On July 3, 1999 Tami & I made the 100 mile drive from our place in Pittsburgh to Cheryl Townsend's bookstore in Kent, Ohio for a poetry/music celebration. We'd made the trip before for other readings but this one was coinciding with a town wide festival called Kent Heritage Days or something like that. The streets would be closed. There would be food & games & live bands & vendors selling trinkets. And we, the poets & musicians gathering at Cat's Impetuous Books & Stuff, would be a part of it. We'd be outside in the alley in front of the store, singing, pounding drums, reading poems, plunking guitars, discreetly sipping our drinks.(Police were present off & on, wearing shorts & riding bicycles). It had the potential to be something special.

I was looking forward to seeing Cat again. She always treats me kindly. I'd also be seeing my buddy from Erie, Ron Androla, who I've known since the mid-eighties. We always manage to have a good time when we get together. Ron would thump the conga while I sang & played guitar later that day. I was eager to meet Jim Chandler face to face. We had corresponded years ago, lost touch, then recently reconnected via the internet. I also knew that I'd be meeting people new to me. Poets whose work I'd read but never met or corresponded with other than an occasional comment on a posting board. Poets like Cait Collins, Trina Stolec, Elaine Thomas & Michael McNeilley.

After Tami & I had checked into our room, we made a b-line to the bookstore. I had a cooler full of Rolling Rock & ice in the trunk of the car. We said our hellos to Cat, who greeted us warmly, then busily went about the business of running the store & readying the reading. Ron & Jim were already there, secure in the upstairs backroom lounge, drinking & swapping stories. Jim introduced himself. We hit it off. Tami thought he was charming, a perfect Southern gentleman. Ron & I caught up with one another, passed the pipe & joked over beers. I pulled out the guitar & we did a few songs. Then Tami & I walked off to explore the festival & grab a bite to eat before it all got started.

When we returned, we found Cait Collins had arrived. She was a wild woman, dressed in black & sporting a surprise in her sock. We talked for a while upstairs & enjoyed one another's gifts then made our move outside. Logic Alley, featuring Trina Stolec on lead vocals, was ready to get things rolling. Trina had a cast on her leg but she performed like a trooper, at one point handcuffing Ron's travelling companion, John Biggie. The band was tight, the music was there & things were off to a good start.

I think that it was sometime near the end of Logic Alley's set that Michael & Lainie arrived. They had parked in the same lot we had & Michael was rattling down the alley in his wheelchair with Lainie at his side. Ron was sitting next to me. He nudged me & said, "That's Michael McNeilley." I didn't know that Michael was missing a part of a leg. I really didn't know much about Michael at all outside of his poems & the fact that he had helped Ron set up one of his websites. But I knew I liked his poems & that I had heard other good poets speak of him with respect, even reverence. I was anxious to meet him. We introduced ourselves & I offered him & Lainie a beer. As the evening progressed, I made several trips to the cooler to grab beers & I did my best to keep Michael & Lainie on my delivery list. At one point, Lainie politely declined. I assumed she'd had her fill. Michael laughed & told me, "Get her another! She's just trying to be nice. She's afraid we're drinking all your beer." That wasn't a problem. I was well stocked & besides, you can always get more beer. I remember that Michael was impressed with Tami's ability to open the bottles with her teeth.

Michael was a true presence. I've been to my fair share of these gatherings over the years & I like to believe that I've learned to quickly cull the wheat from the chaff. There was no mistaking that Michael was the real deal. He seemed centered & calm & fully in touch with everything that was happening around him. His long white hair & beard gave him a saintly, mystical appearance. But I remember his face being youthful, pinkish cheeks & a glad smile. Bright eyes behind his glasses that had somehow retained an innocence through the years. Perhaps because they had learned to see through all the bullshit, straight through to the pure essence of things. He listened more than he talked & appeared to be interested in everyone.

When it was his turn to read, Michael deftly hopped from his chair onto the stool. He offered a few opening remarks then began on the poems, reading in a soft, confident voice. He was smart. He was funny. He took us down some hard roads then safely home again. He was also in love, his string of words & gentle intonations giving proof to that. He finished & graciously thanked us all for listening. We were the ones who were in debt. He should have read longer after travelling so far to be there. But Michael was no space hog. Everyone would get their turn.

Michael rejoined the audience & the words rolled on. Everyone supported everyone & there was never a hint of ego or self-importance. Ron wrapped up the show just in time for the fireworks. We talked & back-slapped & partied in the alley, sneaking upstairs for a few tokes now & then. As we basked in the afterglow, Michael made a comment that I'll always remember. It says a lot as to how he felt about his life at that point in time & why he was able to feel that way. Someone in our circle commented on Lainie's beauty with the wry implication that Michael was one lucky old dog. Michael nodded, smiled & told us all, "Nobody has to tell me how lucky I am."

Eventually it was time for goodbyes. Handshakes, hugs & fare-thee-wells. Tami & I were hungry & headed to Bellie's Diner & then to our rented bed. Others were taking the party to Ray's Bar or their own rooms or to Cait's van. When I approached Michael for a few parting words, he handed me a copy of his book, SITUATIONAL REALITY. I think I gave him one of my chaps then I moved on to other farewells & then we were gone. I left thinking I'd see Michael & the rest of this crew next year.

I learned of Michael's passing a few days after it happened. I knew he had been admitted to the hospital but I hadn't been on-line for several days. When I finally checked my e-mail, I was shocked & saddened. I scanned the posting boards & caught up on it all. I saw the beautiful things being written about him. I read the heartbreak in the words of the people he'd touched, many who'd never been lucky enough to meet him face to face. Almost all of these folks knew Michael better than I did. But I did have the good fortune to spend a few hours in his company, to hear him read his words, to drink some beers together & share some laughs. I wanted to remember that time & to record it as best as I could remember.

Tonight I plucked SITUATIONAL REALITY from the bookshelf. I remember reading it straight through sitting in the backyard on the 4th of July after we'd gotten home from Kent. Tonight I'm randomly selecting poems: Roll, 6 questions, Singing Goodbye. Any one I pick is a prize. I try to read them with Michael's voice in my head, hoping to recapture that gentle, self-assured center from which they sprang. But tonight my favorite part is the title page where Michael had scrawled:

To Bart--
Thanks for the beer
Michael Mcneilley

*You're more than welcome, Michael. It was a small thing. Thank you for the poems. The beer was gone by morning. Your words will last as long as we will let them.