The Zombies Be Dancin' Tonight

by M. Shannon Johns (click images to read)

There was a story in the NY Observer years ago about a young photographer who took street pictures in NYC and hand crafted a little book with an orange cover and sold them on the street and in a few retailers.  The story is mostly about how she offered the book to Andy Spade to sell in his Jack Spade shop.

Shortly after I married, I moved to my wife's hometown of Chicago and worked for an insurance company down in the loop and around the corner from the Berghoff.  We'd made plans to have dinner there one Friday night.  It was my first visit to the Berghoff.   She was running late so I stood at the bar, ordered a pitcher of dark beer and waited.  The guy standing next to me asked the bartender for a cigar and I watched as the doors of an old humidor were opened and a massive cigar, eight or nine inches, was handed to the customer who promptly lit up.

This was too good to be true --  As a fan of cigars since the Army, I was well aware that 'bars and cigars' were few and far between… so, I struck while the iron was hot.  I asked the bartender for a cigar but requested something smaller. "This is all we got," he said,  holding up what looked like a black ruler.  I tell him I'll take it and the king size double maduro is handed to me.

The guy next to me smiles with his cigar and passes down a box of matches.  I torch the thing up and it's not bad -- Perfect with the dark draft beer.  I take in the Berghoff and fall in love with the honest history and charm of the place.

My wife had told me The Berghoff opened in 1898 and, until 1969, the bar was for men only.  That night, it was a pretty Yuppie crowd.  A young woman walked by, looked at my cigar and said, "You look pretty stupid with that." As she walked past, I shouted out to her, "Now I know why they kept women outta here for so long!"  She turns back and laughs and walks on.  The guy next to me applauds.

I remember he was in his early to mid - forties and black. He had a soft face and he was quick to smile.   We talked about cigars and beer and women and the Berghoff.  He asked what I did and I asked what he did and he said he was a writer.  Well, not really a writer…more a poet.  He pulled a rubber banded bunch of little books out of a canvas bag and offered me one.

I flipped thru it and was taken by the dancing zombies with the Chicago skyline.  He asked if I wanted it and I said sure.  "They're $5 a piece," he said.  A little thrown off, I reach in my pocket and hand him a five.  He puts his cigar in his mouth and stuffs the bill in his pocket.

He tells me he makes a living doing this and I shake my head.  He says he really does and he's not bullshitting me.  I tell him I believe him…I just wish I had the balls to do what he's doing.  My wife of four months comes in and I introduce her to M. Shannon Johns.

We chat for a bit and Mr. Johns moves on with his cigar and glass of beer to meet some friends.  I've kept this little book for many reasons.  Some as shallow as thinking the illustration would make a great T-shirt but knowing I'd never do that.  Not without asking Mr. Johns.

That photographer who offered her book to Andy Spade was Carla Gahr.  She showed him the little orange book in late Spring. He said he loved it and would see what he could do but she never heard back from him.

In July, Miss Gahr opened the NY Post and was surprised to see a book similar to hers entitled, "Honesty" being sold by Jack Spade.  You can read the story here.  It's buried but scroll down and you'll see it under the headline, "When is a Spade Not a Spade."

Inspiration is a tricky thing.  I still think about Mr. Johns selling his books on the street.  The nobility of that is what's inspiring to me.  I guess, in many ways, I'm doing what Mr. Johns did... except he got  five bucks a book. I'd kill for five bucks a post.  Anyway,  lest you think of being inspired by this little book of Mr. Johns,  I'll leave you with a thought for your conscience from Tobias Wolff,

"The plagiarist has already been punished; the very act of plagiarizing means that you have confessed an inability to do something on your own, which is a pretty harsh verdict to bring on yourself. No one else can condemn you more than you have already condemned yourself."

'O-Dark-Thirty'

'Morning Prep' by Robert Bates, USMC

Ron Capps, retired Army and Foreign Service officer and currently director of the Veteran's Writing Project, asked if he could use my story, 'The Indian Chief,' for the Spring issue of the VWP's literary journal, "O-Dark-Thirty." Having no idea who Capps or the VWP was, I did some digging and was surprised by what I found -- An organization dedicated to publishing stories by military veterans, their family members as well as free writing seminars, many offering free travel to and from.  The web site is here and the Spring issue of the journal is here.

