text:
It; 1 Z-GLENDALE
COMMUNITY COllEGE LITERARY MAGAZINE
:lite :lravefe,.
*FRED McCARTY
1 •
We are all travelers
Who have come to see
And learn, and share
What we have done with others.
Societ'J and t~e !Jndividuat
* John H. Walter CANARD 5
*Barbara LeGrande VIEWPOINT 6
C kf!!I!'--------.. BEWARE 7
*Carol B,assett SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY 8
Diane Delander MODIFIED SHAKESPEARE 9
Jim Rodgers THE QUALITIES OF MY LEADER 9
*Miles E. Notz, Jr. THE ADOLESCENT-ADULT CONFLICT 10
*Linda McRoberts LOOK THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS 11
*John Smith Drawing 12
*Kathleen Griffith MARK'S FRIEND 12
*Caron Miller THE PAUPER AND HIS KING 13
RobertC. Webb, Jr. THIS COUNTRY. . . 14
a. nony mus WHAT FOOLS MEN ARE 14
David Reid I'VE SEARCHED 15
*Linda Hasper Drawing 15
::J..ru:1tration and fiappine:1:1
John Smith Drawing 16
Chrisal Glynn I DON'T KNOW ABOUT WAR 17
Chrisal Glynn TODAY A MINISTREL 17
*Elizabeth Barnett MANY WAYS 17
*K. Harbaugh Painting 18
Caron Miller HADES 19
*Robert B. Cordell DON'T GO NEAR THE DOOR 20
Curt Conley THE DAY WILL ARISE 22
Jack Dawkins FREE FALL FANTASY 23
r. j. c. f. WAKE UPI 23
2 •
Linda Hasper Drawing
*r curtis lundy A WAY OF MEETING
*Nance Montgomery I SIT UPON ...
Caron Miller GIVE ME SOME STARS
Elizabeth Barnett WHY ARE THERE NO FEMALE
John Smith Drawing
Elizabeth Barnett SOMETIMES
Suesi Garva I WATCHED YOU DIE
Robert C. Webb, Jr. TIME
John Smith Drawing
Caron Miller ONE DAY
Linda Hasper Drawing
d. Kincaid LIFESTYLE
Cathy Pogue SOUL IS
Curtis Downey I COME TO YOU
Sandra Pizer IF I WOKE YOU UP
Caron Miller, MORNING MIRROR
Caron Miller LET ME DRINK YOUR WINE
Caron Miller MEDLEY
Linda McRoberts AFFECTIONATE SUICIDE
Linda Hasper Drawing
r curtis lundy THE QUIET PEOPLE
*Carol I AM OLDER NOW
pattie leo Krohn I THINK I SAW
Russell Elton Walsh IF SADNESSS BE MY LIFE
Pisces I KNOW HIM
3 •
Linda Hasper
* Rita Samuels
Larry Aguirre
EI izabeth Ba rnett
Chrisal Glynn
*Mary Cocoran
r curtis lundy
Kathleen Griffith
John H. Walter
*These contributors will receive cash awards for their work.
Honors Assembly - April 26, 1972.
4 •
A Man Is The Total Of All His Work,
Lost Within What He Has Done.
"CANARD" by John H. Walter
5 •
by BARBARA LeGRANDE
There isn't time to be scared, or worry about your buddies. Suddenly
someone is shouting. You hear the hysteria in the voice, but you don't recognize
the voice. You feel a hand grab your shoulder from behind and shove
you towards the ditch. You pitch forward, part of your mind screaming, wanting
to voice your fear, the other part acting instinctively as you roll, and slide,
until you're almost there. Almost into the ditch that until only a split second
ago was only a ditch, and now becomes a blessed place of refuge.
Suddenly comes the jolt, throwing you backward. You think, I didn't
make it! The noise seems unbelievably loud. There are screams, shouting,
none of it makes any sense. You find it hard to believe how bright everything
is. Everything is suspended. Held for what seems an eternity. You
haven't time to wonder where Ernie is, and Pete, and the others. Then the
brightness becomes unbearable, the suspense is broken. You fall. You have a
second to wonder how you could fall twice, then everything stops for you.
You try to open your eyeSj they won't open. You test your handsj they
move, but as though in slow motion. Your hand is taken and held. The hand
holding yours is strong and gentle, and somehow you know it is competent.
A voice speaks to you. It's a crisp, matter of fact voice, but again you sense
the gentleness. The voice asks you how you feel. Someone moves your legs,
one at a time, asking you if it hurts here, or there. You nod your head or, at
least, you think that you do. The voice again asks if it hurts. Perhaps you
forgot to nod. You try again. This time the voice tells you that is better. You
wet your lips and try to speakj your eyes still will not open. You ask where
you are. You are told that you are in a forward aid station, that you will be
moved soon to a hospital. You try to understand what has happened. You
want to know about Ernie and Pete and the others, but you decide to wait
until you feel more like talking. It might be better to sleep now.
More voices, kind, gentle, hands and voices. You feel yourself lifted
onto a crisp clean sheet. You understand that it is a stretcher, and you would
like to open your eyes and see who is helping you, but it is too much effort.
The moving is making you hurt. You feel surprise at the pain. Surprise at the
intensity. Surprise that you hadn't known it was there before. You hear yourself
cry out. Again surprise, it doesn't sound like your voice, yet you know
the sound came from your throat. From your whole body, really.
Someone comes with a wet cloth. They wipe your face. Is it sweat that
has been running down your neck, or blood? It doesn't seem important.
