Heyyyyy Abbott!

Jackson C. Frank was a songwriter. He wrote in English and did things with words that defy explanation, given his life's travels and travails. Yet, he did write and sing songs that, once heard, were not easily forgotten. Once you met him you could never forget him, if not for the things he said, then for his appearance. Scars ringed his face, covered his arms and back and legs, and his hands. It was difficult to reconcile the hands, barely able to open and close, with the sounds they pulled out of a guitar. Miraculous music! He was my friend. We met after a 10-year search for a copy of his album led me to...well, screw that--it led me nowhere but I simply was in the right place at right time and met Mark Anderson, his old college roomie, bandmate, and friend who was my "News For TV and Radio" adjunct professor in college at UCCC in Stone Ridge, New York, where I was starting classes for something---I knew going to college was better than not going, but had no focus at that time--unemployment was rampant and I had just gotten an extension on my unemployment benefits, so back to school I went. I had not been actively looking for Jackson for a while---it was just something that friends knew I had been hoping for. No-one in my circles had ever so much as heard of him, and aside from a version of "Blues Run the Game" on an album by John Renbourn, I had not had much luck finding as much as a trace of anything concrete. Before the internet was a thing we all took to like air, there was the local library for searching for people and things. The population of Woodstock had changed a lot in the 80's so just walking up to the locals was a waste of time most of the time, though doing that could be surprising. I met Michael Esposito, bass player for the Blues Magoos, and later Jackson's neighbor, that way. But in the 80's Jackson was just a guy who used to live there, and now had moved on, since ten years had passed since I first walked into the Collector, the great record store where he traded old records he had stored away with friends, and found his signed copy of Al Stewart's YEAR OF THE CAT LP, beginning my ten year quest for answers and a copy of Jackson's only album, the Paul Simon-produced now classic that contains at least five classics-"Blues Run the Game", "My Name is Carnival", "Milk and Honey", "You Never Wanted Me" and Dialogue (I want to Be Alone". Mark Anderson provided me with a copy of the album and thew location of it's creator. A book was next, and here is how that came to be. And last year, an Italian translation by a fan was produced with my blessings, and I was asked to write a little introduction. ' Ciao a tutti! Here in your hands is the story of how my book, THE CLEAR HARD LIGHT OF GENIUS:JACKSON C FRANK A MEMOIR, came to be. You will find that the book’s story follows a similar path to Jackson’s in that a little dark cloud always seems to be looming nearby. Enough bad things have happened to so many of the people who were close to Jackson and his story that I sometimes think there is a curse on the man. I don’t believe in such things but….we will leave it alone, because I don’t want bring any bad luck to this translation by Gian Carlo! It was an honor to know that he liked my book enough to want to make it accessible to others who don’t have the English language, so when he wrote to me asking for permission to do it, both publisher Ben Goldberg and I agreed and he had our blessing. He asked me to write something for the occasion, so this is what came out of that. —Jim Abbott, MAY 27, Buford GA

WHEN I first got the notion to write a book about Jackson C. Frank, he had already been gone for six years or so. His passing on March 3, 1999, on my birthday no less, had left me with a void in my life which has never really been filled—that of a friend who knew guitars, knew the same obscure musicians and songs, and who didn’t mind my restaurant choices. From the time he died, all I had was a small shoebox full of letters, photos and other memorabilia, as well as a notebook with a half dozen or so completed songs and a few unfinished ones—and two guitars, a penny whistle in D (He was surprisingly good on that thing!) and his green winter jacket. Over the years I sold or gave away all but the green jacket, which I still wear when it’s cold outside, or in a few cases when it fit for a background role I had in the film business down here in “Y’allywood”. I recall exactly who first mentioned a book possibility—My long departed friend Jim Lemyre was always making suggestions for endeavors for me to dive into—he talked me into getting my Bachelors in Education for one, and this was another. Following his advice I got started by targeting publishing houses who were musically inclined—Faber and Faber was one—not interested. Then I got a bite from the small HELTER SKELTER PUBLISHING in London, in the form of an email from Sean Body, founder and owner. And a guy who knew his stuff, I’d later find out. “I do think Jackson’s story is original and worth telling – and his one album remains one of my favorite records and it alone justifies a book. As you knew him and are also a writer, I’d love you to write the book, but from what you say about paying the bills, I fear that the kind of money I would be looking at as an advance would be insufficient for you to justify the time involved. While to myself and to many folk-rock fans Jackson is a major figure, to the wider public in both the US and UK, he is unknown. So, I see a book on Jackson as a slow burner – raising his profile and eventually selling a few thousand copies, but in the absence of a movie, unlikely to go beyond that. We’ve published books in print runs of 2-3,000 copies before where I considered the story worthwhile, but neither we nor the author on such projects made much money – the author generally picking up about two dollars per copy sold. Still, if a movie were to be made, the book could take off on a grand scale and we would all do very well out of it. Anyway, I don’t want to put you off the idea Jim. Perhaps, without a large advance, you could find a way to make time to write a 50,000 word book in the next 24 months. If it’s out of the question, but you’d still like a book to come out, maybe I could investigate recruiting another writer and paying you a fee for the use of your essential and invaluable material. I’m