Beta Pi:
IS BETA PI
BLOG WITHOUT ANY REDEEMING SOCIAL OR ARTISTIC MERIT?:
YEA
. .
. . or
NAY?
Beta Pi
Blog’s purpose: to bring ATO, Beta Pi Chapter Brothers and ATO Gal-Pals
together. The blog is not to be taken
seriously - it is meant for fun.
The
Beta Pi Blog is non-political. It
includes
pictures,
links,
Archives of previous issues,
and
other time-wasters.
* *
*
J. NEAL MEMORIAL, PART 2
I posted the yearbook picture from 1974, because it has one of my favorite shits of Neal. We had so much fun doing the "Pirates" for our yearbook picture. Neal was into it, so was Tison. Travis was definitely "in command" that day, we got in cars and drove to Fort Negley ruins, near downtown Nashville. At the time, it was a heap of ruins from the Civil War Fort Negley which had a commanding position on high ground just southeast of Nashville. Today, the place has been restored to a Civil War Memorial Park - but back then, it was piles of huge granite block, overgrown with weeds, snakes and such. It was big fun. That day, we were kings of the underworld of Pirates. Arrrrrghhhh!
FROM
TISON KEEL
As you
know, by fate or sheer coincidence, Tison Keel was in Thailand and had plans to
meet with J. Neal Crenshaw, when we got the news of Neal’s death. Tison and Neal had planned to meet on
Saturday at 1:00 p.m., and Neal’s Funeral was held at that time. Tison attended, and here is a beautiful and
heart felt Eulogy Tison has written for Neal, along with pictures he took:
“It is with
heavy heart that I can confirm that J. Neal Crenshaw’s soul is no longer of
this earth. I attended his funeral
service on Saturday, November 15 and tearfully witnessed the open coffin
containing the earthly remains of our dear brother before it entered the
crematorium. But let return to the beginning of the story.
Neal and I met as ATO pledges in the spring of 1972. We grew close gradually over the course of
the next years at VU, and by senior year he and I were spending a pretty fair
amount of time together at the Tic house, and though I forget the details, I
recall him coming from Huntsville to Birmingham once or twice for fun summer
weekends. Senior year we spent time
together at his bungalow style rental house just south of campus (Blakemore
Ave??), property that was seized by the University under a controversial urban
renewal land-grab, and condemned to allow expansion of the campus in that
direction. A fond memory was the
Destruction Party held at the house just before graduation. Knowing it was slated for demolition, Neal
had a kegger and invited attendees to do their worst – punching holes in
sheetrock, kicking in doors, making like Keith Moon in a hotel room! What a great party and a finish to a college
career!
Neal was always a character, diligent in his engineering
studies which he finished in four years, but I think he sort of regretted
missing the Summer of Love, and adopted a definite hippie look, language, and
lifestyle. He loved his ATO brothers,
Alex & Laura, his MGB-GT, his music, and his taste in women ran to what he
liked to call “earth mothers” which I will leave to you to define. Neal was always kind and considerate of other
people’s karma; his political leanings were way left of George McGovern’s, and
he would vehemently discuss and argue politics at the drop of a hat, but
without any rancor whatsoever. I recall
clearly spending some time with Neal Senior year when we were joined in his
house by brother Pete Velis. We chatted
with Pete for a while, and then he left, and I expressed concern that Pete
appeared to be doing some serious mind-altering substances without
company. Neal explained frankly that
Pete had indeed experimented and was now seemingly experiencing permanently
altered consciousness. Neal said he was
encouraging Pete to come around as often as he wanted, as Neal hoped to nurse
him back to reality. I think I am
correct in saying that it was Neal who ultimately contacted Pete’s parents and
got him some help, and the episode illustrates to me the kind of caring,
hippiesque, but grounded engineer that was Neal.
I actually got even closer to Mr. Crenshaw after college
because he and I took our first employments in Dallas, he for the EPA District
5 (I think that’s right) and I for Union Carbide. He loved to rib me about the deadly chemical
companies destroying the environment, and referred to my colleagues as
“Carbanions.” Neal bought into TEXAS
mystique fully – bought a red pickup truck, took to wearing cowboy boots and a
cowboy hat, and joking about the “Messcans”.
We ended up in apartments only about a mile apart, and spent lots of
evenings and weekends together, exploring Dallas, learning to make nachos,
listening to music (Little Feat was a favorite band of his at the time, and of
course The Dead who gave a memorable concert there in either 1976 or 77 (for
some reason my memory cells of that time are fuzzy). He frequently mentioned a vision he had,
becoming a colonial “Patron” in Central America, wearing high boots on a white
horse and running a prosperous and peaceful hacienda. We went dove hunting, in Vernon, TX with
another friend we made in Neal’s apartment complex, ate at a drive-in served by
roller-skated waitresses, rode motorcycles.
During this time together we became fast friends and I’m proud to say
that I grew to love the man!
