This is a condensation of the February 2005 newsletters
Newsletter Editor: Frank Barning 1960, fbarning@yahoo.com
A recollection of Sterling Morrison
By Michael Haag, 1961 michaelhaag@btinternet.com
A while ago when there were some reminiscences in the Newsletter about Sterling Morrison (1960), I thought I would add a brief recollection of my own, but I let it pass. Then more recently when Jon Buller (1961) wrote about the decline of the drugstore at the East Village Green, I thought I would add my own two cents worth, but I let that pass as well. Now I have just taken a book down from my shelves, and its old familiar cover reminds me both of Sterling and of that once wonderful drugstore, and this time I thought I would tie those memories together rather than let them pass.
The book is by Robert Graves, the English poet, novelist and eccentric, who died about twenty years ago. He is probably best known for his historical novel I, Claudius, which has also been dramatised for television. But the book lying on my desk is The White Goddess, whose thesis, as Graves himself said, ‘is that the language of poetic myth anciently current in the Mediterranean and Northern Europe was a magical language bound up with popular religious ceremonies in honour of the Moon goddess, or Muse, some of them dating from the Old Stone Age, and that this remains the language of true poetry'. As Jon Buller indicated in the Newsletter, today the drugstore at the East Village Green would not be out of place in a third world country where illiteracy was the norm. Yet it was there in 1961 that I bought this very copy of The White Goddess. All during high school I would go up to that drugstore and twirl its paperback racks, coming away with books by Thoreau, Whitman, Plato, Sartre and Freud, novels by Balzac, Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, Gogol, Lawrence, Hardy, Huxley and Orwell, histories by Herodotus and Thucydides, plays by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes and Seneca, and some good ancient pornography like Petronius' Satyricon (which I read one afternoon on the grass embankment of the Meadowbrook Parkway while playing hooky from Division Avenue) – Fellini later made a raunchy film of it. I still have some of these old paperbacks on my shelves, just as I have The White Goddess by me as I write.
The reason I bought The White Goddess was because Sterling Morrison raved so much about it. Sterling was in the year above me, so I did not have him as a classmate, nor was he a friend, but I did have some acquaintance with him, for reasons that are hazy now but probably because a good friend of mine at the time was Tom Dargan (1961), and Tom had two lively and appealing sisters, Dorothy (Dot) and Martha -- and Martha as it happens later became Sterling Morrison's wife.
It was the summer of 1961 in Levittown and as usual I was staying up late. Sterling must have seen the lights; anyway he roared up on his motorcycle, rang the bell, and bounded through the door. I should mention that he was fully clothed, but he told me that he sometimes rode his motorbike stark naked wearing only a Roman helmet. We had some wine, and then he started talking about books. He talked till close to dawn, and I sat there spellbound. Most of all he spoke about Robert Graves and The White Goddess, and how the worship of the goddess and the knowledge of true woman who in her five-fold person encompasses Birth, Initiation, Consummation, Repose and Death, was not only the key to poetry but the remedy for the chaos of our times.
I saw Sterling a few years later, this time in Manhattan. I had flown over from London and met up with Tom and Dot and Martha, and we went to the club where Sterling was playing with the Velvet Underground. Sterling was attempting to play the electric viola at that time, or rather he was stroking it and beating it and scratching it and producing amazing sounds; he hadn't the slightest idea how to play the viola, he said, and that was half the fun. The Velvet Underground were not well known at that time, hardly known at all I think, which I am not sure that Sterling entirely minded. I remember him complaining that Andy Warhol had just taken over as their manager and was imposing on them a German blonde vocalist called Nico to make them more commercial, an idea that filled Sterling with dismay, though he did co-write Femme Fatale for her.
That was the last time I saw Sterling (and Tom and Dot and Martha for that matter), but from time to time I would catch news of him. In London I bought and would listen to the Velvet Underground's banana album. Sterling broke with the band, I gathered, and taught at the University of Texas where he did a PhD in some obscure English medieval poet. The Underground briefly reformed in 1993 for a tour of Europe where it played to packed houses; Sterling was interviewed in The Times and talked about his interest in poetry and also the novels of Lawrence Durrell.
Which takes me back to that copy of The White Goddess which has travelled with me from the East Village Green drugstore. I have been commissioned by Yale University Press to write a biography of Lawrence Durrell, and so in January I went to Greece where I spent a week interviewing an old poet called Nanos Valaoritis who knew Lawrence Durrell and Henry Miller when they came to Athens back in 1939. Nanos talked about the sacred feminine, and he gave me the manuscript of a book he has written, inspired by The White Goddess, which finds the Moon goddess at work in the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer. Nanos has also given me a copy of a CD on which, accompanied by strange music, he has recorded some of his own poetry dedicated to the goddess.
