Other
nightclubs have come & gone,
the Catalyst is forever...
It's
Happy Hour Friday Catalyst style,
like, goin' way back,
this packed
lettin' all the weeklong pent-up talk
break out,
&
music hittin' ya head-on like a loud Mack truck,
all comin’ & blastin' atch’ya
the
moment you walk in—
You've entered the Garden Room
& Wally's Swing World all dressed in clean cut
black & white
is puttin'
out a whopper of sound the floor is jumpin',
whirls of swing dance couples doin'
it right—
After all these years
Wally's Swing is still performin'
as if only last Friday I were here
—it's been years—,
—&
years further back
the
Dixieland Abalone Stompers
were puttin' out the weekly Happy
Hour blast—
& how the
world the world the world
spins
on & on,
& the couples still swing to it,
they've
got the number of this place,
they
really dig it,
such a groove so easy to slip into,
the big bomb of echo in the bright
air
under the slant ceiling of lattice beams all translucent,
all open feelin',
pourin' in all this light
—a windowed wall facin'
the street its glass shutters
thrown open—
it's
all another kind’a cathedral-like,
showered in light—
& it hits ya, this
plant lavish place,
vibrant green, eye sees everywhere—
big ferns hangin' from the beams
& forest leaf splendor
spread overhead
& large planter box big-leafed tropicals
with their spindly branches,
& barroom fans are twirlin',
a big rowboat hangs above all the action,
plenty of people-congregatin'
solid wood-topped tables,
& some of the
old Gang I see are still here,
it's
been like years ago
—like 10 years ago—,
we'd meet & yak & head off
to parties
& openings & points here & there
&
in between...
& the crowd spills over to the back
wrap-around bar,
a
green leather sofa some guys & gals
are
yappin’ on nearby,
& to the further back big performance
room
—the concert is
later—
others scatter to dim & quiet,
but here,
at
the back Garden Room bar & at the tables,
in
the aisles & on the dance floor—
yap
yappin' the mouths are goin'
& drinkin,'
it's
a mad happy roilin' clamorin'
scene,
& local artist dance extraordinaire
Ed Teitcher
is hot dancin' with an equally masterful
long-legged
beauty
in the main
front
—get-out-of-their-way—
food counter aisle
where the
bright color quirky sort’a murals are,
they're
dancin' like they’re oblivious to others,
like
stars actin’ in their own fast movie,
& then the music stops
like this is it
& the dancers clap for an encore number
& so Wally &
gang
hit it
again
with
all they got
& the
couples swing & jitter & twirl
like this is really
it now till next week,
better
do it—
& suddenly the music
the music the music
is over
& a roomful of voices
sends up huge
a
reverberating echo
&
then goes the loud clang of the bell for last call,
better
get yourself up to the bar quick—
And so another Happy Hour
closes
at the
Catalyst,
another weekly
slice of Wally's swing pie,
like,
served up—
And over the entrance
—Exit as you leave—
there's
Jesus, looks out a plastic display box,
with his neon
pink halo,
caught
in the pose
of
strummin'
a guitar...
July
1999