Folks' Stuff

Fishing Hat Customized by James Paul "Captain Jim" "Pops" Farrar

The late and great immortal songster and soul of Skuntry Jim Farrar pasted a Route 66 decal onto this fishing hat, which he wore to a hippie commune in the Missouri Ozarks and various swinging parties on his pleasurecraft and, no doubt, to more than one tavern in Soulard before leaving this planet of pain to the party boat in the sky, or rather, on the River of Coffee, where the mermaids are waitresses, and tobacco doesn't rot you. It is photographed here hanging from the rafters of the Museum by the C from Cogan's, a lost hipster hangout in Norfolk, Virginia.

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Cleaning Out Cogan's

Improvised by Sam Martinette, his buddy John whose last name we should have gotten, and Chris King (but mostly Sam and John) upon the occasion of happening upon the hipster hangout of their youth, Cogan's, being gutted by the young dudes who had bought it.

Be still my bleeding heart:
they are cleaning out Cogan's.
I had the worst headache of my life
in that bar. Not only do the walls talk,
Ernie who lives in the ceiling talks.

FOR SPACEMAN STRENGTH AND ENDURANCE,
EAT AT COGAN'S. It's a rip-off
of an original
Ringling Bros. circus poster
except the original had King Kong
doing battle with Africans in dugouts,
and since this was a black neighborhood
we didn't want to piss anybody off.
So we switched the Africans to Martians.
Then a bunch of irate Martians came in.

A variation of faces
drawn from tropical fish
I run out of days.

Stu settled down, did you know that?
I think Charlie's down at Black Mountain.
I wasn't fired, but
I wasn't on the schedule either.

Who was that guy who started the Fellowship
of the Purple Tongue?
He fell in love with a woman
who figured him out.
Next thing I knew
he shot himself in the head
on Thanksgiving morning in a mansion
on the other side of Ghent.

Well, finally, the old days are over.
They are cleaning out Cogan's.
I don't want to do any work, though.
I'm not that nostalgic.

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Pair of Autographed Rosco Gordon Gig Shoes

Rosco Gordon, our R&B legend buddy, cut many a festival stage in these warriors before checking out for the steady paying gig in the Great Beyond. Actually, knowing brother's preferences, the Great Beyond for Rosco wouldn't be a gig, it would be a big warm bed with a woman friend and a remote control that shifted him between a Mets game and a boxing match, with a little money riding on both. The shoes are photographed here in a temporary exhibit with Jesus cards from the man's funeral, a pad of paper on which he wrote his memoirs, and an African novel about the afterlife also autographed by Rosco, all staged on a stack of shingles from the museum's half-shingled roof.

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Spoons Legitimately Clacked by Fred Friction

Spoonsman, drummer, songwriter, singer, raconteur, cross-dresser, barfly, bar owner, and a BMF besides, South St. Louis' own Fred Friction played these spoons against his spindly thigh before donating them to the museum. The musical silverware is photographed here with instructions for how to play them, a ticket stub from Night of a Thousand Spoons III (an event Mr. Friction hosted at the late, lamented Cicero's Basement Bar) and (a more or less unrelated item) "Sad Sack Sixpack," a piece by Larry Krone, an artist from St. Louis with a thang for C&W lyrics (affix these stickers to the bottom of what yer drinking, and read "You Are On My Lonely Mind").

Last Modified: Mar 11, 2003 at 8:37PM (EST)