I filled you once and the sea was born
Then I emptied you and the sky was born
The starry sky the blue-black sky
The sky of dreams instead of birds of cloud
I feel that I am connecting dots but that really Sterling should be here playing the viola and singing Femme Fatale.
Is there anyone from school whose life you are curious about?
John Stalberg, 1962 doctordoowop@hotmail.com
The one person that I would have wanted to know better and talk to now is Jimmy Cain -class of 1963. I recall like yesterday a Saturday morning basketball session in the DAHS gym.- it was around 1960. Cain, an unknown, non-student, showed up. He said he was from Chaminade-it seemed like he wouldn't be going back there -but we got no details. I was a junior-Cain a soph. We were very impressed with his quickness & smoothness, & he never missed. He couldn't jump high, but had the rebounding timing you can't teach.
Later in the locker room, that day or later, he started singing, "I Only Want You" by the Passions. He was a great dancer, too. I remember his job on the Isley Bros' "Shout Part II" - I enjoyed it so much it was the 1st 45rpm record I bought-still have it.
And his manner-geez-the kind of guy that almost everybody just copied- his shoes-"Floaters"- and skin tight pants-you name it. Friendly, but superficial. I talked w/him hundreds of times -but each time was like the 1st time. In other words, getting closer was not allowed. He played hoop guard, QB, shortstop & could even catch. I had the idea that he could have done well academically, but just didn't care.
When Jimmy was a junior he was the Homecoming King w/Queen senior Sue Kilbride. Very impressive. I mostly lost track of him after I left for college-but I recall playing hoops with him at DAHS in the summer of 1963 with "Candy Girl" by the Four Seasons on the juke box. We sang along.
Anyway, a few years went by. In Manhattan when having dinner w/ my cousin Greg Donaldson in the mid- to late 70s, Greg told me Jimmy had committed suicide. Even though' I hadn't seen Cain in years, & was never close (was anybody?) I became quite upset-surprised myself. I later discovered it was true, tragically. I also learned recently that Jimmy was hard to get close to- I wasn't alone there either.
In my business, I don't have to ask why; Jimmy may not have known why.
But I would like to know HOW does a guy get so cool? Is he even aware that he's cool? Did he know so many of us were copying him? Many had floaters & tight pants in short order. Because of my absolute lack of creativity (then anyway), my best effort was to imitate Jimmy. The Passions later became a favorite group of mine- I often think of him when I hear their tunes.
May His Soul Rest In Peace
Jeff Lincer, 1960 jefflincer@tns.net
What happened to all the kids that dropped out or were tossed out of school? You remember those “greasers' that moved out from the city and most of the student body feared.
In a way they were unforgettable to me but I have a feeling they have been forgotten by most. What happened to the “hoods” and the others that didn't have an adult to guide and encourage them? What happened to Joe “Mousie” Lewlenski and his Lieutenant, “Lucky” O' Mack? What ever happened to Lucky's younger brother “Bugsey” who was a great gymnast until he got sucked into the gang?
I knew them mostly because they hung out at Whelan's Drug where I worked. My Mom, who also worked there, once told me (many years later) that Bugsey turned out OK and even brought his new wife in to meet my Mom one day. That made me feel badly, since I had broken his leg in two places in a fight just outside Whelan's. There was another tough kid, Jimmie Whittenberg, who saved my bacon once and I'll never forget him. Did any of them get a helping hand or another opportunity to get an education? Most of them dropped out of school when they were about 16 (around 1958). What did they make of their lives?
Remembering the Bookmobile
Midge Bollinger Finck, 1960
I remember the bookmobile coming to the front of Mays on Friday nights. Pat Kraft, Flo Cornell & I used to be there waiting. The gentlemen who drove, was still driving the bookmobile in the 80's, he always drove in the Memorial Day parade.
Something as popular as the bookmobile was the Blue Bell ice cream truck driven by Cosmo. He only drove on the north side of Levittown, and I think he just stopped two years ago. I remember him since 1954.
Bill Newman, 1963
I do remember the bookmobile coming down Carnation Road. I had no thought of ever going into it. Books, school or anything that had to do with learning was not the highest priority for me or the crowd I hung with.
