“Florida is the hottest city in the USA”, yaps a hobo with a flawed geographical knowledge. He rolls a cigarette and sits down on a bench. The rest of his gang follows his example. They all take out their shag tobacco and cheap supermarket lager and continue to cackle loudly. High above, someone must be nodding approvingly. For we are not in Florida at all, but in Jack Kerouac Park in Lowell, Massachusetts. Fragments from Kerouac’s novels and poems can be read on colossal memorial stones. Together with the hobo benches, these stones form a mandala, referring to his flirts with Buddhism.
Not that the hobos care about the literary gems on the monuments. A colossal man has joined them, as wide as he is tall. Unlike his acolytes, the man is not dressed in rags. He carries a briefcase on wheels. The company mumbles a bit, noticeably quieter, and then follows the man. The drug deal has been made.
***
It doesn’t take long before the next tramp finds his way to Jack Kerouac Park. The old dude with a white beard and shabby clothes seems interested in Kerouac’s writing. Sipping from a carton of juice and a mini bottle of whisky, he laughs like a hyena every time he reads a quote.
A moment later, White Beard walks on the bridge over the river Merrimack. Northwards, to Centralville, parts of Lowell where many Canadian immigrants lived. Immigrants like Kerouac and his parents. The bridge offers a beautiful view of the old chimneys of the lost textile industry. On the other side of the road, a black man greats White Beard from afar.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” shouts the black man, “You owe me a cigarette.”
White Beard promptly wants to cross the busy street. His buddy tries to stop him. “Not on the bridge, man!”
His attempt is in vain. White Bears runs across the street, dodging the traffic. “There is no law preventing me from crossing a street on a bridge”, he shouts. “And if there was, I’d vote against it.”
***
Lowell is impoverished. Many poor people walk the streets, others are visibly on drugs. The number of hairdressing salons is uncountable – always an indication of the poor education level of the locals. That’s what happens when the primary employer of a place closes its doors. See also: the whaling industry in New Bedford. A small city in Massachusetts with one of the highest murder rates in the country. But that’s a story for another time.
It used to be different. In 1850, Lowell boasted the largest industrial infrastructure in the USA. The textile industry ran at full speed. The factories processed plenty of cotton from the south. Thousands of people tried their luck in Lowell, many of them French-speaking Canadians. Enter Mom and Pop Kerouac. Born in Quebec, they fell in love in New Hampshire and eventually ended up in Lowell. Jack was born on March 12, 1922, “at five o’clock in the afternoon of a red-all-over supper time”, as he wrote in Doctor Sax.
At that time, 30.000 French speakers lived in Lowell, out of a total of 100,000 residents. They mainly resided in Centralville, Little Canada and Pawthucketville. No wonder little Jack (actually John) didn’t speak a word of English until he was seven. With his parents, he spoke joual, the French dialect from Quebec. They called him ‘Ti Jean, little John. Lowell was already on its last legs. From the 1920s, the textile companies moved their business south. A magazine called the city a “depressed industrial desert” in 1931.
***
It’s a short walk from Jack Kerouac Park to Merrimack Street. Kerouac went to primary school in the Oblate School. He also attended St. Louis Parochial School, on 79 Boisvert Street, on the other side of the river. Allowed to skip the sixth year, he ended up in Bartlett Junior (79 Wannalancit Street).
In Lowell High School, Kerouac discovered his two passions: writing and American football. A talented halfback, he won a scholarship for Columbia in New York. His career broke simultaneously with his leg. He quit football in his second year at Columbia. By then, an important seed had already been planted: he met all the key figures of the beat generation in New York. He wrote about his footballing years at Lowell High in Maggie Cassidy. Kerouac also briefly worked as a sports reporter for the Lowell Sun.
From Lowell High School, we walk to University Avenue, formerly Moody Street, in no time. We pass Pollard Memorial Library — unfortunately, closed on the day of our visit. Kerouac came here every day during his school years, browsing the archives, usually together with his sister Nin. In Doctor Sax, he expressed his gratitude for the books in this library, which were always there for him when he needed them. Even when Kerouac returned to Lowell after his marriage with Stella Sampas, he often visited the library. Needless to say, he wasted at least as much time in his favourite watering hole, Nicky’s Bar (110 Gorham). Nicky’s Bar is nowadays Ricardo’s Café, an Italian restaurant.
***
When you walk far enough along University Avenue, you will reach the Pawtucketville Social Club (123 University Avenue). In this community centre, French-Canadian immigrants could learn English and keep up with their traditions. In the 1930s, Kerouac’s father Leo was the club’s manager. Jack often played pool with his buddies in the social club. He lived across the street at the time, on 118 University Avenue.
Unfortunately, we don’t have time to walk that far. We halt in front of the Nuestra Senora del Carmen church, a gigantic concrete colossus which, in Kerouac’s time, was still the St. Jean Baptiste church. He once described it as “the ponderous chartreuse cathedral of the slums.” Kerouac served as an altar boy and was even considered a candidate for the priesthood at some point.
Outsiders may think of Kerouac as a ruthless rebel, but he was also a devout Catholic. Raised faithfully in Lowell. His older brother Gerard died when Jack was four years old, an event that firmly shaped him. He came to see Gerard as a guardian angel who followed him everywhere. Even as Christ himself. At an older age, Kerouac discovered Buddhism, but he never renounced Catholicism. In his notebooks, he wrote about angels and Jesus and he scribbled down prayers and meditations.
In a letter to a fan, Kerouac called On the Road “a story about two Catholic buddies roaming the country in search of God.” The book contains 23 references to “kicks”, but just as many to God and Jesus. When a journalist called him “the king of the beat generation”, Kerouac responded angrily, “I am not a beatnik, I am a Catholic.” After which he showed him a self-made painting of Pope Paul VI. Kerouac died in Florida – the hottest city in the USA! – but got his Catholic funeral in this St. Jean Baptiste church.
***
To visit the grave of Kerouac in Lowell, we take a bus (although sturdy hiking boots would also get you there). From the Robert B. Kennedy Bus Transfer Center, it reaches Edson Cemetery in 15 minutes. That cemetery is so extensive that it is best to write down where you need to be in advance: lot 76, area 96, grave 1, on the Sampas’ family lot. This pilgrimage site used to attract so many visitors that the graveyard’s caretaker had a map with directions printed. We, however, are alone and sit down.
A well-known photo shows Alan Ginsberg and Bob Dylan sitting in front of the memorial stone. Legend has it that Dylan still sneaks in twice a year to have dinner with Jack. He is not alone, although some prefer a liquid bite. On the grave lies a half-empty bottle of tequila and a shot glass, a full pack of American Spirit cigarettes, and a note with Bible psalms. Just a matter of serving Kerouac right away if he ever chooses to rise from the grave. Dylan is not here, so we drink our Samuel Adams alone while we write poetry in honour of Kerouac. The road is life!
Practical info about finding Kerouac in Lowell
A train took us from Boston to Lowell in 45 minutes. A single ticket cost 10 dollars (2015). You can find the full timetable on the website of the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority.