Avenue of the Lost and Found

A new book by William E Burleson

“…So many lost souls,” says Sister Pam, one of the cast of characters who travel the Avenue of the Lost and Found. The book is eight vignettes of life on the seedy side, framed around one particularly infamous block in Minneapolis at a very particular time, 1979. While the situations and characters are fiction, the places are real, famous and notorious.

The people of Avenue are a diverse group, living their individual stories of success and heartbreak, redemption and downfall, while occasionally interacting with each other and adding to a continuing story line. We meet Bobby, the day usher at the Academy Theater, who befriends the janitor who lives under the projection booth. Next door, Bobby’s friend Sharon, a waitress at the Venice Cafe, meets the handsome nephew of a local porn king who may just be the man of her dreams. Meanwhile, Jack, living at the Rand Hotel, becomes reacquainted with his long-lost father and takes advantage of his father’s blindness to inflate his otherwise marginal situation. Dwayne, a college student and cashier at a porno theater, and Chulo, the janitor, pick the wrong afternoon to get high. Following the budding punk rock scene, Tina moves to town wanting to “make some friends and get to know some hot chicks.” Albert Finnegan’s last living sight is Sister Pam, sending her trusting, big heart on a course beyond her abilities. And as a result, Officer Penna must take action beyond his better judgment and own self-interest and “upset the natural order of things.” Woven throughout is the most important character: the block itself, with its constant back and forth of drunks, businessmen, drug addicts, cars, tourists, and hookers. Some of the people you will meet are the salt-of-the-earth, and others would sell their mothers for a dime bag. The characters have in common being part of this block, part of what makes this community tick, be it for better or wors

While set in Minneapolis, this story could take place in most any city. Skid rows, decayed entertainment districts and run-down main drags were common sights across America in the 1970s. For example, New Yorkers would identify Avenue as a Times Square. At that time, our collective vision of New York was one of Death Wish, Taxi Driver, and The-Out-of-Towners. 1979 was a time of transition, the end of a decade, the end of the Carter years, the end of a time of long hair, the end of disco, and the end of a unique brand of decadence not seen before or since. Since then, like New York, most cities have cleaned up their Times Squares, gentrified and Disney-fied them out of our consciousness. In fact, Minneapolis tore down the block from Avenue in the late 1980s and replaced it with a shopping mall. All that remains of those times are the stories.

And, while the setting is historical and intriguing, what makes Avenue worth reading are the characters. I hope you find this slice of a uniquely American, 1970’s life compelling and enjoyable.

Table of Contents

• Chapter 1: Bobby Leady
• Chapter 2: Sharon Rocard
• Chapter 3: Jack and Bogdan (Dan) Boguslaw
• Chapter 4: Dwayne Clinton
• Chapter 5: Tina Obeda
• Chapter 6: Albert Finnegan
• Chapter7: Pamela Smith
• Chapter 8: Clarence Penna
• Chapter 9: Bobby Leady

Word Count: ~95,000
Note to agents and publishers: 18 photos are available for inclusion with the final manuscript.

PAGE ONE, CHAPTER ONE: BOBBY LEADY

“What?”

“I said, don’t touch that.”

What the…

“That quarter! It’s mine.”

“Yeah, okay. No problem.” I put the quarter back on the sticky floor right where I found it.

It was the three-fifteen show break, and I was supposed to clean up the auditorium. Well, clean is a strong term; I walked around picking up popcorn bags, candy boxes and drink cups littering the floor. I hated it, but since I was the usher and had only been there about three months, I got the job.

The bald, grizzly old dude put down his newspaper and pulled his fat butt out of his seat in the back row. “Kid, let me tell you how this works.” He walked up to me, never once taking his eyes off mine. He didn’t even blink. This really freaked me out since he had one severely bloodshot eye and one clouded over with…I don’t know: whatever that shit is in a beggar’s eyes before Jesus gives him back his sight in biblical movies. “This auditorium is mine. Anything you find in this auditorium is mine. Pick up your trash, but if you find so much as a fucking penny, a bus token, a goddamn pack of gum, you better leave it for me. Understand, you skinny, four-eyed, hippy?” He stood way too close for comfort, and I could smell his seemingly lifetime-old stench rising off his dirty plaid shirt and stained with god-knows-what work pants.

“Yeah, sure, man, whatever you say. Be cool.”

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” He moved right up in my face, giving me a whiff of liquor. Southern Comfort.

“I understand.” I felt like I had to pee.

“Good.” He backed off and smiled. Not the smile of friendship or humor, more the smile of a Nazi camp guard. He walked back to his seat, not turning around to look where he was going, but instead keeping his glare on me until he finally sat down. He reopened his newspaper with a snap.

Screw the popcorn buckets. Moving as fast as possible, I wheeled my trash barrel out the auditorium door and gave it a mighty shove down the hall making it crash against the wall, almost spilling. I tried not to run back to my usual station at the ticket box near the front of the lobby. I failed.