We were more interested in distracting the Good Humor Man and stealing ice cream from him. We played poker for cigarettes and when they got so ragged we smoked them or repacked them. . I write this because most of what I here is very much peaches and cream and I feel the other side needs to be spoken about just a little.... Growing up in Levittown for me was not the ideal life I would have written. There was racism, Irish bashing, Italian bashing, anti-Semitism, mother bashing, alcoholic neighbors, friends being beaten by their dads, constant ranking and there were some good times thrown in. Remembering some of those good times, like my first kiss, (Sally?), playing baseball at Northside School, discovering I was an athlete when I won the high jump on Blue and Gold (maybe blue and gray) day at Northside, or borrowing (stealing) dingies in Oyster Bay and going fishing for flounder and fluke, holding onto back bumpers when the streets were packed with snow, seeing my friend's mother naked, and then we moved to California in 1957. We did come back in early 1959 but I always knew I would end up in California, which I did. It's been a great life for many years.
____, 1962
Whenever the Bookmobile rolled onto our street, my mother would insist I go in and take out a book. It was a special occasion to look forward to, like the ice cream man coming, or the Dugan's pastry truck, or the milkman delivering glass bottles of milk to the doorstep. The first book I ever borrowed from the Bookmobile was Pippi Longstocking. I can't believe I remember that.
Now that we're tripping down memory lane, I wonder who remembers the dirigibles (we called them blimps) hovering mysteriously in the sky, and also those wonderful airplanes spelling out a trail of smoky messages overhead, to commemorate some grand occasion. Today it's not the same. Now we have artificial plastic banners hanging off small planes to advertise beer and car dealers. Not like the romance of yesteryear when we strained our eyes upward to read the trail of mysterious, smoky messages before they smeared into the clouds.
And remember the air raid drills when we'd have to bury our heads in our arms and hunker under a desk in case we were attacked by the Russians? I'm sure glad I had the fortress of my puny desk to protect me from the atom bomb!
Memories and other things
Lou Kuhlman 1960 wonders: was there a great spaghetti strike?
I have a faint memory of participating in a strike at the school cafeteria. This event was secretly scheduled for a day when they would be serving spaghetti, a very popular meal. The strike was a big success, and the school had to throw away hundreds of pounds of spaghetti and all of the prepared sauce. I also remember that someone, maybe the Principle, made an announcement on the school PA system addressing the reason for the strike. This is all that I can recall about this event.
Does anyone have any detailed information about this, such as, who organized it, why we did it, were we successful?
I don't understand why I can't recall all of the details. It can only be because I was just a pawn. I would never act up like this in school. I was always such a good lad, and a dedicated scholar. Right?
Lou Kuhlman's address is webekuhlmans@msn.com
Jeff Peyton, 1961
I've been enjoying the class pictures. Secretly I've been waiting for one still out there that I just bet someone from ‘61 might hesitate before sharing—Mr. Henebry's fifth grade. This class picture, unless I was slipped a special ‘custom' print, should include a striking shot of me making a sicko mug face, an ‘enduring blemish' on a ‘treasured keepsake' as well as on me?
Nah. I am not embarrassed; it catches me in an act of impulsive irreverence, a quality of thinking that has propelled my work in education over the years. Let's hear it for class clowns! I have always pondered how the adults (my parents included) dealt with someone's decision to select and distribute that picture instead of another shot that would have been taken. Who allowed one kid to ‘mar' the class picture when other shots of the same class would have been taken to use? I always wondered if someone wanted to make a point or teach me a lesson? Was it was a sign of the time that spontaneity and surprise could still trump convention? Did soft-spoken Bob Henebry, my favorite elementary school teacher, secretly smile at the bad face amidst the good? (I somehow doubt it, given the institutional terrain being what it was and still is.) He was likely as surprised and disappointed as I imagine some parents must have been.
To sneak out a class picture like that today would be impossible, unless of course you bribed the Lifetouch lab technician to use his Photoshop. Musings…. If one of our esteemed alumni has that particular photograph, I would be the first in line to see it once again. My email address is JEFF@PUPPETOOLS.COM
Jerry Reichert, 1961
All you people just blow my mind with your recollections and life experiences.
