AIM Last Thursday, March 29, Dorothea took me to a fundraiser–Native American, violence, battered women, shelter, that sort of thing. The event was held in the Shiela and Paul Wellstone Community Center on the Westside. She had gotten free tickets from Michelle, a friend who is now on the board of the above mentioned. It was a silent auction, dinner, that sort of thing. The dinner was over and the silent auction had just ended when we arrived. A magician was doing rope tricks. When he was done, a band called Red Pony played. Guitar, bass, drums, female singer. They were great. They ended their short set with a killer authentic version of Stormy Monday.
Sitting in the back of the room with Michelle and Dorothea, I first began to notice that there were quite a few men wearing jackets and t-shirts “American Indian Movement–Patrol” with the Indian profile with two fingers raised in a peace sign logo. Also darn authentic. There were several men, I noticed, who would make passable Dennis Hopper impersonators. Then—“hey, Michelle, is that what’s-his-name, Bellacourt?” “Clyde. Yes, he’s on the board.” Well, maybe one of those other guys was Dennis Hopper. Then I really began to hallucinate. Maybe that is Paul and Shiela. No! Fuck, they’re dead. The whole place is like a memorial to them.