Oddballs of Comstock

  Much had been said and hinted at of odd and strange characters, invited by me, to darken the dingy halls of Comstock. But I think that one cannot fully understand the absurdities and vulgarities of such creatures, until they are examined up close. Here is a profile of two of the more colorful ones. There are others, to be sure, but these stand out most in my mind.

 

D. Craik, AKA Mu-Tai Man: 

 This odd person was dredged from the bottom of Rocky Horror. He latched onto us and was kept around for pure comedic value; till his behavior became so unbelievably tiresome that he was tossed back, like the fat bottom feeder that he was.

To quickly sum up his character, he was a sympathy leech. His entire social life was devoted to making people feel sorry for him, so they would give him attention and tolerate his presence. This would work for a short time, until people realized just how full of shit he was and ditch him. It was a little different for the Dashwood Society, because we knew all of this up front and kept him around anyway. His basic social function was the equivalent of a rodeo clown.

Physically he was round. Round head atop a round torso. Roundish arms ending in thick sausage fingers. Thick, squat, stout legs to heft up his lumbering frame, with the prerequisite coke bottle glasses sticking over his round nose.

Understand that he was obviously host to a multitude of mental problems and was rather slow. He claimed to have some retardation, but this turned out to be false. (Confirmed by test results we found in his apartment) He was functional enough to speak properly and maintain his own residence, so I, again, doubt the claim. He did manage to convince a group that he had this affliction and traveled around with a bunch of other slightly retarded people (The Tard Herd, as Brian dubbed them), just so he would have some friends. One amusing incident occurred with them, when Jeff Death hit on the female member of the herd (whom we dubbed The Beast), and was rejected by her. Now you know there’s something wrong if retarded females are turning you down.

Among the various categories of nonsense emitted from him: we discovered that he went to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, even though he didn’t drink, just so people would listen to him. He claimed to be involved in a sexual incident, with an attractive female, on stage at the Rochester Rocky Horror show, which subsequently got him kicked out. No one from the Rochester cast had ever heard of him. He claimed to have a King Cobra in his apartment that he constantly had to wrestle to keep in its cage. A search of said domicile revealed no such animal. He claimed to have a girlfriend, who was apparently invisible. He also claimed to be a master of martial arts, the Mu-Tai. A demonstration, of which he gave at Comstock, showed this not to be true. The only claim that I did believe was that his father was ashamed of him, and they didn’t speak. The reason he gave was the aforementioned Rocky Horror incident, which proved to be bogus, so the real cause is anyone’s guess.

He also had an attraction to my then beau, Sue the Boot, and would pester her with sad stories about his life, to show her what a tragic and tortured soul he was, so she would give him a pity fuck. For a brief time, the Rocky Cast went to the Your Host in Kenmore, for their after-parties. We would sit at the booths (each supplied with a mini juke-box, if you remember). Sue and I would sit on one side, and Chuck (God rest his soul), who had some girth, would attempt to take up the entire other side to exclude Craik. Undaunted, Craik would sit behind us, trying to talk to Sue, who hated him. Often we played songs on the juke box to drown him out, but he would then sing along with them. Once we unfortunately played the Phil Collins song, “No Son of Mine.” To which Craik rattled off the yarn about how his father, now a preacher, had disowned him, and loudly started crooning, “I’m no son. No son of hiiiiisssss.” This prompted my dripping-with-sympathy response, “CRAIK SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The Mu-Tai incident at Comstock happened during a Frank party. Sue the Boot was long gone and I was with Carrie, my future fiancée. Craik was getting drunk, his first time ever we learned, and spinning yards of bullshit, including being a Master of the Mu-Tai, which he drunkenly offered to demonstrate. He told me to hold a stick, and said that he would kick it out of my hand. He then started hopping about on the front lawn, in the dark, hands around his waist, yanking his belt back and forth. The sight of which indelibly printed itself in my mind. “Had to check my belt,” He said.

I held the stick out and he kicked, which missed by a foot, but I tossed it in the air and yelled, “My God, the power!” Knowing he had missed, he insisted that I hold it again, so he could really “show me something.” This lead me to speculate as to how crazy this guy was, as he really did believe all of the lies he had been spewing. I called him on it and let him kick the stick: one, two, three, four, five, SIX times with no success, surprise surprise. On the seventh he kicked it and I let it fly, falling down in mock astonishment. He ran over, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.

“Well Craik,” I answered, “You certainly showed me something.”

