The Lowdown’s on now. I’m in it. For some reason, I’m not a character; I’m not named something else. I’m me. Ethan Hawke as Lee Raybon, when he’s getting dragged out of Mercury Lounge in Episode 5, he calls me “Fish.” My name.
I wonder why?
I’ve been a Bouncer for almost 37 years now. 1988 was a long time ago, but it’s as vivid in my thoughts now as it was then. I’ve been at this shit a long time.
Bouncer. Capitalize that word when you are talking about me or any other tooth-breaking, hardcore, soft-speaking goon. Bring us some hot coffee on cold nights, because we are the people who will shield you, try to keep you from getting arrested, give you a shoulder to hold you up, open our arms so you can part with your tragedies, and give you our word that you’ll get home intact.
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Why would that make any difference to TV people? I would not try to fathom reasons, save for one fact about what I do: I protect people.
If there’s a real reason for my role in that show, it’s probably the same as why I’ve gotten any other bouncing gig I’ve ever had: There are very few of us left.
The Bouncer.
Respect what the fuck that it is. We are dying off. The G’s are all gone. I’m what’s left.
My reasoning isn’t perfect. Ask the beautiful people who made the show. I’m fortunate they included me, but in reality, it’s probably because they’re family to me.
Since Reservation Dogs, I’ve done everything I could to make a safe place at Mercury Lounge Tulsa for Sterlin Harjo’s cast and crew. I gave my word. Promises are for chumps. A Bouncer doesn’t promise, but if you have the word of a Bouncer, it’s better than any promise ever made. I gave my word to Dylan Brodie. It still stands, and everyone in the Crazy Eagle universe is safe here. I kept my word.
Maybe that’s why no character was written for my role.
“Tulsa celebrity,” “icon,” “mainstay,” “staple,” those are just words. They pass through my ears like a Greyhound travelling on I-10. I truly love people deeply. Not once have I thought of myself as anything but a guy at a door.
It would be gauche to ascertain that as a reason for being cast in The Lowdown.
If it makes a difference, I have been in several dicey, interesting, injurious, cruel, touching, near-fatal, hilarious, and scandalous experiences that most people only see once in a lifetime. My workdays end in “y,” and these experiences are crammed into the cabinets these days. When you have no badge, real title, or care for any of that shit, and your job is to curb the dark arms of humanity that reach out to harm people for the sake of harm, you don’t need a badge. You need a soft pillow, a firm mattress, and a long hug. Getting cast as myself on TV is both a gift and a part of that long hug.
Think hard about Tulsa. Is it not a societal ecosystem unlike any others? There are characters all over this small-big city that couldn’t be contrived in the minds of some of the greatest artistic geniuses.
Sterlin has an eye for this shit. He’s the dude who shakes hands with the characters Tulsa claims for their own. I could cite any number of examples, but have you met Sterlin’s brother, Rockee? So much would be revealed if you’ve had the pleasure of 20 seconds with Rockee Harjo. These dudes aren’t just Holdenville or Oklahoma. These dudes are Tulsa. They read it like a book, and they live it.
If I somehow fall into the clown car of characters in the Tulsa circus, I’ll take it. But only if Rockee is there with me to assist in making sure everyone has a Dad Hug and a Brother Hug.
I’m not going to go into any other theories of how I had the only autobiographical, independent character role in this magnificent work of art. I’m a fucking Bouncer, and I will let that plane take me wherever I’m supposed to be to keep shit right.
For the moment, I’ll stay where I am in the bosom of Tulsa, listening to its heartbeat. Pulling others into the safety of its hands to hold them, like I’m being held by them. Tulsa’s hands. They’re loving, but not without a pact to give love back.
