I remember you saying about Richard Farina, earlier, now to someone like me, Farina is this legendary figure, who wrote a book and died the night it was published, and you sometimes forget that he lived, and drank...
Dick Farina and I went to the White Horse one night, and no singers turned up except Farina and I. Now Farina could play a fairly good mouth organ. Now we held forth that night, and we had a ball! And when our mouths were sore from playing mouth organs, we sang our fucking hearts out! He was an amazing guy, and it was typical of him, if you knew him, that he would be killed on a motorcycle...
I always thought he was a bit of a loser. I was very fond of him, but I never sensed that he would accomplish the completion of a book. I remember my wife Kim and I, and Dick and Mimi, went up to Woodstock, to Al Grossman's house for Thanksgiving. Beautiful house, haunted, very strange. Bob Dylan had been living there. I don't know if you remember an album of his -- Bringing It All Back Home? He was sitting there with a cat, and there was a kind of frame around it. Well, as soon as I walked into the house, I realised this is where the picture was. The cat was there, and rolls of coloured cellophane that the photographer had used to get the tunnel effect. Dylan had just had the motorcycle accident [SIC -- WITH ALL THE TALK ABOUT RICHARD FARINA'S MOTORCYCLE ACCIDENT, LIAM SEEMS TO CONFUSE THIS WITH ANOTHER VISIT TO AL GROSSMAN'S] and Farina said all of Dylan's stuff was locked in a room downstairs, we had to nail it shut, because so many visitors were visiting Al Grossman, and Dylan was very protective of his stuff; there might have been manuscripts in there that he wouldn't want anyone to get their hands on. But we spent a couple of lovely evenings up there, and coming home in the evenings and lighting a big fire, and Farina started telling us about a book he was writing, and when I read the book [Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me] later, I could find absolutely no similarity whatsoever in what he was telling. It was all based upon those recurring dreams he had about this monkey figure, and it was involved with his father, who was Cuban, and his mother, who was a real Irish biddy. The day the book was published, it got a whole page in the literary section of the New York Times, and I came into the Lion's Head with this under my arm, and Pat was there, with Tom, and Tommy was up at the top of the bar, and I went over to him and said "Jesus Christ, did you see this? Did you see Farina's write-up?" And he had this very sombre look on his face, and he said "Farina was killed last night." We were all very young, and this was the first time that a contemporary had died. At that time I thought we were all immortal.
Who was out there was Judy Collins, who was with Mimi after he'd died, and two days later she came back, and we went for a drink on McDougal Street, and she was high. I was asking "How's Mimi?" and she was saying "not here, not there." Jesus, two hours went by; she called me into a doorway: "The word from Mimi is... love!" She was high as a kite...
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