Chapter 15

We had finished our little documentary, “What’s In It For Me, “ and subtitled it “The Talent On Ninth Street.” Shaggy, Pocahontas, Tin Cup, Boom Boom, Longfellow, Preacher, Caruso(the opera singer), Juggler, The Nun, Street Rap, finishing with Blind Melon Chitlin and Harp. Oddly enough, they had gotten together and practiced an old gospel song, the voices blending together far more smoothly than one would think, for the grand finale. When the last notes faded I focused on Jen, doing a closeup of her face, the tears obvious on her cheeks.

“These people are in every large town or city. You probably walk by them every day. They more than likely have a hand out. Next time they ask, ask back. What’s in it for me? What return will I get on this money? Maybe, like the people here on Ninth Street, they will surprise, possibly even move you. When you hand over the dollars, ask yourself, who got more out of the exchange, you or them? If you look at it like that, you’ll realize it was money well spent. And even if they look like bums and make you uneasy, remember, these are people too, and there, but for the Grace of God, could be any of us.”

We slowly faded into a blank screen and ran the credits as the gospel song played again.

I knew some people in New York from my network days, and I sent them samples, to see if it was salable. In two weeks we had an agent and five firm offers. Netflix won, and they featured it in their ad campaign for coming attractions.

At my insistence, we each got thirty per cent of the profits. The other ten per cent went to Shaggy. He was stunned when we told us what we had decided, even more stunned at what ten per cent amounted to. He was listed in the credits as talent scout and associate producer, under his real name, William ‘Shaggy’ Peters. I was listed as director/producer, Jen was listed as executive producer, Lindsey was titled sound director and associate producer.

Shaggy said the best part was his mother calling to tell him how proud she was of him, and how she told every one at the facility he was her son. He took part of the money and upgraded her apartment, and put money in her account every month. We all went with him to the funeral when she passed the next year. He was surprised by the size of the turnout, but she had been a very popular woman. He renewed friendships with cousins he hadn’t seen in twenty years. The most moving part of the service was when he got up and sang ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’, looking at her coffin the whole time. Any eyes that were dry quickly watered.

Things settled down for awhile, and wedding plans were completed. We invited very few people. I flew my grandmother in, and she was very taken by Jen and Lindsey, and Jen’s large family. It seemed she was lonely, forced to live in a facility because of bad investments. They had taken her house and auctioned it off, using the money to defray costs, and soon it was going to run out. None of the rest of the family were inclined to help her. She never told me any of this, not, as she said, wanting to burden me with her problems.

She tearfully confessed this to the girls and Jen’s mom one night, and the women of my family, her Mom included, were on me with a vengeance the next morning. Miss Agnes seemed to be frowning as well. I guess the shocked look on my face convinced them I really didn’t know, and Jen’s mother got right in my face. “What are you going to do about it?”

I looked them all dead in the eye. “I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is maybe find her a nice room in a big house somewhere, rent free, where all her needs are taken care of, surrounded by girls that will probably learn to love her as time passes. Know anywhere with an opening?”

Jen just grinned at the rest. “Told you so,” she smirked, as she went to find Grams and give her the news. Miss Agnes brightened, and her smile was back, so I guess she approved. Maybe they would hit it off.

I think Gram and Jen’s family were a little surprised with some of our guests. Shaggy had rented a large van and driven every one of the street people who wanted to come to the house. He and Jen had helped them with suits, and Pocahontas had on a very nice native costume, complete with beads and bells, her almost silver hair hanging to her waist in two thick braids.

The documentary had changed a lot of things. Ninth Street had become a tourist attraction, to the point police had to keep someone there just to move the crowds along. The Mayor wanted them to get what he called ‘performance permits’, and the whole thing was getting out of hand. Some could handle the pressure of being semi-famous, but many resented the loss of privacy. There were a lot of what Shaggy called ‘posers and pretenders’ around, people not homeless at all, but dressing the part, trying to make a few bucks and get noticed. Crime had also increased, the thought of all that cash floating around just too much of a lure to the bad guys. Tin Can and Pocahontas were roughed up pretty good before Boom Boom pricked the two guys with the tip of his knife. By pricked, I mean shoved as deep as he could get it before they ran away.

In fact, this would be the last time the Ninth Street group would all be together. Pochahontas was finally going back to the reservation to stay, and taking Boom Boom and Tin Cup with her. Preacher had gotten certified as an ordained minister by some group off the internet. He only did it so he could legally officiate at our wedding, and he had been offered a small church, independents who had lost their minister. It didn’t pay much, but did come with a small house. He was excited, and we were happy for him. Shaggy, of course, had already moved on. The documentary money enabled him to get a better apartment. He was a little over three years sober now, and worked a lot with his AA group, trying to get others help. He admitted the success rate was pretty low, but if they got just one person a year sober, he said, it was worth every manhour they invested and more.

Caruso was offered a chance to sing with a touring Broadway musical, and he would be leaving in three weeks. Longfellow surprised us all by applying and getting a part time job at the community college, teaching English literature. He was crying like a baby when he told us his now grown daughter had sought him out, forgiving him for his past, and working on a future.

We had the wedding at our house, which people thought strange, but we were pretty sure Mom was bound to the house, and we refused to have it without her. As Jen walked down the red carpet placed carefully over the manicured lawn on the arm of her father, I thought to myself if I died tomorrow, I had lived a wonderful life. She was wearing an old fashoined, high necked ivory gown worked heavily in lace and pearls, a full matching lace veil, with a headband of pearls holding it in place. Lindsey trailed behind, in a matching gown in light blue, minus the veil and train. The wedding dress was every bit of ten feet long, held off the carpet by her twin sisters. Their dresses, while not as fancy, matched perfectly.

The dress, of course, had belonged to Miss Agnes. They had been sitting in front of the fire, gazing up at her, talking about the wedding. Jen sighed. “I love my mother. And I love you too, but I think of you more as Dean’s mom, the one he should have had growing up. I have to tell you, I’m a little intimidated. Living up to your legacy will be hard. Dean showed us your wedding album, and told me he wanted me in a dress as close to yours as I could come, regardless of the cost. I’ve showed it to a few seamstresses, and they’ve all refused, saying they didn’t have the skill to do it justice. He’s having a hard time finding a suit like your husband wore. I’m thinking we may have to go more modern. It will break his heart, but we have to face facts.”

Both girls screamed “MOM!’ when two hands grabbed both by the back of the neck, pulling them up, and marching them to the door, which swung open as they approached. At one time the house had sat in the middle of a working farm, but over the years after Miss Agnes passed the heirs had sold off bits and pieces until there was only fifteen acres left. At the back of that sat the tackroom. Orignally used as a place to store all the tack necessary for a working farm, they had developed it over the years, until it contained a small apartment for the tack hand, so he could constantly be on call when something was needed or a piece was broken and needed repair. They had explored around it, but the few windows were so encrusted by dirt they couldn’t see anything inside. There used to be a big barn beside of it, but it was destroyed by fire in the forties, and they never rebuilt. I’m guessing from what I saw later the family had started using it for storage in the late fifties or early sixties.