A Man and His Music

A Man and His Music

Jeaninne Escallier Kato

Set Up (Act I)

Flashback: 1956 Suburban Van Nuys, California, dotted with old citrus ranches, duplex apartments, and new tract homes.

On a warm spring day, Marilyn rushes to the local Catholic school to catch her son’s kindergarten performance. She is late because her two-year-old daughter pulled the iron off the ironing board, slightly burning her arm. Marilyn doesn’t drive, so she pushes her crying toddler in a stroller. When she tiptoes in through the back auditorium door, she sees her young son, Artie, looking around the audience from his buzzing bee circle on the stage. All the other bees are locked in an embrace with their heads down, but Artie, with his black crew cut, pops up from the center of the beehive crying because he knows his mother has not arrived. Marilyn’s heart breaks when she sees those huge brown eyes spilling raindrop tears. She waves at him until he sees her black pixie cut and equally large brown eyes. Artie smiles and ducks back down into the hive with the rest of the bees.

Present Day 2025: 1970’s upgraded tract home in an Orange County, California, middle-class neighborhood cul de sac.

Artie, a small-boned, thin man of 5’ 10,” wears a black John Lennon T-shirt and gray camouflage shorts. He is lost in his music. His electric guitar is plugged into the amplifier so that only he can hear the sound. Artie’s dark skin shines through a bald crown with long gray side hair grown out to his shoulders; his sparse gray beard reaches his chest. Artie lost his teeth from excessive partying and neglect for most of his adult life, but he refuses to wear his amateur dentures crafted by dental students. He often trips over his words when he gets caught up in his frenetic storytelling. He still has those large brown eyes, and the olive skin that he and his mother share from her Hispanic roots. Once, a desired young man with thick black hair and chiseled features, Artie takes pride that he has survived many brushes with death to tell the tales.

Artie has already given his mother her medications, tucked her in bed, and locked the house. He hears a knock on his bedroom door.

“Artie?” He opens the door and sees his mother in her wheelchair. She is wearing pink flannel pajamas, her pixie cut is now snow white. Marilyn is still stunning at age 94.

“Yeah, Mom. You okay?”

“Yes, Sweetie, I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom. You look sad. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. You know me. I cry about everything now. I worry about you kids. I’m not afraid for me, I’m ready to die. I just don’t want to leave you and Jane.”

“Mom, you’re not going to die soon. And when you do, I promise you, I’ll be okay. I have my cat, my guitar, and my music.”

“You were always my sensitive child. Jane was born to take on the world. Do you remember the story I must have told you a thousand times about your kindergarten play when we lived in the San Fernando Valley? I’ll never forget that look of abandonment on your painted bee face when you didn’t think I would show up. Every time I think of it, it makes me sad. Did you really think I abandoned you when I married Frank?”

“Ah, Mom, do we really need to go into that now? Let me tuck you in bed. We can talk about that tomorrow.”

Marilyn grabs Artie’s hand as he wheels her back to her bedroom. He helps her into her bed, pulls up the covers, and kisses her good night.

Marilyn continues to cry. “I’m so sorry I was such a disappointment. You kids were always my greatest priority. I never wanted your father to leave, but I couldn’t make him stay.”

Flashback: 1963 Orange County, California, suburban neighborhood.

On a late summer, Southern California Saturday morning in 1963, a black Ford Fairlane pulls up in front of a mid-century tract home in a lower middle-class neighborhood. Artie is watching a 1950’s science fiction movie in his bedroom. Marilyn, a tall, black-haired beauty, is washing the breakfast dishes. Jane, her daughter, is across the street playing in an open field with the neighbor kids. Marilyn sees her estranged husband through the kitchen window walking up to the front door—an exotic-looking man with dark curly hair, green eyes, and a wide smile. An overabundance of energy crackles out of every pore of his being; instead of walking, he bounces. Marilyn dries her hands on a towel.

“Hi John. Come in. I’ll get the kids.” She sends Artie to get Jane from across the street.

Marilyn and John engage in nervous small talk about her new job and his new apartment until Jane and Artie burst through the front door. Marilyn is desperately trying not to fall apart in front of her children. She knows why John is here. This is the day she has dreaded since he first left the family several months ago, confused about staying or returning to the “other woman.” John came back and they tried to make it work, but he left again to find his own place.

“Children, your father would like to speak to you alone in Artie’s room.”

John sits on the bed between eleven-year-old Artie and eight-year-old Jane. He leans his elbows on his knees with his head down. Artie notices the TV is still on, but the sound is down. He sees a young boy falling into a sand trap at the end of a white picket fence. Martians have sucked him down into an underworld. The boy is torn away from everything he knows.

