Bill was feeling more and more uncomfortable every year, but he felt trapped in the city. He had to earn a living so he had to make the best of it. Sometimes helping other people would take Bill’s mind off his problems…
Jonathan
One day Jonathan turned up at Bill’s doorstep. He was a long, lanky kid, about seventeen, who just wandered off the street. Bill learned Jonathan was a drug addict and had a minor criminal background. He and Margarete decided they would try and help him. They talked to the police and his parents and then took Jonathan into their home.
Bill tried everything to help the boy. He encouraged him to appreciate the beauty in the world around them. He tried to get him interested in learning to paint. All Jonathan would do, however, was lie around the house and smoke. When he wasn’t around he was out on the street for six or seven hours at a time.
Bill and Margarete were at their wits’ end. They sat down with Jonathan and talked about America, happiness and leading a good life. “You’re lucky you live here,” Bill told him. “You’ve got everything. Freedom. You can walk the street a proud, free man, almighty with what you can do with your life.” But Jonathan just couldn’t accept that he was the problem. He made excuses blaming his situation on other people — anyone but himself. He even became delusional telling Bill about a time when he met Elizabeth Taylor and how he flirted with her. There seemed to be no end of Jonathan’s excuses.
When Jonathan turned 18, he left Bill’s and Margarete’s care to strike out on his own. Years later, Bill learned that Jonathan’s life didn’t turn out so well.
Bill felt that all people needed was encouragement and the opportunity to release their inner power. But he came to realize that wasn’t always the case. Bill found it disheartening that he was unable to help someone like Jonathan.
Christmastime
One day, while Bill and Margarete were managing the apartment house in Long Beach, the pipes in the basement got clogged. It was a Sunday — a few days before Christmas. Bill couldn’t call the owner because the owner didn’t want to be disturbed on a Sunday. So Bill tried to fix the pipes himself. It was the main sewer pipe and while he was trying to repair it, it burst and flooded the cellar. When the owner arrived the next day, he took one look at the damage, and fired Bill and Margarete on the spot. Worse, he threw them out on the street just two days before Christmas.
That seemed to be how it went, year after year. First a new start and a high moment with his students. It wasn’t long, though, before Bill was struggling to make some money, just to make ends meet. Bill and Margarete lived in different houses and fixed them up into their home or a studio. Often, though, they made their home in the Volkswagen bus.
As time went on, things seemed to improve. Bill found a couple of good agents, and one of them ran some important art galleries. Bill started doing bigger and bigger shows. He sometimes rented a hotel conference room or an auditorium. Two or three hundred people would show up for a one-day session. At first, he charged a small admission fee of two or three dollars. As his shows became more successful he was able to charge twenty-five dollars or more for admission. Most of the proceeds, though, covered expenses or commissions for the agents and backers. The shows would begin at ten o’clock in the morning, and Bill would do a painting. During lunch, Bill got a chance to meet and talk with the attendees. In the afternoon he would do a couple more paintings, and everybody would paint along with him at their own easels. When he finished the show, Bill raffled off his paintings. Everyone had a great time.
Moving On
In spite of these small successes, Bill felt he just wasn’t moving forward. Wintertime seemed particularly difficult. Bill felt exploited in one way or another. He was working harder than ever, but he was not making any money. Sometimes he felt he’d rather dig ditches than keep on painting. The final insult came that Christmas season. Bill made a deal with an agent. He would paint a large group of Christmas themed images. When the paintings sold, he and the agent would split the proceeds. Bill locked himself in a room and painted without letup for a month. When Christmas arrived the agent was gone — with all the money. He vanished to Australia.
“Margarete,” Bill said, “maybe we’re not cut out for city life”. He decided it was time for them to see more of America. He thought they might find their dream somewhere on the open road.
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