By Neal Pollack
Bennett fought back. His music and poetry became a way for him to control his illness. “I was put in a situation,” he said, “where I was diagnosed by this one psychiatrist who proved to be totally wrong. We’re talking about something very, very subliminal here. Anyone who walked into that office was tagged as an insane person, was tagged as someone who would never succeed. I was a child when it all happened, but the sad aspect of it is that it took a half century to fight back. But I won. I am in a situation where I am comfortable with my life now….I no longer have anything to hide. I have something that was a curse in my life, but it was not my fault. Why should I be punished for it? I’m a talented artist and I can deliver.”
Bennett guested on two more radio shows, but eventually the invitations stopped coming. From time to time he’d call Moshman and say, “Let’s work on a project.” But there was only so much Moshman could do for him. “For me, it’s always a question of how much do I get involved,” says Moshman. “It’s not my place to tell people when they’re being taken advantage of. We have all kinds of people on the show. Some are completely in control of their destinies, and others, like Bennett, can be exploited easily. But he was convinced that he was on the road to stardom after his break on TV.”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
In January 1996 Bennett appeared again on Wild Chicago. This time he improvised songs on the el based on passengers’ suggestions. He introduced himself as the Man Who Would Not Stop Singing. While Bennett had seemed lovably eccentric in the first episode, he seemed much shakier in the second. His singing was still strong, but he looked weak and considerably older than before. The physical difference was startling.
I went to the Edgewater apartment Bennett shares with his roommate Alison on a Wednesday afternoon in November. The place was much as I remembered it–small, clean, and sparsely furnished, with several tambourines hanging on the walls. He sang a song called “Christmas on a Chessboard.” It included the lines, “Bishop of the heart, bless the rooks / Pawns and kings, he is your God,” and ended with a resounding “Checkmate…amen!”
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle this?” I asked. “After all, before–”
Just like it was on the el train.
