© Frank H. Jump
© Frank H. Jump
© Frank H. Jump
© Frank H. Jump
© Frank H. Jump
Albert Frederick Weis II recalled as ‘cultural visionary’
Posted: Thursday, October 09, 2003
Albert Frederick Weis II, came from a family of entertainers. When he retired in 1988, the third generation theatre-owner had left his mark on the entertainment industry in Savannah and a handful of Georgia communities.
Weis, 72, died at his home Wednesday evening after a year-long bout with cancer.
“He was a cultural visionary,” said his son, Albert Weis III. – Savannah Now [http://savannahnow.com/stories/100903/LOC_weisdies.shtml#.Vre0vd-rSRs]
Rick Baty was a cultural visionary in his own right. A native of Greenville, SC – Rick settled in Columbia where he met Nikki Musick and together had a daughter named Ariadne. Rick was an artist and was known in the Five Points section of Columbia for his fervent participation in the arts community both as an organizer and artist. Rick painted signs on store windows and designed T shirts for all kinds of events in the Columbia area.
I terribly miss Rick Baty. I met Rick in 1982 at the Faerie Gathering in Eagle Creek in 1982 where I also met Radical Faerie founder Harry Hay and his partner John Burnside. We became fast friends and soon spent tons of time with him in NYC on some of his extended visits to the Big Apple. In 1986 when I found out I was HIV+, Rick insisted I come down to Columbia South Carolina to be nurtured and mothered by him. Rick tried to get me to change my diet (macrobiotics) and stop eating meat. He was a hard sell. But alas, I couldn’t give up the diet on which I was raised. Meat and potatoes. Rick sent me back to NY with renewed confidence that if I took care of myself, I may survive this virus. Sadly, Rick contracted HIV on one of his trips to NYC and we lost him in 1992.
A week before his death, he had called me on the phone and with his Southern belle twang said, “I’m fixin’ to die by the end of the week, so if you want to see me in this life you had better get your ass down to Columbia in a jiffy.” I had called an airline, I think it was United, and got this really nice man on the phone and explained to him my friend was dying from AIDS and he booked me a discounted flight for family emergencies. When I had arrived, his mom answered the door and said she didn’t know why I was there. Rick was kinda “ornery” and really wasn’t accepting visitors. I guess Rick had heard me at the door and with a weak but determined voice yelled “Frank! Is that you?” So I came in and crept into his bedroom. It was dark except for a small lamp next to his bed. The room smelled like menthol and sandalwood and Rick’s breathing was labored and erratic. Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune was playing from a small boom box and the lamplight lit Rick’s face in a way that made him look both like a beautiful young child and an old exhausted man. I kissed him and asked him what he needed. He said he was hungry and I immediately headed for the kitchen as Rick shouted orders about how to prepare his meal.
“There is some red miso in the fridge but don’t use the new container, use up the old one first. And there is some umeboshi plum paste and brown rice as well. And I don’t eat oil and I don’t eat sugar and….” I don’t know what came over me but I yelled back to him, “I didn’t come all the way from NYC to Columbia to be bossed around. I’m going shopping and will be back. Tonight you are having broiled salmon with butter and dill with asparagus and egg noodles and pesto.” There was a bit of a pregnant silence and then I heard him say, “OK. That sounds good.” His mother immediately ran into the kitchen and with joy on her face said, “Now I know why you are here.” I asked what her favorite cocktail was and she exclaimed she was a good Christian woman and didn’t touch alcohol. After another pregnant pause, she leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear that she did love a bit of Dubonnet on ice with lemon on occasion. I picked up the largest bottle I could find.
Later that evening, Ariadne came home and saw me drinking cocktails with her grandma and yelled with a bit of teenaged boredom mixed with a hint of glee, “Rick, Frank got grandma drunk.” Rick said softly but loud enough for all of us to hear, “God bless you.” After a week, Rick ate all I cooked for him and had seconds. His mom was concerned about the marijuana cookies he ate and I said he was dying and it was what gave him an appetite. She reluctantly acquiesced. By the weekend, Rick had gained about seven pounds. Rick didn’t have the energy to walk so I had to carry him into the bathroom when he had to go. He was skin and bones but still weighed enough with his large dancer’s frame that the added pounds were a pleasure to carry. Towards the end of my stay, his arrhythmias got more intense and he became breathless from the atrial fibrillations. I couldn’t stay any longer having to go back to NY to manage the dental practice of a college friend John Wolf DDS. When I left, he was still listening to Debussy which played constantly the week I was there. Rick died the moment I landed in La Guardia.