Gideon by Paddy Chayefsky

Esquire, December, 1961

The Angel

"It is passion, Gideon, that carries man to God. And passion is a balky beast. Few men ever let it out of the stable.

It brooks no bridle; indeed, it bridles you; it rides the rider.

Yet, it inspirits man's sessile soul above his own inadequate world

and makes real such things as beauty, fancy, love and God...

Passion is the very fact of God in man that makes him other than a brute. I must own, Gideon, yours was an old and cold and settled soul, and I huffed and puffed quite a bit before I found the least flame of passion in you."

Peter Kaplan & The New M

It starts with a Peter Kaplan email that looks like a loft in Soho. Lots of white space. Several cancellations and loftmails later we get together for lunch.  Kaplan's wearing khakis, a blue button down oxford and a foulard tie. We sit across from each other in a restaurant booth of an empty Irish pub.

Kaplan (picking up a menu): You hungry?

Me: I've already had lunch.

Kaplan: Of course you have.  It's three o'clock..

Me: I'll just have a club soda.

Kaplan asks the waitress a question.  In a meter not unlike my Russian cleaning lady.  Halting.  The waitress answers.  He interrupts her.  She stops.  He stops.  She replies and he interrupts her again. It's exhausting if you cringe easily...which I do.

Kaplan: So here's what I want you to do.

I write notes on a napkin.  And another napkin.  Kaplan eats lunch and I drink three club sodas. I have to pee like a race horse but I don't want to interrupt him because he's throwing gold at me. We'll see each other two more times.  Each time he'll be wearing the same tie, a blue button down and khakis.

M Magazine debuts today on newsstands. If you have a hard time finding it, you can meet Kaplan and the magazine he's editing through his letter from the editor. There's some good stuff here. Gold.  You may wanna grab a club soda. [Click images to read]

Gore Vidal's Theory on Fudge Bars

"During those years, I ate a great many Welch's Fudge Bars. They were distributed mostly in New England, the product of…yes, you’ve guessed it: the Big-Bircher Robert Welch himself. There was something in those delicious fudge bars which was reactionary. I have since checked with fellow schoolmates who were also extremely right-wing in those days and, to a man, I found that they, too, had been addicted to Welch Fudge Bars.

Yet each, when he left New England and was no longer able to get his quota of Welch Fudge Bars, became liberal. Now I’m not making any accusations. I don’t want to invoke the Pure Food and Drug Act just yet. All I say is that it’s a funny coincidence, and as Tail-gunner Joe used to say: It looks like part of a pattern." Gore Vidal, Esquire Magazine, 12/1961, "The Wrath of the Right"

The Good Men Project

With special thanks to good friend and author, Michael Rowe who confirms a long running suspicion that Canadian people are the very best export save Labatt Blue. Rowe brought me to The Good Men Project -- A place where men write about cheap beer, jobs, fear and love. Although, I haven't seen any hog killing stories yet, it's a place that suits me.

John's Dunne Blazer

Dr Dillon would be proud -- If he remembered me. That's okay. I'll never forget him or the Norton Anthology of English Lit. I bought mine used and sold it the next semester. And like Dillon promised 28 years ago -- I've lived to regret it. Without Dillon's notes, I never could make sense of John Donne.

The shoulders of this bespoke Morty Sills blazer are roped. The lapel, sans button hole. Double vented with the back slightly longer than the front and a slight flare that jets out below the waist. It doesn't fit that well. Tight in the shoulders and arms but roomy in the waist. Sometimes "fit" is not the point.

The original owner had a fascinating life. Maybe a little will rub off. Maybe bad spirits. You never know. But for a quarter of what a China made blazer at Brooks Brothers will set me back, I have something with a story. The key is to never let anyone know. I know I just did, but ignore me for just this one post.