John clears his throat. “You know your mother and I are separated. I have decided to move away and start a new life. I will always love you kids, that will never change. But, I no longer love your mother. Sometimes, adults are in love when they are young, but grow out of that love as time marches on. I will spend time with you when the court decides our visiting schedules. Be good to your mom. She will need your help and support.”

Artie asks, “Will you still be our scout leader?”

“No, Son. I live thirty miles away.”

“What about Little League?”

“No, I’m afraid I won’t have time for that, either.”

Jane says nothing.

John gives his children awkward hugs, nods his goodbye to Marilyn, and takes his leave.

Jane runs back across the street to resume her play. Marilyn holds her son tightly into her chest so he can’t see her tears. Artie breaks free, running back to his room to finish watching Invaders From Mars.

Artie has fallen into his own alternate universe.

Present Day 2025: Orange County, California, tract home.

Marilyn won’t let go of her son’s hand.

“Did you really think I left your father?”

Artie sits on the edge of the bed. The never-ending sadness that oozes like lava from the dark fissures of his molten soul is fighting to explode.

“Ah, Mom, you know how I hate to look back on all that. I become that lost little boy all over again. But yeah, maybe I thought you did something to make Dad leave. Then, when you married Frank two years after Dad left, I thought you wanted me gone.”

“Sweetie, I tried everything to make your father stay, he was the love of my life. Our family was my world. I had no idea that he had another woman waiting in the wings. A few days after he told you kids he was leaving on that dreadful Saturday, I dressed up in my sexiest cocktail dress and highest heels and mustered up the courage to visit your father at his apartment. When he opened the door, I saw her sitting on the couch behind him.”

“Everything I ever knew crumbled into dust in that moment.” Marilyn’s eyes gloss over into a faraway stare at the memory of it all.

She continues, “I simply said, ‘The divorce papers will be coming in the mail.’ I turned on my heels, trying not to dissolve into a puddle of heaving sobs, and wobbled back to the car. I wanted to die, but knew I had to keep going for you kids. Your father remarried exactly six months to the date of our final signatures.”

Artie adjusts his mother’s covers.

“It wasn’t easy being a single, working mom.” Marilyn reaches for her tissues on the nightstand. “I was still young, but very lonely. When Frank came into my life, everything changed. An attractive, single father still found me beautiful and wanted to include my children in our relationship. I wanted to include his children into a bigger, blended family because family was everything to both of us. Frank tried to be the father you needed, but you rejected him. You left home at seventeen and never looked back.”

Artie turns off the lights and leaves his mother to cry in peace.

Conflict (Act II)

Flashback: apartment in 1970 Queens, New York, filled with antiques from the 1920’s.

Artie is talking to his Uncle Ray, Director of the drug rehabilitation program Phoenix House, about his future. He has been staying on his uncle and aunt’s couch in between odd jobs for the past year, trying to figure out his life.

“You’ve been freeloading on our couch in between jobs too long, Artie. Either pick a direction and pursue it here in New York or go back to California. The way I see it, you spend most of your money, when you make a few bucks, on drugs. Don’t lie to a liar, nephew. I didn’t get to be the director of Phoenix House without my own drug past. Julie and I are tired of your lazy butt and want you out this week.”

“Uncle Ray, that’s kind of sudden. How can I afford to find a place? I mean, I really appreciate what you’ve both done for me, but I can’t come up with that kind of cash within a week.”

“Then you have two options: Enroll in our entry-level drug program on Hart Island, which is a year commitment, or go back to your mother in California. That’s all I can offer.”

“Man, you drive a hard bargain, dude. I really don’t want to go back home with my tail between my legs, but maybe I am too messed up.”

“Artie, I won’t be your uncle there. You will abide by the strict rules like everyone else. In fact, I’ll probably be harder on you than anyone else. If you even think about taking advantage of our family ties, I’ll send you back to your mother’s immediately. You think you are a charming, funny guy, but from what I see, you are a lost soul mooching off others and escaping into drugs and alcohol because you don’t want to grow up. Hopefully, this place, secluded on an island, will make a man out of you.”

Hart Island, New York, 1970: Artie’s mother and sister have come to New York to visit Marilyn’s brother, Ray, and to see her son. Artie has committed to Phoenix House, so they can only see him for a short tour on this one free Saturday afternoon in July.

Sixteen-year-old Jane and thirty-nine-year-old Marilyn sign in at the reception desk of an old building, part of a barracks of buildings, that used to be a homeless shelter, a prison, and now a drug rehabilitation center. The island’s history dates back to the Civil War where soldiers and unclaimed bodies have been buried for centuries. Marilyn’s brother, Ray, meets them in the lobby.

“I sent for Artie, but he can only visit with you for an hour. I can’t give him special treatment or the other residents will make his life miserable.” Ray takes them to a community room where a few residents are playing board games and watching television. Ray takes his leave before Artie appears from the back of the room.

