For Crazy Owl

Charles Emerson Hall 1927-2011

This is Crazy Owl. I'm struggling for words to describe him or how to accurately convey my experiences with him. I met him when I was 18 and working at the Co-op. He was a 75 year-old gay witch doctor with a doctorate in statistics. He was shorter and bald on top, but had long gray, partially dreaded hair and beard. He typically wore a green baja pullover and smelled of an odd amalgamation of weed, herbs and old man. His hands shook violently, ceaselessly. He had trouble writing; it took him ages to write me a check. I would have his assortment of bulk containers of honey, herbs, dried mushrooms, and grains totaled and bagged long before he even opened his checkbook. Once he started writing, you could barely make out anything he scribbled. I would wait for him to leave before getting his check out of the drawer and writing the amount written legibly.

When I was 19, I moved into The Fairy Mansion, an eight bedroom victorian mansion on Third Street. When I moved in, my friends that were already living there were intentionally "living in community." Living in community sounds less 1967 than saying living in a commune, but that's basically what we did. We shared this house, each of us having our own bedroom while the remainder of the house was community space. We cooked and ate meals together, each had cleaning and maintenance responsibilities. we had a weekly concensus-based meeting to address concerns and problems. When someone moved out and another person wanted to move in, we gathered for our house meeting and had to all agree about the potential house member. When it was my turn to be discussed, Crazy Owl, who was occupying the room that was next to the vacant room, cast the sole vote denying my chance to live there. Crazy Owl did not try to hide his desire to have some nubile young hippie living on the other side of his wall. He just didn't want that fresh young thing to be a woman. I tried again the next month and was accepted by all. I think Crazy Owl realized that since no young gay men had expressed interest, he should accept my rent money instead.

So, for about a year, I lived with this crazy man. He once tried to pay for weed with a check. He smoked a lot of pot, and his hands would shake so hard that the weed would fall out of the bowl. He would leave out swinger magazines, and he never hid the fact that, though he was 76, he was still feisty and looking for a good time. If there was ever an ill, Crazy Owl offered you a container of honey with various brown dried herbs steeping in it. He was long winded and usually unintentionally funny. Crazy Owl moved out of The Fairy Mansion in 2004 to live in a community of mostly gay men in Tennessee. He was a character, the kind that even the most talented author couldn't conjure. Even though I had not seen him in seven years, when i read of his passing, it made me stop and think of the craziness that accompanied this old owl. I'm glad he was in my life. Rest in Peace, Crazy Owl.

*It is 5:12am. i'm ready to go back to sleep. so I'm not editing this. there are errors and i didn't capitolize everything i should have. whatevs. i'll come back and edit later.*