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| In Memory of Jack |
| Our Vice-President, Advisor, and most of all Friend Jack Dempsey. Taken from us too soon. We will never forget you. |
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| Post your Memories of Jack Below: |
| “Hi Darlin, Hey Partner, Hi Hoss” – 10/17/03 A Collective Memory of John Patrick “Jack” Dempsey “A man is not dead till his memory is forgotten - African Proverb” “When we speak or write it is never entirely from ourselves....or for ourselves!” - HAE Ivy Joe called...with talking drums, and the preacher man rolled up his sleeves..to orchestrate a rousing symphony, of singing bards, jazzy sax, misty mantras, catechisms, Duas’s and Baptist forgiveness. Evoking a sweet voiced chorus of friend, storyteller, fisherman, hunter, golfer, poet, painter, carpenter, yenta, saint, Mardi Gras rabble rouser, mate, father, humble teacher...gilding hearts from whatever back road, highway, alley, or dancing circle...here to Louisville. Arriving late to meet “disciples” who paid strict attention while he “pulled wisdom out of the air”..... squeezed pigment on pallets, pulled clubs from their bag, bass from the bay, balls from the pond, poetic nostalgia from a pocket, or his custom pool cue from its case.....to run the table.....till right diverged, behind an eight ball.......he usually sank. The eclectic crowd crossed two busy streets from grocery store lots, in motor cycle leather, hats and heels, toe shoes and taps, tie dye, moccasins, sandals, flamingo skirts, native vests, cowboy boots and straight seamed legs, to meditate and mourn with tears and smiles and pin-wheeling laughs, scanning the crowd from podium to pew where Jack might be standing....so tall “when he stood he seemed never to stop.” An epic paradox, for collective memory, some thought of as painter till the “booming voice” rolled down the sanctuary with nostalgic verse. Or the artful ploy to those who thought, him only a poet till the bard strummed, those six Jack principles. So many circles and varied hues spilled tightly....in presbytery pews, gathering round our absent center, a saint of subversives who artfully bent the narrow logic of the circles he shared. How did we gather, how shall we gather, except....that....he gently summoned, Hi Darlin, Hey partner, Hi Hoss. We’ll wait where the universe momentarily diverged from the waltz she strutted with him. At the Kaffeklatch, Lowe Mill, the studio balcony, Jazz factory, all over this town. We’ll spar with nostalgic rhyme, where strangers gather for impromptu lectures on Vermeer and Cezanne in far-flung places. We’ll hold what we got cause Jacks got the trump wherever.....and whatever they playing. We’ll dance like him, though not with his ease while Rosie Grier’s cutout, prays on sweat stained knees, and he’ll emerge where right diverged, and show up late with his Carolina Sweetie. We’ll keep the dance of each narrow circle cause you Jack Dempsey are a man so tall “it seemed when you stood....you’d never stop standing.” We’ll call with the drums and roll up our sleeves, poeting, painting.... running the table, pointing the way......how did we gather, how shall we gather, except....that Jack gently summons... Hi Darlin, Hey Partner, Hi Hoss. Collected for the collective memory by Robin and Hameed – Jazz and Poetry Society - from the share given from each person’s heart he filled and thank you Michael. A.- Hameed El-Amin HAE Ó 1/17/03 |