very keen on the project and would like to find a way to work with you on it, but I don’t want to give you unrealistic expectations regarding the potential money involved. Thanks again for contacting me, Best wishes Sean” It was encouraging, though I nixed the ghostwriter thing immediately. I had by sheer force of will made myself a writer in the year 2000 and had been writing for the BlueStone Press for three years before moving to Hartford CT after I got married. It was a Devil’s bargain—move to Hartford to my new brother in law’s house and live almost free but leave the best job I ever had, one that I literally talked my way into, with no guarantee of anything. But life IS a series of gambles, and I get bored. I made the move. Sean Body was a very busy man but when he did get in touch it was always short but concise. He suggested I write an opening piece that would ring bells with anyone reading the first page, and I sent him the foreword and dropped names: Paul Simon, Art Garfunkel, Al Stewart, Sandy Denny, all in one room together. He loved it, and told me to keep going as I saw fit. This went on for months, with only a few emails of encouragement —very brief emails at that—each with a promise to get a contract drawn up for an advance of $1000 once the contract was signed. I was staying up long nights piecing together the research and coming up with a narrative that read well yet stuck to the facts, and I was exhausted. And, surprisingly enough, content that I was only doing all I could to get the book done. I only had to finish the last chapter, summing it all up in a writerly way, and Sean Body would have his 50,000 word book in about 1/4 of the 24 months he had asked for. I had stopped counting words in the first week, but was surprised to see that I was at 87,000 or so and was still not done. Occasionally, an email like this would chime in: Hi, Jim--Sorry for the delays; am swamped in stuff from the tax office and customs which has to be dealt with asap, as soon as I have this stuff up to date – 2-3 days – I’ll be back dealing with you and the Jackson – apologies for the inconvenience, Best wishes Sean I even sent one to Sean with the subject line saying. PLEASE RESPOND, and LET ME KNOW YOURE ALIVE. Then November 21, 2007 brought this: Dear Jim I am sorry for the delay in getting back to you but I do have a large backlog and a number of projects on the go and have been laid low by the flu. I have lots of emails to go through – many of which are from you. I will be in touch when I have caught up with this and read what you have sent me, Thanks for your patience, Best wishes Sean…. The holidays came, and went, quietly, until January 4, 2008, when this longer, more hopeful message arrived, subject line: APOLOGIES. Dear Jim I am very sorry for the silence. I’ve been trying to keep up the pretence of professional normality, but I was diagnosed with leukeumia a while back and while I had a transplant which is hopefully going to work in the long term, I have been suffering from recurring side effects and have spent much of the last month back in hospital. I wouldn’t usually tell a work contact about such a personal matter, but I do feel like I have led you on a bit and then let you down. I haven’t gone off your project, but unfortunately I am not in a position to commission anything at the moment. I’m hoping to be regularly back at my desk in 6-8 weeks time, but not before, I fear. If you haven’t found an alternative publisher by March, perhaps we could touch base again. Anyway, I hope you had a good holiday season and wish you all the best for the New Year, Very best wishes Sean Well, now! Six to eight weeks and it would be smooth sailing. Many people with leukemia live long lives, productive lives. In fact I had completely forgotten about one of my favorite artists, Steve Goodman. Steve was a terrific singer, songwriter and musician who struck gold with his classic "City of New Orleans” when Arlo Guthrie recorded it in the early 70’s. Around that same time he was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia and basically had a whole career with the disease until he underwent a bone marrow transplant in the late 80’s. The six to eight week period passed by slowly. I had finished the book for all intents and purposes, and I must admit I was super proud of myself. The culmination of almost 25 years of digging, searching, interviewing, miles of traveling and days and weeks and months was nigh, and soon my name and image and work would be on the bookshelves of discerning music lovers, a HELTER SKELTER Publishing project. Not the biggest publisher but one with a reputation to envy. Then the email came, and it was brief and to the point—Sean, like Steve Goodman before him, did not survive the transplant, a fact I’d either forgotten or ignored and had in fact died on just about the same day he had planned to be back at his desk. Also in the email was his obituary and the offer for me to take my book elsewhere since Sean had not left a will, and the estate, which included HELTER SKELTER was a mess and would be tied up in court for years. I thanked the sender of the bad news, and went back to my life, which had always included collecting anything related to Jackson C. Frank. Over the years I had dug up roughly 30 recordings made by Jackson at home, at school, in college radio stations, and finally in professional studios where he’d paid for sessions but being homeless, had left the tapes for safekeeping. I kept an eye on this music but let it be heard by a few people I knew would share its existence with the right people. And one of those right people was Ben Goldberg, owner and operator of BaDaBing Records. In 2012 Ben contacted me about releasing the music I had collected, and when I mentioned that I had a book looking for a publisher, he casually said that BaDaBing would publish the book too. And they did. And as of this writing in May, 2024, the little slow burner of a book has been optioned for the second time for a theatrical full length movie or a Netflix-style series. And also in 2024 will be the first translation, in Italian, by Gian Carlo Pandolfi, an ambitious young gentleman who wrote and asked permission to undertake this labor of love on his own, and on his own dime ( "…..on his own Euro” does not sound right somehow) and if you are reading this, then Gian Carlo got the job done.