My Soul Brother Has Come Home For A Spell

I talked to my soul brother Paco last night on the phone, but briefly. Last night he told he was going through a confusing time, trying to decide what he wants to do with his life next. We’re meeting later tonight to eat & catch-up with each other’s lives. He’s been out of the country for several months, traveling, writing & performing.

I first witnessed Paco back in October of 1995, at the No Exit café in Chicago, performing during an open mic session with another good guy, soul brother Jimmy, who looks so much like Neal Cassady, the man who inspired Beat writer Jack Kerouac.

I had just happened to be there that night, with my then-new music partner Lew Brickhate. We both decided it would be a good idea to get out & around the Chicagoland area to try shaking off our stage-frights out of our systems, before going onto perform at other venues.

Paco & Jimmy were phenomenal that night. I knew somehow I wanted to meet both of those guys, which I did a few months later. A few months later, after Lew & I split up and his notorious hate-mail campaign against everything I ever stood before began, I continued to frequent No Exit, just to get a glimpse of Paco.

Paco was pretty popular, to say the least. Everyone wanted him a piece of him, wanted to be touched by him in some way, shape or form, much in the way that Jesus was desired. I was one of those too, but only in the beginning. As I continued to watch him, I started getting to know him a bit better & the crowd of folks he hung out with.

Then an opportunity arose in 1997; soul brother Jimmy was leaving town & his roommates were looking for someone to take his place. So, I jumped at the chance & sure enough a few months later, I moved in with Paco, the future Rebbe of East Rogers Park, & Scott the painter. Eventually, Scott & Rebbe moved out and were replaced with several roommates, both good & some not so good.

If there was a time to receive a grand education from someone, this was it for me. Living with Paco was often an adventure, but a great one at that. He taught me everything from how to collaborate with others, how to love each other, the world around us, how to perform, how to meditate & most importantly how to not worry about failure or if someone didn’t appreciate if someone didn’t understand what I was doing, well, yes it was really okay.

For a few years at No Exit café we billed ourselves at the Wednesday open mic sessions as both The Bingo King Of Minimalism (me) & The Bunghole Queen Of Maximalism (him). Often times when were there, the host would look at the list and remark, “Ah, the King & Queen are here,” evoking smiles & laughter. The following year, he played keyboard & percussion in my poetry band Tribal Screen Hens & helped direct me in ways I could have thought not possible, including my writing.

Things were not always rosy living with each other though. In 2000, after I was diagnosed with my affliction, I was a hard person for sometime to deal with, often not wanting to leave the apartment & just sit and tap away at my computer. Little battles started occurring. What they were & about I’m sure you’re all dying to know about, but that might be for another day and occasion.

The next year, 2001, there was kind of a split in the household. Everyone was heading their separate ways. Moving onward & out. That was a terrible time. We were at each other’s throats, Paco & I. it was a bit unexpected, but in other ways I knew it was going to happen sooner or later.

I ended writing a lot about that time period, some of which someday perhaps I will publish here. Paco was heading out east to dance & then teach. Long-haired Steve was going to live out on his own. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I knew it was somewhere.

Over the next few years we’d meet on and off, mostly when he was coming thru town or I’d be in a show or two of his. For an entire year, I went through Paco withdrawal, which was a bit like going through drug rehab. I got over it & started living happily again.


I owe so much to you Paco, which I know you’ve heard me say so many, many, many times before, but I mean it. Thank you for being who you are. You’re a wonderful human being & a wonderful teacher to boot, a great & gentle man, whom I hope will conquer much greatness in the years to come. If you’re worried about your future, think about what the Beatles did toward the end of the film Yellow Submarine when Blue Meanies approached. They sang.

Welcome home soul brother, I love you so much, Paco. Let’s sing our happiness out-loud tonight long and strong. Welcome home soul brother, welcome home.