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I am Geoff Barnes and this here is
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Nov
28th
Sat
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See that? It’s my card. John Bush even said so. See? It’s written right there: “His Card,” right above his signature. John Bush was the percussionist for The New Bohemians, and we’d just spent an hour or so together, wherein he patiently instructed me in the mysterious ways of the bongo drums at Dave’s Art Pawn Shop in Deep Ellum. It wasn’t a music lesson or anything like that, and The New Bohemians were barely even known outside of Dallas. It was just the kind of spontaneous thing that happened all the time at Dave’s. But his is not the big signature on My Card. The big signature is the one down below. The one dated 11/16/89. I was a senior in high school. Three friends and I went over to SMU for a poetry reading. Thousands of people filled the smallish auditorium, spilled out into the halls and into adjacent rooms where closed-circuit TVs were broadcasting the onstage action. We stood at the back of the auditorium for the reading, and considered ourselves lucky to get that close. After the reading, we rushed the stage and waited in line to greet the author - one of the great heroes of our adolescent lives. When it was my turn, I made some knuckleheaded attempt to tell him how much his writing meant to me, and asked him if he’d sign my card. He graciously obliged, and we shook hands, and I stepped out of the way so my buddy James could have his turn. James has a way with words. I didn’t hear what he said, but I saw Allen Ginsburg’s face light up with mischievous delight as he raised James’ hand - which he’d been shaking for, my god, it seemed like hours - to his face, and he kissed it. He kissed James’ hand. And he thanked James profusely, and asked if James wanted his autograph too. James searched his pockets for a scrap of paper for Ginsburg to sign, but came up empty-handed. Not one to let an opportunity pass, however, he reached down and removed a Sperry Topsider from his foot, and Allen Ginsburg signed it. Allen Ginsburg signed James’ shoe. Now, I’ve still got my card. I just found it while cleaning out my home office. It was one of about 50 wonderful surprises I uncovered last night. I wonder if James still has that shoe.

See that? It’s my card. John Bush even said so. See? It’s written right there: “His Card,” right above his signature.

John Bush was the percussionist for The New Bohemians, and we’d just spent an hour or so together, wherein he patiently instructed me in the mysterious ways of the bongo drums at Dave’s Art Pawn Shop in Deep Ellum. It wasn’t a music lesson or anything like that, and The New Bohemians were barely even known outside of Dallas. It was just the kind of spontaneous thing that happened all the time at Dave’s.

But his is not the big signature on My Card. The big signature is the one down below. The one dated 11/16/89. I was a senior in high school. Three friends and I went over to SMU for a poetry reading. Thousands of people filled the smallish auditorium, spilled out into the halls and into adjacent rooms where closed-circuit TVs were broadcasting the onstage action. We stood at the back of the auditorium for the reading, and considered ourselves lucky to get that close. After the reading, we rushed the stage and waited in line to greet the author - one of the great heroes of our adolescent lives. When it was my turn, I made some knuckleheaded attempt to tell him how much his writing meant to me, and asked him if he’d sign my card. He graciously obliged, and we shook hands, and I stepped out of the way so my buddy James could have his turn.

James has a way with words. I didn’t hear what he said, but I saw Allen Ginsburg’s face light up with mischievous delight as he raised James’ hand - which he’d been shaking for, my god, it seemed like hours - to his face, and he kissed it. He kissed James’ hand. And he thanked James profusely, and asked if James wanted his autograph too. James searched his pockets for a scrap of paper for Ginsburg to sign, but came up empty-handed. Not one to let an opportunity pass, however, he reached down and removed a Sperry Topsider from his foot, and Allen Ginsburg signed it. Allen Ginsburg signed James’ shoe.

Now, I’ve still got my card. I just found it while cleaning out my home office. It was one of about 50 wonderful surprises I uncovered last night. I wonder if James still has that shoe.