Chuck Saults
1950 - 1999

When writer, thespian, humorist and all-around media master Chuck Saults was diagnosed with leukemia in February, he handled it with characteristic courage and good humor. It was no surprise, for example, to learn that upon his arrival at St. Luke's, he wasted little time establishing himself as a force of nature on the hospital's oncology wing.

"Dead man walking!" he bellowed the first time I went to visit as he pushed his chemo tree out into the hallway for a mid-day stroll.

"I haven't been this well-lubricated since my last trip to San FranTHITH-co!" was the facetious quip made to a somber technician applying the gel needed to hold EKG sensors to Chuck's chest.

And, "You mean, this isn't Jenny Craig?" was yet another gem barked at a nurse who expressed concern about Chuck's excessive weight loss several weeks into chemotherapy.

It was all his way of approaching a dire situation with jocular repartee. And, it was his way of giving the finger to The Grim Reaper for as long as it was possible to do so. No way was Chuck gonna lose this fight without a spirited struggle.

It wasn't long after I met Chuck Saults in 1993 (he was then Pitch magazine's senior editor, I was a rookie music contributor) that I started telling him he was "way too hip for the room." Someone with such superior writing skills, I used to say, would be far better off in a cultural hub that didn't suffer from -- as Chuck used to put it -- Kansas City's "delicate sensibilities."

But he'd shrug me off saying, "It's too late now," then change the subject and order us another round. It was a rare glimpse of a humble core mostly masked by the endearing bluster his many friends grew to know and love.

Fact is, Chuck Saults was one of the most multi-talented people I've ever known. His writings in Pitch, Nite Lite, The New Times and The Duck (his short-lived yet lively humor publication) were always quick, incisive, provocative and, when necessary, filled with historical detail, usually transcribed from memory.

There was a weekend radio talk show Chuck hosted for two years on KCMO that provided the perfect vehicle for his articulate yet devilish charm.

There were numerous appearances in regional theater, including a classic bit of art imitating life when Chuck performed the lead in Eric Bogosian's "Talk Radio." (The night I attended, I witnessed an eye-opening demonstration of how Chuck was also a dynamic and polished stage performer, a side I'd not known about until then.)

Chuck Saults' business card, with a favorite pseudonym and various "occupations".

And right-on karaoke singer. Did I mention that? Chuck's musical tastes were proudly rooted in the hits of Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens, and his spirited rendition of "La Bamba" -- once performed in a local karaoke bar with a certain jazz trumpet player supplying frenzied, four-beer fills -- was always executed with surprising passion and pizzazz.

But it was Chuck's literary talent that really stood out. Even the pages of this magazine were once graced by his work when, in February of '98, he contributed an informative 2500 word essay about the band that went down with the Titanic. It, too, was written off the top of his head, and it, too, garnered well-deserved praise.

One day this past spring, as Chuck lay weakened from the debilitating effects of his ordeal, we found ourselves talking about "the stupid, the mediocre and the annoying," those chronic irritants Chuck had so brilliantly, and hilariously, skewered over the years, usually with side-splitting results.

"They always win," he finally said with a sigh, noting the ultimate futility of satirical exposés on vacuous TV "newsbunnies," right wing "porcine gas bags," and "overly earnest" alternative newspapers that "bitch weakly."

"That may be true," I said. "But isn't it important to go ahead and rattle their cages anyway? Just to let them know they can't get away with it with impunity?"

There was no response. Chuck had finally tired of putting burrs in the saddles of "narcoleptic puffballs," then watching triumphant mediocrity laugh all the way to the bank.

But, he hadn't tired of life itself.

When news went out on May 8 that he was about to undergo emergency surgery he most likely wouldn't survive, it was also reported that he said beforehand, "I'm going to fight this." And true to his history of being a survivor -- his combat experience in Southeast Asia circa 1970 is, in itself, a separate and powerful story Chuck preferred to keep to himself -- he made it through the operation, much to the surprise of those who feared the worst.

But, even Chuck's fierce determination and rugged constitution were no match for the ravages of cancer. He died on May 13, after a memorable fight to the finish.

As anyone who has ever witnessed such a sad saga will already know, watching a relative or close friend get sick and fade can be a real wake-up call. There is the inevitable sense of loss, of course, but there's also the way in which such a departure can cause one to take stock on multiple levels. And how it can bring so many things into a much clearer perspective. (At least until the next mundane, earthly dilemma begins to dominate the day.)

For me, following Chuck Saults' battle with a lethal illness not only prompted six years of happy flashbacks, it served as a timely reminder of how fortunate I've been to have known, worked with, and worked for so many remarkable people over the years. Bright and talented people who inspired me to do my best at whatever the cause and to bring a new yardstick to still-developing skills.

When it comes to Chuck Saults, I can say without a doubt that he will rank right up there on that list of influential mentors. He did what he did with chops, balls, grand wit and great skill; he made a lasting impact on those who knew him; and yes, he was indeed "way too hip for the room."

-- Mike Metheny


RETURN TO JUNE 1999 MAIN INDEX

------------------------------------------------------------------------
© Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2001. All rights reserved.