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The Bus Pointer
by Steve Melton 1963-1995

The bus pointer was one of those characters you see once in a life, if you’re lucky. I’d heard talk of him from Billy Litos. “Man, you have got to see this guy. He stands on the corner and gives the bus the finger every morning.” Billy rode the bus out to his job in the morning; I would go to see the bus pointer in the afternoon, on the corner of West 25th and Lorain, and he would never be there. That was in 1982. In 1988, Mike Baker told me of the same guy. Six years later. “Stevie, you must see him. He understands ConScience.” ConScience was this nonsense philosophy I had developed over the years. Me and Baker were running for President against Bush and Dukakis. We had a ten point platform which included nuclear sculpting of the moon into a bust of Ginger Grant, the abolition of trucks and the bringing back of trains, free beer, and a national yard sale at the boarders of Canada and Mexico to reduce the ‘deflict’ as my neighbor Red calls the deficit. I think we got four votes. We had vowed to defeat all the Disney characters but I doubt if we did. We didn’t have much of a power base. We were drunk most of the time in those days. But, I figured if I saw this bus pointing guy, I could gather psychic energy from him and work on my theory of time travel. I had this theory that if you took four Rasinets and stuck them behind the rearview mirror and chanted some magic words, you could travel through time. The problem was that I didn’t know the secret words. I had a feeling that if I found the bus pointer these words would come to me.

I saw him on accident. I went over to West 25th Street to sell some books and as I came out the bookstore a #22 bus passed loud and stinking. I hate busses and cussed its passing. I watched it head on down towards the Detroit –Superior Bridge, and there stood a little fellow standing outside in the Liberty Restaurant, dive of all dives, pointing at the bus furiously. He wasn’t giving it the finger, but he was pointing at it with fervor and lunacy and I knew it was him. Bwop. It was incredible. He would point at the bus like this – like a Nazi salute, but with his forefinger pointing and then draw back his arm to his shoulder and again and again and again with great rapidity. It was the bus pointer. I walked up to him. He looked like a Native American. I asked him – “Man, why do you point at the bus?” He didn’t answer me but smiled and did seven more points at the now far away bus and walked into the Liberty. I was gonna but buy him some coffee but he was crackers and wouldn’t talk so I left. That same night I figured out the words for time travel; ‘The big boss is Bill Russell. There is heavy tar.’ You had to sing these words to the tune of ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ an infamous 1970’s song. I drove to the Dairy Mart and bought Rasinets and tried it right there in the parking lot at two thirty in the morning. It didn’t work. I thought for sure that it would. At least I got to see the bus pointer.

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