Craik was soon cut loose. There was only so much moaning and whining one can take. When that is the staple of your personality, even the most kind-hearted of souls will quickly become burned out. He did however perform one last service to us.

Now this might seem a little cruel, but understand that he was largely oblivious to the ridicule around him, and he had more fun with us than he ever had in his life. With us he got to go to real parties, get drunk for the first time, and even lose his virginity (We paid for the hour, but it didn’t take that long).

Big Chief Strait-Jacket (real name unknown):

 

 Very few people remember this man, but this is who they are thinking of when they mention loonies I invited to Comstock. Indeed he was the looniest of them all. He was only invited over once, and yes, he did drool on himself.

Big Chief Strait-Jacket was a counter creature we picked up at Denny’s on Elmwood. This was before the smoking ban, and the counter by the cash register often had a collection of strange people, ourselves included, who sat around, smoking, drinking coffee, and chatting. What we called the “counter culture.”

He was a large man of Native American descent, with long scraggly black hair, which whipped about when in a delirium rage. His never changing garb consisted of a dirt encrusted green jacket, faded blue jeans, and a pair of Kangaroo sneakers, the kind with the zipper pocket on the side. Out of production by at least eight years by then. 

We never learned his true name and dubbed him Big Chief Strait-Jacket since he obviously needed one. His hobbies included jerking his head back and forth, staring at people, and dipping his index finger into a glass of water, then pressing it to his forehead repeatedly. He also liked to zone out and drool. Thick drips of saliva would run over his bottom lip and splash directly into his coffee. We were amazed at his accuracy.

Despite the picture I’m painting, there were times when the meds kicked in and he could speak lucidly. It’s just that this didn’t occur very often.

Endearing as he was, Big Chief Strait-Jacket was never really “one of the gang.” There was only one time when I attempted to include him anywhere besides Denny’s and that was at the Wolverine’s party.

I was under orders from Dave to invite as many people as I could. I interpreted this to mean everyone. So I did, including Big Chief. “It’ll be a big party. You’ll have lots of fun,” I said. I wrote down directions and he lucidly and happily agreed to go, despite the hefty $4 cover charge. Cigar stores traditionally have a wooden Indian; I figured Comstock could use a drooling one.

I was late for the party and missed the Big Chief’s arrival. Apparently Mike, the gatekeeper, took one look at him, told him there was no party and slammed the door. Despite the loud music in the basement, the Chief believed him, or, used to this treatment, left anyway. This happened to several people whom I invited, and I was accosted by Mike and Aaron on the subject when I arrived.

“These weird people keep showing up saying they know you.” Mike stated.

“Where are they?” I said, curious to know which ones he meant.

“We didn’t let them in.”

“Why not? You said you wanted a big party. How can you be successful if you don’t let people in?”

The response was garbled and I don’t remember it well, but it sounded like a “beautiful people only” argument. Being who we were that didn’t sound like a reasonable response. As this was supposed to be the first of a series of parties, turning people away right from the start didn’t seem like good business sense. Ah well.

Big Chief Strait-Jacket soon disappeared into the hallucinatory realm where he dwelled. But his stereotype held, everyone I brought around was inevitably described as crazy and drooling on themselves.

All I can say is, “He’s a really good guy.”

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5 Responses

  1. I to have the lawn demonstration burned in my brain, but I forgot about Dan’s fo fall! I never met the Chief, but it all makes sense now! There was all levels of weirdos that showed up at Comstock over those two years, but a line had to be drawn somewhere. Still, you had to love Dan for his remarkable range of associates; sometimes annoying, setones dangerous, sometimes disgusting; but always entertaining.

  2. I dimly recall Big Chief coming to the door, but I doubt my reluctance to allow him entry had to due to not being pretty enough! I mean look at the old pics; not a figure model do I see.

    Mu-Tai I remember. Was he the same guy that got himself stranded on a tiny island right near the edge of the falls and had to be air lifted to rescue, or was that someone else?

    And for characters, don’t forget Chuck, RIP, who only wanted to buy a little wampum.

  3. Goat Island boy was Dave Schmall. A real loser, who thought he was great. Arrogant prick. I can tell you a few stories about him. Gay Bill said about him, “I’ve never met a guy who liked to be fucked up the ass so much.”

    Chuck wanted Firewater and yelled it out in the reservation.

  4. What was the “one last service” that he performed?

  5. It’s detailed in the story Craik Call

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