Levittown Historical Society
This organization has a one-room museum, 90 ft. long and 30 ft. wide filled with early Levitt memorabilia including an original kitchen, clothes and furniture of the 1940s-50s. It is located in Levittown Memorial Educational Center, 150 Abbey Lane, Levittown. For information call (516) 735-9060, visit the website levittownhistoricalsociety.org. or write to The Levittown Historical Society, P.O. Box 57, Levittown NY 11756-0057. The president is Polly Dwyer, email pollydwyer@aol
Swimming pool memories
Sue Chasin Ross 1962
I can't think of a better place to have spent lazy summer days than at our community pools. Levitt sure knew what he was doing with the Village Greens interspersed in the Town. Sort of a modern day Piazza.... My Dad played handball, outside, all year, at Azalea Rd. for years.... and played with many of the same group of guys till he was well in his 70's.... though they switched to Hicksville HS to play later on.
I spent many/most days at the Azalea Rd. pool.... some days getting there at opening and staying as late as possible. I remember there was an age, 12 (?) when you could stay past 5 without a parent... it was a very big deal. (though some of us more mature girls... could lie about our age and get away with it.) We always knew there would be friends to hang with, at the pool.... We would play follow the leader off the boards... endlessly.... water tag, or just lie around in or outside the fence. I am a very good swimmer... and that is because of growing up in Levittown.
Two quick pool stories.... we had a pajama party at Sue Kilbride's... I think, and after her parents went to bed... we all snuck out of the house, through a bedroom window... and made our way to the pool. We hopped the fence and took a swim. It was silly, harmless... and a lot of fun.
Another time.... late August of 1957, I had just come back... that day, from a family trip to California. We had been gone all summer, having camped across country and then spending 2 weeks with family in LA. I couldn't wait to see all my friends... so I rushed to the pool.... no one was there... I was shocked. I called several girlfriends... no one was home. I could not imagine where everyone was.... I found out. They were all at one person's house, (I have no idea whose)... watching American Bandstand. It had gone on the air while we were traveling... so I hadn't seen it or heard about it. That became a daily... 4:00-5:30 ritual for years for most of us.
American Bandstand is another hallmark of life in the late 50's.... We knew every regular.... every step... we all danced like them... still do. Many of us could still rattle off their names.
The pool, though, was a central part of our growing up. We couldn't wait for it to open up... on Memorial Weekend... and were bummed when it closed at Labor Day. Kept us occupied during the summers... we always had some place to go. Probably kept many out of trouble. I wonder if it's the same there for the kids growing up in Levittown today?
John Stalberg, 1962
1. North Green. Of course, years of baseball there, & I still relish memories of my 1st home run- it had to clear the fence & go into the pool. But that's why the day season ended Memorial Day- we couldn't hit into the pool w/ bathers in it. But I recall, the pool closed at what 5-6 PM?- so we played in the evening until dusk. Duffy, Williams, Spadafore, Barning, Lombardi, Morse, Vine, the Byrnes, were there daily. I recall a few "quirks." The older guys-Vic Lawson & Ken Taylor would "order" younger guys like Jimmy Duffy to go to Joe's Deli & buy them a bottle of soda. They did it out of "respect," not fear. It was 5 cents + 2 cents deposit. Vic & Taylor had the big bucks;- most didn't.
When it was too dark we would sometimes, if invited, retire to Lawson's house (yard)- I can still hear Alan Freed on Vic's radio playing R&B tunes there in the mid 50s.
When I talked to Vic at the 1962 class reunion in 2002 he had no memory of having the youngsters run errands for him. I was surprised-it was quite cool to see a "big guy" have little guys do his bidding.
That was one of the early times I experienced "do overs" - a great solution to having no umpires.
We also would often remove lesser hitters in the last inning- causing some to at times suggest instituting the "no chucking" rule. It was cruel to remove players in the last innings- but hey, we wanted to win.
Midge Bollinger Finck, 1960
For me it was the North Village Green, as it was for a lot of us. It seemed like that was our pool up to the age of 16, then you moved up to Azalea pool.
I moved to Levittown in March of '54, so that summer I learned to swim, and found a new home and friends. We would arrive at 10 A.M. leave at 12, go back at 1 and get kicked out at 5:30.
Lillian Longo's mother was the keeper of the gate, and on the weekends you had to wait on line to get in.
This was your life every summer. The fun of growing up in Levittown at this time was pure Andy Hardy not leave it to Beaver! We had dancing at the North Village Green every Friday night, Billy Stanley and Ann LaMar had to sneak in dancing and pretend they were not together at other times, Ann was not allowed to date.
When we turned sixteen it was really our last summer at the North, then we moved north to Azalea. Our last summer there was the best lifeguard of all, Ken Grannelli, blond good build, college man, and just the best looking. We all had a crush, but Chris Wilkens was the one he enjoyed talking to. But still at 5:30 we got kicked our, we were not all sixteen yet.
