He told a story about being arrested in
the French Quarter in New Orleans which was typical of the “Doc
affliction", his self-inflicted curse. He had been relieving himself between two parked cars
when a New Orleans police officer walked up. She was short and,
according to Doc, somewhat rotund. When she started to rouse him, he
looked her up and down and said, in his gently sarcastic drawl, “I
thought that the New Awlins City Po-lice had height and weight
re-kwiya-ments.” He caught six charges for that one, including
resisting arrest. This was Doc, he had a cavalier approach to
situations which usually led to a negative outcome for him. He was
definitely the sole author of the tragicomedy that was his life.
There are probably as many stories told
about Doc as there were stories told by him; here is one of mine.
Once upon a time, I owned a business in downtown Vicksburg. It was a
modest business but I had put everything I had into it and was
struggling to make it work. Doc had been living in the store next
door to mine as a guest of the owners. He was allowed to sleep there
at night in exchange for “night-watch” duties, errands, and
various chores but, mostly just to help him out. It was just days
away from Christmas and to say that my business was very slow is
being generous. The only reason I went in every day was to get the
mail and lie in wait for the occasional customer. My sole employee,
John, had been letting some “raisin buck” ferment in my darkroom.
Raisin buck is a toxic concoction not completely unlike wine, the
manufacture of which had been learned while my employee was
incarcerated. I'm not sure of the etymology of the word “buck”
or the use of it instead of wine in this case; it may have something
to do with the fact that it was fermented in a garbage bag or the involuntary spasm that hits you on the first sip. No
customers had darkened my door for over a week and we were just
sitting around staring at each other wondering what we were going to
do when Doc stopped by for a visit. We started talking and Doc was
telling stories and being the consummate entertainer when I got the
idea for a small impromptu Christmas party. I told my employee to go
down and get the raisin buck and we'd all have a drink to pass the
time. It wasn't half-bad and I didn't think it would blind us, so we
continued to drink the stuff while Doc cracked jokes. Vicksburg's
mayor had, several years earlier, started a tradition of making the
rounds of businesses with a film crew to get holiday greetings from
business owners to air on the local television station. He had also
started a tradition of completely ignoring my business for these
promotional spots. So of course, he picked this moment to decide to
stop ignoring me. He ambushed us and got a holiday greeting from the
three of us: my employee, Doc and myself; all of us aglow and half
inebriated from the fermented buck. I think I may have even offered
him a cup. I wish that I had a picture of me and John standing there
with our cups, Doc in the background, smiling and waving.
Doc's name was John M. Schlosser, and he
would tell people that the “M” stood for Moderation (it really
stood for Mason) and that his last name had “loser” in it. He
was a genuine character. It was said that he could clear out a bar
faster than an angry man with a gun but, while most people would try
to avoid him, I was always glad to find a seat next to him. I've
been told, several times in the past, that a friend had passed away
only to find out later that I had been misinformed. I hope this is
the case with Doc and that I'll run into him somewhere one day and
we'll have a few drinks and tell some stories.
Update: A mutual friend confirmed that Doc was taken off the respirator at River Region Hospital and passed away on June 11, 2012. Your friends are gonna miss you, Doc.
Jimmy Bishop
Update: A mutual friend confirmed that Doc was taken off the respirator at River Region Hospital and passed away on June 11, 2012. Your friends are gonna miss you, Doc.
Jimmy Bishop
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