Below The Fold

The Rocky has a well-pitched obit on Jack Eads in today’s issue.
I had the great pleasure of meeting Jack a few times.
The first time I met Jack, it was at a friend’s house off of 8th. Jack was probably 61 years old then. We were all hanging out at Rick’s house; no one over the age of 35, and in walks this old, blind man, wearing a red jumpsuit and carrying an accordion.
Sean said that Rick basically “found” the guy one day on the bus, and they’d been friends since—like Jack might have been a lost terrier. Jack lived at the old Barth Hotel. He was kind and gentle, and I immediately felt an affinity for the man. Jack serenaded us that night with Beatles tunes.
I saw him again a few years later at Sean’s house. Same drill. Same outfit. Same experience.
Jack couldn’t see. His favorite color was plastic.
Goodbye, Plastic Jack.