The next year we just started to hang out at Azalea, besides the pool there was the football which took over in the fall. I remember Steve Mohr holding court telling us that world was coming to an end in 1960. When I think back now, and after reading Steve's memories and that he should have been in college, I don't think anyone else talked to us about Nostradamus (I most likely spelled that wrong).
The other pools in Levittown I'm certain were just as great, with just as many of our friends hanging out, but I know I was blessed to be where I was, with whom I was with.
I have loved reading everyone's memories, and I relate to all of them on some level.
Ava Berg, 1960
we lived on periwinkle road- just a few blocks from the pool. there was trees in back of the pool. i remember making out with some one in back of the tree & my father drove by in our 1952 Hudson. looking 4 me. he didnt catch me that time.. another time i was jumped by a bunch of boys on the other side of the pool. they were as naive as me. they all felt me up. luckily that was it. in 1972 i was visiting & took my daughter-she was 6- to the pool. my dau. is black & as we were walking 2 pool some blonde lady came running up 2 me-- she wanted 2 know where she could "get one for the summer". she thought my dau. was a fresh air fund kid. the cute boys wore black silky bathing suits with their ducktails-- oh the rocks were hot.
Thomas Smith, 1961
The memories of the wonderful summers that we have had the privilege to experience are etched in my mind forever, and the crowds that gathered at the North Village Green, night after night, was a sight to behold at anyone time, there had to be at least seventy five to ninety people. his was a great hangout, for friends to meet and just have fun.
The summers also had a fourth of July fireworks display, behind Mays, that is now the tri county flea market. Everyone attended, and the parking lot was full of kids, parents, and most of the Levittown residents.
I loved Bluegrass pool in the summers, and the shows, and diving exhibits were nice to see, and take part in. every week throughout the summer, something was always taking place and it was a nice enjoyable way to spend the summer vacation from school.
Driver Ed memories
Wally Linder, 1961
Mr. Peyton - Driver's Education - Spring 1960 (I think)
I was student driving, and came to an intersection, by Azalea Rd. Pool. The church is on the corner, where Azalea Road ends into some lane I can't remember. I was stopped at the stop sign, and Mr. Peyton was explaining that I had done something wrong. (don't remember what it was) Now mind you, this is a "Driver's Education School Car" with a big sign on top, that I'm driving. As Mr. Peyton is explaining something, we hear a "honk" from behind. There was an impatient driver behind us, who wanted to get through the stop sign. I remember getting all nervous and flustered, but Mr. Peyton remained calm. He told me to put the car in park, and that he would be right back. Mr. Peyton gets out of the car and goes back to the car behind us. He proceeds to ask the driver of the other car if he can help him. He (Mr. Peyton) tells the guy, that he heard him honk his horn, and figured that he was signaling for help. The guy just looked at him. Mr. Peyton then explained that the car in front of him was a Driver's Education Car (probably a new thing at the time), and that an inexperienced driver was at the wheel. The guy was just sitting there, not knowing what to do or say. Mr. Peyton thanked him for his patience and came back to the car.
Mr. Peyton had "PRESENTS." He taught us a lesson that day, far beyond Driver's Education. ---Thanks Dave
Response to Sterling Morrison story by Michael Haag in Feb. 1 newsletter
By ____, 1962
That was an eloquent recollection of Sterling Morrison by Michael Haag. Interesting the way certain people maintain a connection with others in some random way, even being out of touch with them for years. I wonder if Michael and others know that Maureen Tucker (she now calls herself "Moe"), was also in the Velvet Underground. (She was Class of 1962, Levittown Memorial, I believe) Those who went to Wisdom Lane Jr. High may remember her and her brother Jimmy from there. On a fluke, I had the occasion to hear her current band a few years ago at the Iron Horse Cafe in Northampton, MA. She also has several web sites. On one of them it gives the following information:
In the mid-sixties, Long Island native Maureen "Moe" Tucker replaced Angus MacLise as the drummer in the fledgling Velvet Underground. With a beat-up four-piece drum kit and minimalist aesthetic, Moe brought an important like-mindedness to the VU. She shared, among other things, a disdain for hippiedom and a hatred for high hats. Her distinct, cymbal-less drumming style propelled the Velvets' abrasive three-chord rockers, and anchored the band's free-form sonic mayhem. Along the way, Moe's joined by a stellar cast of guest musicians, including the late Sterling Morrison, Jad Fair, John Cale, Lou Reed, and Don Fleming. Sterling joined Moe's band in 1992 and they did 3 or 4 tours together (one in America) with Morrison on guitar, John Sluggett (Half Japanese) on bass, Sonny Vincent on guitar and former Violent Femme Victor DeLorenzo on drums. These days, Moe is re-exploring her love affair with the drums, touring with Georgia indie-rockers Magnet, and the experimentalist Kropotkins. Moe and her family reside in Douglas, Georgia. - http://www.spearedpeanut.com/tajmoehal/bio/moebio.html
