by R L Tilley
was 1908 and Schicklgruber was down on his luck.
He had applied for entry to the Academy of Arts
in Vienna but his application had been rejected
and now his money was running out.
wandered the streets selling postcard impressions
of Vienna to passers by and he would sleep on
park benches and eat from soup kitchens at night.
down on my luck too. A sorry looking German
suppose he felt a kinship with me, given that he
was enamoured of things German.
fondled my coat and fed me scraps and we wandered
the streets together, he pale, scrawny and hungry,
and me, shaggy and unkempt.
day, by chance, he sold a postcard to a Jewish
businessman who happened to be passing.
would prove to be a stroke of good fortune.
man, Herr Geldenschlab, sought us out a day or
man, he enthused. You have talent.
May I see more of your work?
it! Schicklgruber, exclaimed. I
destroyed it all in a fit of pique.
had a bad temper.
mind, Geldenschlab told him. Permit
me to be your patron and agent.
that is how it all began.
the good offices of Geldenschlab,
Schicklgrubers dream of artistic success
was realised. No more of those dreams of
dictating a boring book in a prison cell or
sporting a silly moustache.
looked up for me too.