Steven Hitchcock

Steven & Celia

The Label

A writer's jacket





The Goods

Linings

Pocket Square

Brown & Blue

Cleverley Side Gusset


My favorite tattoo


No relation to Alfred. Just as well. The world hardly needs another film director but is starving for tailors. Steven started with Anderson & Shepard at 16. He's a young looking 38 but has been working the cloth for 22 years. A blogger as well -- a post on his typical day can be found here.

I met Steven and his girlfriend Celia yesterday afternoon at the Benjamin Hotel on 50th and Lex. We discussed Steven's shop on Savile Row, tailoring, goods, linings, Cleverley shoes...The usual suspects.

Steven prefers a soft tailored aesthetic and that only makes sense coming from A&S. The beauty is hidden in the details as opposed to a more obvious Huntsman or Poole silhouette. I'm a fan of both. Why be monogamous when you don't have to.

One Night Stands & Zippos

This picture of Central Park should put you in a reflective mood. If you're reading this, bouncing your knee and biting your finger nails -- consider coming back later this evening. Maybe with an adult beverage. Put on some music and slow down. Just a little. I have something to tell you.

I was talking to Stew, a blogger (Blood & Grits) I have a great deal of respect for. Not only as a writer I admire and envy, but as a man who can simplify complicated things. Be they, cooking pig trotters or giving insight into life or finding really cheap hooch. In short, I think Stew is a poet. A couple days ago Stew asked,

"Why the fuck is every blogger compelled to take photos of his submariner and post them right along with the pictures of "the serene bedroom" with bedside tables littered with stained espresso cups or teacups with PG Tips bags hanging like limp dicks from their lips?"

I told you he was a poet. I tell Stew about a blogger who showed me a Vietnam era Zippo he bought off eBay. I noticed the unit insignia on the lighter was from a division that had been disbanded in the 1950's. Stew said,

"Shit happens if you have no knowledge of the artifact you pursue. Knowing the artifact and simply acquiring it are mutually fucking exclusive. But today, to have is to know. A simple blog post stakes authenticity or at least makes a claim of being "in the know." Most of the time, as you say here, it shows one actually knows little of what one claims. Fucking Internet."

That's it. You can stop reading now because all I'm going to do is repeat what Stew said, but I'll use a lot more words and be far more confusing. It's so good I stole it. I would add that curiosity is key to a well lived life. Buying a picture for the sake of hanging it on a wall is like having a one night stand with a stranger. Sure, it's pleasurable, but not for very long.

I was interested in European advertising posters about 12 years ago. I was living in Chicago and there was a dealer across the street from the Art Institute. I looked at posters but bought four books on poster history. The dealer rang the books up and said, "It's nice to see someone who's really interested and willing to research before buying." I though he was busting my ass for not buying a poster, but he added, "Most folks just want something to hang over the sofa. They could care less about where it came from, who designed it, the significance of it..."

A funny thing happens when you accumulate a lotta shit you don't know anything about or have any connection to. It quickly moves from "The Get" to "The Get Rid Of." For bloggers it becomes a prop for electronic Show & Tell. Sadly, while authenticity is touted it's usually sacrificed. If you don't know what it means or stands for -- how the hell can you appreciate it?

I would add that the experience of the purchase -- that is, "I stayed up 'til two in the morning bidding on eBay for this" is not the experience I'm talking about. However, learning what it is, researching the background and history, wondering who owned it before you, or even better, knowing who owned it...These simple things make the connection.

I'm trying hard not to get too curmudgeonly about this, but I guess the question is this. Are you curious? In the end, curiosity didn't kill the cat but kept me alive while being in a world I didn't think much of. No matter how bad things got, I always wondered, "What's gonna happen next?"

Scribner's & Wolfe

597 5th Avenue - Home to Wolfe, Fitzgerald, Hemmingway & Vonnegut


Most recently home to Benneton and Sephora


Books were displayed either side of the doors


There's still history -- and make up

The Doors


My love for Scribner's comes from an obsession with Thomas Wolfe during my first job here in 1984. Bored and unable to finish 'Look Homeward Angel' I read 'The Web and the Rock' over and over while living on 18th Street between 8th and 9th.

Pages were devoted to a moment lasting a second or two, and even with the attention span of a Wire Fox Terrier on a triple Americano, I was sucked in to the exclusion of everything around me. Never read this book on the subway or train.

