"You know, Jim-Jim, this non-violence shit really pays."
This from the mouth of the infamous "Mad Dog" Salvatano, semi-retired bookie and gambler extraordinaire.
The setting: happy hour at Tujague's Bar on Decatur street, New Orleans, on a classic spring Monday. I made note of the occasion immediately onto a cocktail napkin. I wanted to research later to see if some heavy-metal planet oozing radiation had slipped from orbit, reasoning that there must be some cause for what I had just heard. Contradiction on such a cosmic scale does often not occur without a substantial prompt.
And The Dog is not known as a master of self-restraint in any portion of his life. Thus, his name. This man was embracing non-violence?
He had more to say.
Jim Gabour is an award-winning film producer, writer and director living in New Orleans. His website is here
A full list of Jim Gabour's articles in openDemocracy to date:
"The deliveryman's story" (28 March 2006)
"Urban renewal"
(23 June 2006)
"The big heat"
(10 July 2006)
"Insecticide"
(21 August 2006)
"Life as a remainder" (14 September 2006)
"Long life lines"
(6 October 2006)
"Swimming"
(19 December 2006)
"The two worlds of New Orleans"
(26 January 2007)
“Cutting loose”
(4 May 2007)
I felt another slip in the universe.
"...and there he was in prison..."
This I knew he could relate to.
"... wearing a uniform with the numbers 189 on the pocket."
OK...
"So I got up right then and there and drove to the Cracker Barrel Mini-mart and put a buck on the Lotto Quick Pick 3, betting the numbers 1, 8 & 9..."
Oh, no.
"I tell the cashier where I got my numbers, and she's cute and laughs. Seems to like me, I mean, but who doesn't? Who can resist The Dog in his prime? Though she has these dimples, which are making me crazy. So I buy us each a beer out the cooler, and we have a little talk about this philosophy stuff. We drink a second beer. Almost no customers, you know, on a Sunday night. Even let me sit behind the counter with her while we was sipping our brews. Very classy dame. I got her number.
"Then I figured I'd go finish the movie and get some more of the scoop, but by the time I get home, this Gandhi guy is dead, and Linda smells somebody else's perfume on me and asks me where I been and isn't any too hot about giving me a recap of the plot.
"I figure it can wait and go to bed. Alone.
"So I get up this morning, look at the paper, and sure enough, there it is: the Quick Pick 3 winning numbers are 189. Natch. I won me five hundred bucks because a dead Indian went to jail in South Africa. I'm gonna watch that movie all the way through tonight. Maybe he sent me some more messages, hunh?"
I added that to my notes. The Dog looks to Gandhi for messages, I wrote.
Looking at the wadded, marker-stained cocktail napkin now, I have decided to add the flimsy piece of paper to my mojo altar. It's best to pay attention when these things happen, and I am.
Gandhi probably did, too.
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