Thoughts from Dr. Joe: There once was a limerick festival

Last week I was sitting in Starbucks working on the sequel to the great American novel when my buddy Juda remarked to me, “Mate, there’s a limerick festival at the Altadena Ale and Wine House on Saturday night.”

“A limerick festival,” I replied. “What will they think of next?”

A festival of verses! I would have to see this for myself. Since I didn’t know what to expect, I arrived early. It would be a serendipitous encounter.

It was the seventh annual Los Angeles Limerick & Halloween Fest and its mantra was, “Laughs for a cause,” raising money for breast cancer research.

I shot east on Woodbury Road, then hung a left on Fair Oaks Avenue. Since I’d lost the address, I looked for something that resembled an English pub. After a few blocks, I spotted Altadena Ale and Wine House.

I stepped through the door and into a time and place that could only be described as nostalgic, that comforting feeling of yesteryear. I felt I was in Yorkshire, and I swear I saw Winston Churchill sitting on a bar stool drinking a pint of Guinness. Further, I could swear he said to me, “Dr. Joe, a lady came up to me one day and said, ‘Sir! You’re drunk’, to which I replied, ‘I am drunk today madam, and tomorrow I shall be sober, but you will still be ugly.’”

That Churchill, he hasn’t changed a bit.

There are certain places in a community that define its spirit and heart. That’s the Altadena Ale and Wine House, a replica of an English pub.

Within a New York minute, I was sitting at an old wooden table, drinking a glass of fine French wine and talking to the principal performers: Mimi Chen, Jan Alejandro, Leslie Spring and Shelley Goldstein. The pub was filled with assorted artists. There were writers, scientists, playwrights, comedians and musicians. And then there was me, a bloke from the Bronx.

Mimi, a DJ from 103.3 FM radio, explained a limerick is a stanza of five lines, where the first, second and fifth rhyme with one another. The third and fourth are shorter verse and rhyme together. She then recited: “There once was a man from Nantucket … Who kept all his cash in a bucket … But his daughter, named Nan, Ran away with a man … And as for the bucket, Nantucket.”

Mimi, who’s fighting breast cancer and on her second round of chemo explained, “We’re here for fun, but we’re committed to cancer research.”

Jan, who administers the foundation, “A Case for the Cure,” is a playwright who’s working on an opera about Aesop’s Fables. He explained that he and Gail, the pub’s owner, began the Limerick Fest as a homegrown effort to find the cure.

Shelly, a comedic writer for the likes of Jay Leno and accompanied by the one-man orchestra of Leslie Spring, sang. She finished each verse of the limerick with a flair for theatrics and ended each word in falsetto.

The performances were zany, and some were risque. Mimi, the mistress of ceremonies commented, “Joe, leave your inhibitions at the door. This is a night for colorful language.”

If she only knew the real me.

During interludes, we talked philosophy. Mimi is quixotic, a child of the gods, a living remnant from the Age of Aquarius. When she DJs, she spins music with a message of peace, love and friendship. “It’s a good thing,” she said.

The evening waned; it was time to go. I walked back to the bar to bid Gail a goodnight. And there sat Churchill puffing his cigar and drinking his pint. He raised his glass, “To us,” he gasped.

It was a serendipitous night and everything was right.

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JOE PUGLIA is a practicing counselor, a retired professor of education and a former officer in the Marines. Reach him at doctorjoe@ymail.com. Visit his website at doctorjoe.us.