THE KILLER POET

In 1996, when I first opened the Burkhart Underground all-ages coffeehouse, every old codger in town came by to perform poetry: World War Two and Viet Naam Vets, Peace Activists and Angry Old Men, Out of Work Retirees and Bob Hope type Comedians. It was like Noah's ark had finally washed ashore, splashing out its cargo of ancient animals that all of a sudden evolved into modern poets with something to say.

But it didn't take the lot of them very long to realize that they really didn't belong in this modern age -- there were just too many young people at my place for their liking!

And always, to avoid hearing the new, these old timers would insist on going up to the stage first, to deliver their tired ass recollections of stuff only they and a handful of retirees were capable of appreciating. And just as quickly, they'd rush out the door without listening to one word from anyone else. Finally, when I told them they had to go up last - that we were going to hear from the young people first - well, they quit coming around.

(Thank God they quit coming around!)

Now, in today's paper (Chicago Sun Times, March 23rd, 2005) I read that one of these guys - lovingly referred to as the "Killer Poet" - had been on the run from the Police for 20 years, having escaped prison in 1985, where he had already served 26 years for the 1960 execution style shooting of a citizen, in addition to participating in the 1961 shooting death of a jail master. Whew!

And would you believe it... throughout all those years on the run, he'd been living here in Chicago, posing as a mild mannered peace loving poet/janitor, and frequenting coffeehouses like Green Mill & Burkhart's. Yes, a cold blooded murderer was hiding in our midst.

And yes, his poetry was so shallow that it revealed absolutely nothing of the true nature that lurked there beneath the cleverly constructed surface. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised it he'd copied his texts from some obscure cache of recently discovered Victorian love letters, so mundane was his sentiment.

Looking back, I am happy to report that this Killer Poet - one Norman A. Porter Jr. (or Mister J.J.Jameson, as he had come to be known here in Chicago) - was the first poet I bodily threw out of the Burkhart Underground so many years ago!

But what else could I do? I had to make way for the newly arriving youth, intent on expressing themselves in a newly forming world, without violence, without pretense.


	Return to BURKHART STORIES THE KILLER POET Boston Herald File Photo In 1996, when I first opened the Burkhart Underground all-ages coffeehouse, every old codger in town came by to perform poetry: World War Two and Viet Naam Vets, Peace Activists and Angry Old Men, Out of Work Retirees and Bob Hope type Comedians. It was like Noah's ark had finally washed ashore, splashing out its cargo of ancient animals that all of a sudden evolved into modern poets with something to say. But it didn't take the lot of them very long to realize that they really didn't belong in this modern age -- there were just too many young people at my place for their liking! And always, to avoid hearing the new, these old timers would insist on going up to the stage first, to deliver their tired ass recollections of stuff only they and a handful of retirees were capable of appreciating. And just as quickly, they'd rush out the door without listening to one word from anyone else. Finally, when I told them they had to go up last - that we were going to hear from the young people first - well, they quit coming around. (Thank God they quit coming around!) Now, in today's paper (Chicago Sun Times, March 23rd, 2005) I read that one of these guys - lovingly referred to as the "Killer Poet" - had been on the run from the Police for 20 years, having escaped prison in 1985, where he had already served 26 years for the 1960 execution style shooting of a citizen, in addition to participating in the 1961 shooting death of a jail master. Whew! And would you believe it... throughout all those years on the run, he'd been living here in Chicago, posing as a mild mannered peace loving poet/janitor, and frequenting coffeehouses like Green Mill & Burkhart's. Yes, a cold blooded murderer was hiding in our midst. And yes, his poetry was so shallow that it revealed absolutely nothing of the true nature that lurked there beneath the cleverly constructed surface. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised it he'd copied his texts from some obscure cache of recently discovered Victorian love letters, so mundane was his sentiment. Looking back, I am happy to report that this Killer Poet - one Norman A. Porter Jr. (or Mister J.J.Jameson, as he had come to be known here in Chicago) - was the first poet I bodily threw out of the Burkhart Underground so many years ago! But what else could I do? I had to make way for the newly arriving youth, intent on expressing themselves in a newly forming world, without violence, without pretense. Appointment: 1228 N. Noble St. (coach house) Chicago, 60622 (773 348-8536)