John Mitchell was a misfit. Back in the 1970s he often starred in his own movie as a penny-pinching miser and a creative skinflint. That explains why he would walk up to a stranger in a restaurant, look at the nearly empty plate and ask, “You gonna eat that?” Given the proper response he’d pull out a chair and clean the plate.
Sorta the same instinct that saved his ass when his truck broke down in Mexico. He was on his way north when it conked out. It was full of coffee beans and bags of fresh garlic. It rained. Hard. The camper shell leaked. A lot. After getting the truck fixed, he headed home where he repackaged the truck’s sodden contents and went door-to-door selling ‘Organic garlic-flavored coffee.”
He had an arrangement with the Quiet Night for free beer. Late in the evening, John would walk down the steps to the basement of the New Orleans Hotel, plunk his scrawny butt down on a stool and nod to whoever was on duty. The bartender would open the door to the cooler beneath the beer taps and remove the slop bucket that held all the beer spilled while drawing suds. He’d pour John’s beer into a pitcher and set it on the bar as he gave last call.
A short while later as he was shutting down, the barkeep eyed John’s nearly full pitcher and said, “I told you to drink up. We’re closing for the night!” John replied, “Can I have a to-go container?” Moments later, John was climbing the stairs with a sloshing black garbage bag slung over his back.
I think he deserves a lifetime achievement Oscar. –Vernon Tucker
Eureka…always known where the misfits fit…and John was one of the tops. He was a friend and we had many conversations over the years. He was kind to me. RIP…