Alas we were separate by work transfers in 1977, but Neal
came to visit me in Louisiana and we attended the New Orleans Jazz Festival
together a couple years with a group from VU and Huntsville. The last time I saw Neal alive was 1979. I had moved to Ohio, and Neal called to
invite me to join him and other Merry Pranksters on a jaunt to Jamaica. He had arranged the event, which involved
renting a 5 bedroom house for 5 guys in Ocho Rios, with a pool, a live-in cook
and a maid. Needless to say I was
in-but-in-but-in!
Neal was a planner, and had three major objectives for the
week: visit a ganja field, catch a large
billfish (a Hemingway thing, I guess), and get a taste of Brown Sugar. I wanted no part of item one and tried to
dissuade him (“people get shot for that” I argued to no avail). Nobody else was interested in that risky
enterprise, but Neal persisted and he claimed to have succeeded after
befriending some local Rastas, and why should I doubt him?
I was absolutely ready for a fishing expedition. What Neal failed to mention was that he knew
quite well that he got violently seasick on a pond. We were no more than 10 minutes out of the
harbor when Neal was over the rail, where he spent the next two hours. The boat crew had an 8-track with only one
tape, so we listened to “Exodus” at distorted high volume for the entire
day. We actually hooked a Blue Marlin
about 3 hours into the mission, and we pushed Neal into the harness seat,
thinking that his stomach had to be empty and the distraction of fighting a
huge fish would cure the mal de mer. No
way! He heaved, reeled and heaved and finally
left the chair, much to the chagrin of the Jamaican crew, fearful of losing
their trophy (and food for a week).
Another Huntsville guy boated the fish, so I guess Neal could say he
achieved objective 2.
As for #3, a gentleman may not comment… My favorite memory
of the week was the fact that Neal and his Huntsville friend Mike brought their
guitars; every night after dinner we sat on the veranda, Neal and Mike would
play and we would all sing. Neal
encouraged me even though I thought I could not carry a tune, and he actually
convinced me that while not a rock star, I could actually belt out a song and
enjoy it. I can’t hear “Wild Horses” or
“Friend of the Devil” now without singing along and recalling those great
evenings. Thanks, Brother!
I was cursed but blessed to be in Thailand immediately
after Neal’s accident. I landed in
Bangkok on business the evening of the crash, obviously knowing nothing and
looking forward to seeing him in a couple days, because we had planned by email
to meet on Saturday. On my way to our
first meeting on Thursday, I got the Beta Pi Blog on my iPhone, and was
stunned, to say the least. The Udon
Thani blog got me connected to the events in Issam (the region of NE Thailand
and Laos of which Vientiane and Udon Thani, or Udorn as the Thais often call
it, are a part. Since meeting Neal in
Bangkok was now out of the question, I decided to visit his adopted home town,
as he had frequently encouraged me to do.
I got up early and caught a flight, about an hour. There I found a friendly cab driver who was
happy to drive me around and promised to get me to the Buddhist temple where
the service was planned. I can see why
the place appealed to Neal, while it may not to everybody. Udorn is old-style Asia, gritty, busy and earthy,
compared with the new glitz of modern Singapore, Shanghai, and Bangkok. I visited a few local landmarks and then
walked about 1.5 miles into the center of town.
There are many Buddhist sites and temples, as in all of Thailand, with
some pretty trippy stuff, right up Neal’s freaky side.
The Udon Thani Main Drag is a low-rise vision out of a 50’s
Asian movie, but with more motor scooters. The street markets are classic rural
Asia, stuff that existed in Hong Kong, Beijing and Kuala Lumpur for eons, but
have largely disappeared. Groceries are
purchased on the street and in local “wet markets” and not in your local
A&P. I can understand why the
everyday parts of this place would also appeal to Neal’s earthy side; nothing
ersatz here, unadulterated Southeast Asia!
The driver picked me up as arranged and took me south of
the city to the temple where the service was to be held. A very attractive site on about 10
acres. I found a small group of
Caucasians and confirmed they were there for the same reason as I. Most of the group were locals who were also
musicians, and who all frequently jammed with Brother Crenshaw. I met his drummer, harp player, bassist, a
singer and several other guitar players, all very nice folks, mixed Brits and
Americans, all with Thai wives.
Interestingly, no Western women to be seen. The building with the very tall spires and
the lower, long building on its right turned out to be the focal points for the
funeral.
http://www.buddhanet.net/bfuneral.htm
We proceeded to circle the building three times, during
which time I was surprised at the volume of tears I shed for my long-missed
friend.
Having finished the ritualistic triple circumnavigation, most of retired to some shade (it was 1:00 pm and the temperature was 90-something) while a group opened the large casket and pulled out a smaller, more conventional-looking casket inside. Turns out the larger outer case was owned by the monastery for shared use, and inside was a wooden vessel for the remains of our brother. That was manhandled up the steep staircase of the building which I now learned is a self-contained crematorium. The body was placed in State at the top of the stairs, with floral wreaths, a large photo of Neal and signs were arrayed around it. Many people walked up, so I followed, and could see that in the back of the building was a stainless steel vault with a single large door, obviously a modern electric furnace, and I realized that the large “spire” at the rear was actually a tall exhaust stack for the crematorium. Obviously once the rituals were done, Neal was going to be transfigured on the spot into his component elements. Bit of a shock, but why not?
Next, a man with a microphone launched into a lengthy monologue in Thai, leaving me in the dark until it was explained he was summarizing the major points of the deceased’s life. The monks resumed their chants for about 10 minutes, and members of the crowd brought forward gifts for the monks, mostly new saffron robes, but also envelopes that I must assume contained more material contributions. We were then invited to all turn and face the crematorium/casket to pay our last silent respects to the remains of our ATO Brother. A line then proceeded to the crematorium, where each person picked up a paper flower and walked up the stairs. I was a bit shocked at the top to find the casket had been opened, and there was my friend, coins on the eyes, wearing a too-small cream-colored suit that he had probably not donned for many years. Without too many details it was clear that his hands and head had suffered major trauma from the motorcycle accident (more later). We dropped a flower into the casket and I gave our friend and brother a farewell pat and a “VTL”. A few ensuing practices were a bit unusual for a Westerner. There were many children attending, some of the family threw candy from the area next to the casket, and the kids scrambled for their shares, much like the breaking of a piñata. They then passed out small trinkets to all the adults: nail clippers, bottle openers, key rings as mementos, I guess, and then fired off many rounds of percussion bottle rockets, to scare away evil spirits, I was told.
Most then returned to Neal’s house for food and drink, a
familiar worldwide funereal ritual.
There I learned more about Neal’s demise, though some of the accounts
were contradictory. This much is clear,
that Neal and his son Michael (from his first marriage, to a Korean woman) went
for a ride on Neal’s custom Harley chopper.
Neal drove and Mike rode behind.
At full speed they came around a bend in the rural road, and ran
broadside into a cow that had wandered out.
Both Neal and Mike flew through the air, Neal absorbed the worst
punishment, Mike suffered very bad “road rash” and a concussion. Mike still does not remember the actual collision
but believes he landed on or into his father, cushioning the blow
somewhat. By one version some of Neal’s
friends picked up on the emergency radio frequency that an accident had
occurred, deduced it was Neal and made it to the hospital at the same time as
the ambulance. They said Neal had been
already resuscitated once or twice, but was speaking, not coherently, when he
arrived at the emergency room. However,
he went out again soon after and subsequent attempts to revive him were not
successful. In the casket it was clear
that his head had absorbed major trauma.
Neal never wore a helmet when he rode, technically required by law in
Thailand, but apparently almost never enforced.
He said he loved the feeling of freedom that came with riding bare-headed,
which I understand. Neal lived free and
easy, he understood and accepted the risk/benefit tradeoff, and I like to think
he died as he lived, though much sooner than I would have wished!
Neal’s
home in Udorn, of which he was very proud, was quite beautiful! He left behind a lovely wife, Poom, a fine
looking son Michael (battered from the wreck but recovering, and he will be
fine) in whom I think we can all see strong traces of his father’s genes, and
two daughters. The youngest, 10 years
old, seemed not to have absorbed her loss yet, and was not present at the
service, but I met her at the house. His
other daughter, Maria, full sister to Michael, lives in the US and was planning
to make it to Thailand last week, staying long enough to tend to her father’s
affairs. I enjoyed the hospitality of
Neal’s family and had some very nice conversations with many of his local
friends, all of whom I would have enjoyed meeting in any circumstance. I felt that Neal acknowledged my presence at
his home in an unusual way, or maybe not unusual considering his sense of
humor. While sitting in a rented plastic
chair at Neal’s home, drinking beer with a whiskey sidecar to numb my pain, and
chatting with some of his friends, I felt and heard the chair creak twice under
by backside. I was not leaning back or
putting any unusual strain on it, other than the mass of my larger-than-Thai
frame. I commented aloud something like,
“I think this chair is not going to make it.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth, and before I could move again,
the chair virtually imploded, and I was unceremoniously dropped to the ground,
bathed in the drink that I was holding and surrounded by shards of
polypropylene. I had some thoughts that
perhaps I had been the butt of a Crenshaw-spirit joke, but said no such
thing. However, that it was maybe Neal
making a statement from the Other Side was suggested by others at the time,
independently. In any event, I will
carry that memory and choose to think that Neal was simultaneously welcoming me
and chastising me for not having visited sooner, when we could have met in the
flesh.
Tison,
in my view, a person could not hope for a nicer or more sincere eulogy, thank
you so much for sharing it with us. I love you
brother, and I am glad you were there for J. Neal.
* *
* *
HERE'S HOW to “JOIN THIS SITE”: All you need to do is JOIN "GOOGLE +" -- click ACCEPT
to invitations or click on "JOIN" GOOGLE + FOLLOWERS.
* *
*
HOW TO
POST, OR READ COMMENTS: Just click the
button - Comments - below.
BETA PI BLOG ROSTER STATS: As of
December 2, 2014, there are 37 Blog Website Members; there are 116 ATO’s on
the blog list, plus 17 ATO Gal-Pals. And,
there are 6 Brothers who do not have e-mail.
VTL,
Larry
Simons
Beta
Pi, 72
No comments:
Post a Comment