was surprised to see someone in an aisle. I didn’t think anyone else was in the store besides the cashier, but a man was standing with his face just inches from a shelf contemplating something. He was motionless and so close that the front brim of his large felt hat must have been touching it. I slowed almost to a stop, focused even harder and realized it was Richard Brautigan. Even though I’d never seen him in person before, I’d seen pictures of him — his lanky frame dressed exactly the same way. He was unmistakable. I nudged my friend to look too and then whispered who it was. We continued walking to the check-out lane, working hard to maintain our composure because the cashier seemed to look straight through us, the lights sizzled, and a celebrity was present. When we finally made it back to our bikes, my friend asked, “do you really think that was Richard Brautigan. Trout Fishing in America Brautigan?” “Yeh, I’m positive.” “Wow!”he said. We got back on our bikes and quickly rode like we were escaping something and disappeared back into the dark streets towards home, while the stars and the breeze streamed straight through us.
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In addition to the universal acclaim and recognition Richard Brautigan received for his writing, he was mythic in the area. He had a home in Paradise Valley near Livingston, and he frequented Bozeman because he was a writer in residence and taught a class at the University in the spring of 1982. My friend Julie told me that he even had an honorary reserved seat at the Haufbrau, his bar of choice. She said she never saw him there, or knew anyone who’d ever seen him there.
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“All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds.” Richard Brautigan
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Songs :: Sugar Mountain by Neil Young, Something You’re Going Through by Graham Parker, Lost In the Supermarket by the Clash, and Have You Seen the Stars Tonite by Jefferson Starship
© C. Davidson