Dream On

An elderly homeless man wearing a white floppy hat (Gilligan style), day-glo sneakers and an Oregon State University faux letterman’s jacket entered the public restroom at the Empire Boat Ramp and locked the door.

Elmer and I wandered around the parking lot, admiring Coos Bay at high tide on a weekend afternoon.

Moments later, I heard Aerosmith’s “Dream On” rocking from the restroom.

I knew the song well. I had swayed slow dances to it in the 70s, sweaty, awkward embraces in Oregon City’s Gardiner Junior High’s multi-purpose room with the mirror ball twirling and twinkling overhead.

We went over to investigate. Investigate what?

Well, the downward trajectory of this power ballad in American culture for one reason. From innocent teenage romance to a 70-year-old homeless man taking a shit in a public restroom in Coos Bay. That descent is the story of my times and is about the only story that interests me to write about.

Dream on! Dream on! wailed Stephen Tyler.

Some readers may be asking: why write about something so scatological in connection to the homeless crisis?

Because the scene was incredibly funny to me and if I can’t find some occasional moments of levity in my interactions with homeless people, write about and publish them, I will descend into depression or cynicism or worse, indifference.

The sound emanating from the windowless restroom was formidable and I was standing outside 50 feet away. Imagine the level inside cinder block walls and a steel door! You just know the man had seen the band in its heyday, probably at the Oregon Jam in the 70s.

Aeromsith rocked and rolled through the din and I vaguely heard hosannas and worship that typically accompany a pleasurable bowel movement experienced by elderly men (do women do this?) who relish such movements. Indeed, they often present the sublime highlight of the day, and occasionally, inspiration for a poem.

But Aerosmith’s “Dream On” as the soundtrack for a homeless man’s dump? How does one make sense of that choice?

And no it wasn’t a radio station playing tired classic rock hits. Because after “Dream On” ended, there was an interruption of music as the man dialed up a post ecstatic dump song.

The song came on. Reader, how about a creative exercise for you in these troubled American times?

You guess the song. It was classic rock, it was perfect, and I sang it all the way home.