Wolfe recalled stepping out the Scribner doors with his first check for Look Homeward. I think it was $20,0o00 although I'm not sure. He headed north in a trance until 125 Street...unaware of the distance he'd covered. I think of that when I look at the doors. I've reenacted the journey. Hard to do in a trance. The 20 k probably helps.

I bought an autographed copy of 'Chelsea Hotel' by Claudio Edinger in Scribner's. Wolfe had lived there and so I had to as well. In 2001, I had my chance and met Chelsea manager, Stanley Bard who showed me a couple apartments. One was Bob Dylan's. Not the greatest for entertaining.

Tanner & Associates in No Man's Land

Eric Haney's first in a series

Supporting characters in order of appearance- Walther PPK -

"Reaching up, I took my PPK from its hiding place above the helm and then ran a thumbnail over the "loaded round" pin that protruded slightly just under the hammer. Satisfied that a live one was up the spout, I stuck the pistol in the left side of my waistband."

Soviet SKS - "The SKS has all the robust features of the AK but is semiautomatic... It has a smaller magazine capacity than the AK. It is easier to control and allows the shooter to conserve his ammunition, something that might well become critical before this job was over."

Skorpion Machine Pistol- "With it's pistol size and folding stock, the Skorpion makes for a compact weapon. Some folks say it's a bit low-powered, but for a close-in fight, I've found it to be more than adequate."
Soviet RPK Machine Gun- "...and with a flourish, he flung open the lids to two other boxes. I looked inside. Everything was there: RPK machine guns, a couple sniper rifles, the little Skorpion machine pistols, two grenade launchers, and other assorted items."

Rokon Trailbreaker - "Best cross-country motorbike in the world...Made by the Rokon company of New Hampshire, she has front and back wheel drive, fat tires and a long range at a rather slow speed. The wheels are hollow for use as additional fuel or water carriers or to act as floats when crossing a stream."

Soviet AN-2 "...nothing so much as a flying truck. It is the world's largest biplane. With a thousand-horsepower radial engine, a large payload, and a remarkable design that allows it to get in and off the ground in 450 feet or less, the AN-2 is in all probability the greatest rough-country airplane ever manufactured."

Eric Haney was one of the youngest Command Sergeant Majors in the US Army before retiring. One of the first members of the secret Delta Unit at Ft Bragg in the '70s, Eric wrote the fascinating, Inside Delta Force, which was read by David Mamet and which resulted in Haney producing and writing CBS's, The Unit. A guilty pleasure of C-ration cheese spread across B-1 unit crackers.

The Unit was below Haney. And I was happy to see the first in a series of novels with Master Sergeant (ret.) Kennesaw Tanner pop out of his home in Cave Spring, GA last spring. A year earlier I spent some time with Eric, his wife Dianna and a bunch of new born puppies. You don't think ex Delta operatives as being puppy men but Haney is as down to earth a man as you'd ever know. I grew up around Green Berets. I know the egos. Haney doesn't seem to have one.

"There are the moments, just prior to setting out on an act that puts life at hazard, when I can taste the sweetness of life in a fullness that is almost overwhelming. Twenty-four hours from now, when the earth has made one full rotation on its axis, I may no longer be counted among the living." Eric Haney - No Man's Land

The book opens up with a grisly discovery of a woman's body in a salt marsh that may put you off jumbo lump crab forever. It moves to the brutal murder of a Saudi royal family on board their yacht, the kidnapping of a young boy and a job offer for Tanner from the US government communicated by a wonderful sleaze bag army colonel who deserved more pages.

The book culminates in an attack on a desert fort and there's a 'Dogs of War' feel to it -- But while Fredrick Forsythe backed a mercenary operation to lend his novel authenticity -- Haney's knowledge of tactics, weapons and the middle east comes from personal experience. Haney comes at you straight on and when you finish this novel you'll know why straight on works so well in a fire fight and in this case, a novel.

As an aside, the Haney's are looking to save some Cave Spring history. If you like preserving history and wanna help out please go here. Not asking for money. Just your vote. Thanks.