Jane is taken aback when she sees that her bearded, long-haired brother is clean-shaven with a cropped hair cut. She grabs her mother’s arm and says, “He looks so vulnerable.”

Marilyn runs to her son and hugs him hard. The other residents give him that look that implies, “Good for you, man.”

Artie is excited to show his mother and sister the lay of the land. He takes them to his living quarters, a room with two bunk beds, a desk and a lamp. He shows them the kitchen where two young African American women are on their knees scrubbing the floor. Artie says that all residents have to do hard cleaning duty as part of their rehabilitation.

“Hey Artie, is this your family?” Artie beams as he introduces his mother and sister.

“You know, for a white boy, Artie is okay. We call him our little brown bear because he’s cuddly and sweet, not like many of these macho men in here.”

Marilyn smiles at her son. Jane pinches his cheek and says, “Yes, he’s our little brown bear.”

When they say their goodbyes to the girls, Artie leads them outside to show them the vast grounds. They hear the girls harmonizing in the distance, “O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier, o-o-h child things will get brighter…”

Looking across the Long Island Sound to the Manhattan skyline, Artie explains how the area on Hart Island, known as Potter’s Field, is a cemetery marked for bodies found in the city with no known identities. He is talking quickly to get in as much information about the history of the island before their time is up.

Marilyn pulls Artie into her side and asks, “Son, how are you, really?”

“I’m okay, Mom. It’s hard being attacked for being so sensitive. You know me, I’m not a man’s man. When the guys say that I’m trying to pass for white when I’m really Mexican, they don’t believe me when I tell them I’m a mix of European cultures—that you are only half Spanish. I hate confrontation and I can’t fight back. I’m learning how to cope without drugs and booze. But truth be told, I can’t wait to leave when my time is up.”

Uncle Ray comes out to take Artie back to his chores. Marilyn and Jane surround Artie with hugs. Marilyn has a hard time fighting back her tears.

Ray says, “I’ll see you back at the apartment tonight. Don’t worry, Artie will survive this, too.”

Manhattan, New York, 1972.

Artie left Phoenix House in 1971 to pursue a myriad of odd jobs. After a stint as a cab driver, a babysitter for a rich family, and a house painter for a rabbi, he crawls back to his uncle begging for any kind of financial help to get back to California to see his sister graduate from high school. He can’t keep up with rent, food, and his recreational marijuana habits in Manhattan. Uncle Ray gives him airfare and a contact number for an office assistant at A&M Records, the L.A. recording studio owned by Herb Albert of the Tijuana Brass. Anything to get his wayward nephew back to California.

Los Angeles, California, 1972: A&M Records, situated on the old Charlie Chaplin Studios lot.

Six months into the job, Artie has memorized the ‘go-for’ aspects of his office work. He and his savvy New York boss, Joe, stay out of each others way because Artie can feel that Joe doesn’t appreciate his juvenile, over-the-top sense of humor. Artie knows he is indebted to this man for the opportunity, so he tries to maintain a low profile around Joe, a hustler who doesn’t like hippies. When the boss is gone and Artie’s work is done, he hangs around the studio to watch the late-night engineers with the lesser-known artists. He yearns to learn the sound board techniques. He has such a keen ear for the dynamics of sound, that after smoking a few joints in deep conversations about the music business, those same engineers ask Artie what he thinks of the playbacks.

“Dude, where did you learn so much about music?” asks an engineer one night after Artie gives his opinion of Cat Stevens’ playbacks for his new album Tea for the Tillerman.

“My Dad gave me a cheap Rodeo guitar the first Christmas after he left. I started plucking away on it and that was it. I never took one music lesson, but I hear the notes and I feel the music. I learned to play the drums and the keyboards the same way. I was dyslexic, so I barely made it out of high school. I did excel in art and music.”

Resolution (Act III)

Present Day 2025: Orange County, California, tract home.

Artie turns around and knocks on his mother’s bedroom door. “Mom, can I come in?”

“Yes, Son.”

He turns on the light and sits on the bed next to his mother.

“For thirty years, I recorded albums for the best rock groups in America. During all those sleepless, drunken nights mixing tape, I thought I was going to be famous. None of the accolades, none of the highs, and terrific lows, of a very fickle business compare with the sense of purpose I have caring for you, Mom. You have saved my miserable life. After losing it all from drugs and alcohol, you were there to give me a home. The least I can do is give you the love and care you deserve. Thank you, Mom. It’s my honor to be here with you.”

Marilyn reaches up and grabs her son in a tight embrace.

“You have allowed me to stay in my home, Son. You are allowing me to live and die, my way. I couldn’t be more blessed.”