Jack Blake: A True Rock and Roll Tale (Part 8)

A few days after the extraordinary revelation in the Coos Bay storage unit, we were hanging out in the campground around a fire and Jack was picking out the chords of an Amy Winehouse song (an artist he loved!). Jack stopped strumming and told me he was pulling out in the morning for the Redwoods. I sort of wanted to accompany him for more material, but he didn’t ask and I knew it was probably time to part company. We talked some more rock and roll and literature and then turned in early.

I got up well before Jack and whipped up a pancake breakfast to fuel us for the road. We ate heartily and then packed up our rigs. Jack was set to pull out first and when he sauntered up to me.

“Thanks for the company. I hope your writing goes well.”

“Thank you Jack. I hope so, too. How will find you if something hits?”

“You’ll know where to find me.”

“I’ll know where to find you.”

We shook hands. Mr. Figgs came up and we shook hands.

A minute later Jack’s rig was lumbering out of the park, and I was standing outside mine, when an ancient megaphone-shaped loudspeaker mounted to the top of the RV crackled like the one in Mash and I heard Jack’s blistering recording of the Stones’ “It’s Only Rock and Roll But I Like It,” at a decibel level that must have been heard for a square mile.

Rock and Roll indeed.

Roll away the stone. Check the palms. Rock does live and its resurrection is Jack Blake. Right now he is in a 27 foot rusting RV, cruising the Pacific Northwest Coast’s back roads with an insane mutt, making music with a little help from his friends, and about ready to change Rock and Roll forever.

I have told the story. The message is delivered. I never really had a choice if I cared about Rock and Roll and I do now. This story is the gospel, the good news. John the Baptist read the prophecies in the Old Testament. He knew what would happen to Jesus if he baptized him by the river that day in the desert.

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Jack Blake. He is yours.

The Salomes are dancing for me now. I hope my head doesn’t end up on a platter.