Moe says, "I had known Sterling since I was ten. He was my brother's best friend. Sterling met Lou through my brother, Jim, who met and became good friends with Lou at Syracuse University. A couple of years after meeting Lou, Sterl ran into him on the subway in NYC and Lou told him about this guy (Cale) he was playing with and invited him to come play and Sterl subsequently joined the group (called the Falling Spikes). Soon after they got a job to play at a high school auditorium in Summit, NJ. Angus, who was playing drums with them (Indian drums-sort of like bongos), felt that you shouldn't be paid for playing music, so he quit. They needed a drummer FAST! Sterl remembered that I was thumping away at the drums in my room and suggested me. Lou came to my house to see if I could make both hands work at the same time, and I was "hired" to play that one show. This was the first time they played using the name The Velvet Underground. They got a job at the Cafe Bizarre in Greenwich Village right after that show and asked me to go along and play tambourine (no drums allowed in this place because the neighbors complained of noise) and my tenure continued from there." - http://www.spearedpeanut.com/tajmoehal/faq/moefaq.html
Memories and other things
Warren Zaretsky, 1960
Michael Haag's recollection of the book racks at the East Village Green's drug store and Jeff Lincer's memories of the infamous "Mousy" and Whalen's, at Division Ave/Hempstead Tpke., reminded me of a preciously poignant experience of my own.
It was just another afternoon after school at Whalen's Drugstore and Luncheonette counter. Early in the senior year, I was sitting there alone slurping the dregs of a vanilla eggcream, when a twinge of fear gripped me. Out of the blue (and gray) one of Levittown's menacing "Three MousyKeteers" strode purposefully down the aisleway and took the seat adjacent to mine. (note: I remember the terrible troika that was "Mousy, Lumpy & Bumpy." Mousy was a reflection of sinister rodentia in both form and manner, Lumpy was the one with pumped-up muscles, and Bumpy had an unfortunate pockmarked face festooned with clusters of puss-filled cysts)
It was my torturous treat that afternoon to be joined by "Bumpy." My mind raced, my heart pounded -- I'd never so much as spoken a word to him ever before -- why me, why today, who said I did what, when? Without looking at me, his opening line was, "How ya doin'?" I doubt I responded with anything creative or clever, like "Fine ... you maimed anyone lately?" or "I'd rather drink alone, but if you incyst."
Bumpy ordered a cherry-Coke and then got closer and whispered, "You're a little cooler than most of the other smart guys... I need you to do me a favor... but if you laugh or say anything to anyone else I'll break your fuckin' skull." "Sure, what is it?" I asked. He then whispered even lower, "I want to learn how to read better... I ain't never read a whole book. I need you to help me pick out an interesting book, a good one, one that ain't too hard and I can start with."
".... uhhh, yeah, okay, sure," I replied. I remember walking with him to the circular racks of paperbacks, though he kept his distance and acted though he wasn't with me. He would look around to make sure no one was looking, then show me the cover of a book and I would just nod yes or no. In the end, he settled on "Moby Dick." He took it, paid at the counter, and left.
We never spoke again, though he would nod a "hello" when we passed sometimes. I also somehow felt safer from then on, like I knew I had a secret protector. And years later, I when I found myself surrounded by a masked gang of toughs in a dark alleyway ... and they were about to mug and dismember me ... suddenly, their faceless Captain said, "Shoulder yer harpoons lads and let him be, 'tis a much bigger fish in the sea I'm after." No, no, just kidding. In truth, I never bumped into him again.
From Michael Haag, 1961
My latest effort is THE ROUGH GUIDE TO TUTANKHAMUN AND THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE PHARAOHS which will published in America to coincide with the opening of the exhibition of that same name in Los Angeles this June and which over the course of two years will also be at Chicago, Philadelphia and Fort Lauderdale before coming to London. See the exhibition link: www.nationalgeographic.com/explorer/tut
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Newsletter Editor: Frank Barning 1960, fbarning@yahoo.com
posted 2005.07.10 - last edited 2008.04.14
Copyright 2005, blue-dragons.com and Frank Barning
