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The Ledge


One afternoon, I was sitting on a bench outside the Garner & Smith when a violet '48 Mercury pulled up to the curb and delivered two fellows - a cowboy with a lot of sequins, a guitar, and a trumpet, and an Indian in loincloth and sandals with a sparse headdress and a tympani. Their short concert consisted of something like yodeling at the tops of their voices punctuated by occasional shouts and in no particular correlation to various guitar riffs, blasts of the trumpet, and arrhythmic drumming. It would be a stretch to call their motion dance, but there was a great deal of it as well. After about five minutes' performance, the two got back into the Merc and drove away.

I attributed the experience to having smoked something very effective until I recounted it to a friend a day or so later. I was informed that I had seen the Legendary Stardust Cowboy and should consider myself privileged. Some few days after that, I was leaving the Orange Julius and watched the violet Mercury turning in. Conditions prevented my staying to watch what ensued and by the end of the week circumstances conspired to keep me away from Austin for something like 9 months. My return was to visit Eyore's birthday where I asked a number of folks likely to know where I would likely catch up to the Ledge. The consensus was that he and the Indian had taken up peregrinations of unknown route.

I doubt Austin has seen more noteworthily hip folk - and that says a great deal, as the occasions of Austin hip have been recounted to me from quite some time back and with great authority. My folks' initials can be found inscribed in tables at the Tavern from 1947 and their recollections went back to parties with the Tom Miller and Creekmore Fath crowds among others. One would have to consult Pastoskie or Walsh for a score of the more contemporary 'hip', plenty of whom I expect are simply folks convenient to popular media at some moment.

28½ & Pearl rarely failed to register hip seismics. Nor did the strolling cocktail hours on Oakhurst. Less commonly, Nothing Strikes Back fit the bill. As did Deep Eddy Pool. Eyore's birthday, limited as it was to Plan 2 intimates, was a debut for the soon-to-be-hip and reunion for the used-to-be-hip. Today, I think about hip in terms of replacement.

¡Hasta la próxima!