Mike Love, Part 2

Lest you need more convincing, Mike Love was at Rishikesh with the Beatles, Donovan and Mia Farrow. Brian wasn't.

And how many other musicians of the time had the Beatles write and perform a song about them? "Happy Birthday, Michael Love."

All you need is Love, indeed. J'ai guru dev.

It's All Right, Jack

I've never considered myself a Jack Kerouac fan. I've read "On The Road" and "The Dharma Bums" (the latter while hitchhiking through Mexico, of course), but that's almost required reading for anyone who claims to be an American. A recent trip to Kerouac's hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts (and his final resting place) gave me a little greater appreciation of the man, however.

Kudos first of all to Lowell, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and the National Park Service for preserving Kerouac's legacy and providing a helpful map of historic points connected with his life.

Despite the unusually hot weather, it was a fascinating experience chasing Jack's ghost around town in the shadows of the enormous mills that were Lowell's lifeblood for a hundred years. Of course, this was the time in Kerouac's life when he was the local high school hero who scored the winning touchdown on Thanksgiving Day against a local rival. He returned to Lowell in his later years when he was drinking his life away and was buried here after he died in Florida. In between, he ran with Ginsberg, Burroughs and company and wrote himself into history.

But Kerouac's first major book, "The Town and the City," published in 1950, was largely autobiographical and is generally derided by critics as not up to the standards of his later, better-known works. Caught up as I was in all things Lowell, I searched it out. What a tremendous read. The story of the Martin (AKA Kerouac) family from the mid-1930s to just after World War II, it's beautifully written and an absolutely haunting study of one family struggling, often unsuccessfully, to survive the pressures of the modern world. Sure, it's overwritten at times, but it's also wonderfully unselfconscious in the way only a first-time writer can be. He wasn't writing for the ages - yet. This is a powerful, heartfelt narrative, not stream-of-consciousness rambling up from the bottom of a bottle. The book's closing pages, with the family gathered for a funeral, is powerful stuff indeed.

Give it a read. You won't regret it, even if "On The Road" isn't your cup of tea. "The Town and the City" - by an author still known then as John Kerouac - is a literary classic from a time when America was still capable of producing one.