There is a familiar voice that goes with the wet cloth. It's Ernie. You hear
yourself ask about Pete. Ernie is silent, and you know not to ask again. The
asking would only bring more pain, and you have more of that than you
can handle right now.
There is a moan again that you know must have come from you. The
gentle, competent hands are back. You feel the jab of the needle. In a time
the pain recedes like the tide, slowly. Now that the pain is not so bad you try
6 •
to think. You reach up and touch your face. There is a bandage over your
eyes. Now you know why they would not open.
You must have slept long, and hard, because now your hands, groping
for anything familiar, feel different sheets, blankets. They touch metal. There
are rails on your bed. The voice that speaks to you now is female, and you
know it is a nurse, and that you are in the hospital. The nurse wants to know
if you want some water or soup. You don't.
There are question you want to ask. It is beginning to bother you that
the bandages are still on your eyes. The nurse assures you that the doctor
will be in to talk to you soon. She says that she must have information from
you. You give your name, age, rank, serial number, and some other necessary
information. It is time to sleep again.
There are many people in your room now. They think that you are still
asleep. Their voices are low, but you know they are discussing you, and you
strain to listen. The tone of the voices changes and you know that they realize
that you are awake. They will be more careful now, but it is too late. You
have already heard what you knew, and were hiding from yourself. "It's his
eyes, poor kid!"
Why do I feel
That enemies are all about me?
Who do our planners
Kill as they build?
How can they speak
Of building a future?
When our foundations
Are rotting away.
Many are ready
To build and to help.
Many are willing
To sacrifice all.
Most are sincere,
And more will follow.
Yet, why won't the planners
Give us a chance?
Listen to them speak
Of brotherhood and common cause.
Look at them work,
As if helping all men.
Yet, beware of their sincerity.
For I feel that it is foul.
I feel they work for selfish needs
With no help but for themselves.
7 •
Science and technology are methods in which mankind may control nature
(or annihilate it). Instead of aiding human needs and purposes, the system
proceeds automatically in power-making, profit-seeking productivity.
(Can you list all the "Practical" products which we could all do so well without?)
Technology is becoming our Almighty Crutch. Now scientists have created
electronic beings which are subservient to man: "Flash--beep-r-r-r---2,7837
x-468/ab+87,360nfuc-8649=zit-zit-zit------1 ,864cb-14EM2."
Experts are also working diligently to assimilate emotions into electronic
beings. (Why not revise man?) I wonder what color they would be? red?
white? Black? and how would they defecate?
Probably the most disenchanting concept of all is of the development of
a machine more intelligent than man. Wouldn't this be a severe shock to
man's sense of his own worth? (Maybe not.)
What does the future hold for us?
"Fellow stu-dent com-pu-ters-(zonk)-To-day we will - learn how - to - assem-
ble (brr-r-r) - parts - A*B*&C* - of - the - (z-z-z-z) sym-pa-thy - machine
... With - screw-driver, - at-tach - e-Iec-trodes A *B*&C* - to - base
- of-feet - 1,2,?3 ... Pro-ceed - at - max-i-mum - rate - lis-ted - on e-
Iec-tro-nics - chart# 7891011 --- (e-e-e-e) This - is - a - re-cor-ding ...
The - time - is - now - 47:014."
"Fe-liow - Ma-chines - (beep, beep, bzzzzz) - This - is - (clank) - the pre-
si-dent - of - (ffzzzzzzzt) - the - E-Iec-tro-nic - state - of - A-mer-i-ca
(zip,zip,zip) - pa-tent - num-ber - (mmmmm) 6-9-7-5-4-8-2."
The bizarre idea of creating electronic beings which would eventually
create other more complex beings is also being contemplated.
"FeI-low - (zit,zit - vvvrrrrrr) - ma-chines:
ZAP! - This - is - God."
by CAROL BASSETT
8 •
MODified Shakespeare
Who knows what lurks beyond yon office building?! Perchance
it may be the operator of some four-wheeled vehicle, which
containeth thereon chrome, from front to rear, mags, and factory
air. Perchance also it is motivated by varoom action, and may
cross my path while I am engaged in the process of crossing it
"Whoa is me!" I cry, before stepping out into the main-traveled
highway. Hark! I hear the rumble of four hundred and forty powered
horses 'round the bend. (Oh forsooth, Caesar, what a chariot
race your eyes are not feasting upon!) Oh, Policeman, Policeman,
wherefore art thou, Policeman?
By Diane Delander
by Jim Rodgers
Honest man,
Daring - Caring for
9 •
:JheAdolejcenl -Adult Con/lict
The other day, one of my classes discussed an article from
TIME Magazine. During the discussion the Generation Gap came
I have been thinking about the Generation Gap. Could it be
that it exists only because of a lack of communication? Could it be
a language gap instead of a generation gap?
Here is an example of what might be called a language gap.
I was bombing down the hall on my way to the flick with a
chick and the folks hung me up in the doorway.
''I'm cutting out," I told them. "Gonna hit the pit, then stop
for a couple of looseners."
"You're what and then what and then what?" Dad asked.
"Have to book the screens, Dad. Catch a few shadows, then
fall by a session and pick up some sounds." Dad looked bewildered.
"Dad, you're flipping. Don't crash. I'll be cool."
"Maybe you'd better wear a coat," Mom said nervously.
"No, Mom, not cool, COOL. As in MELLOW. Don't worry,
won't come back smashed."
"You get so much as a dent in that car!" Dad threatened.
"You don't dig, Daddio," I laughed. "I mean that I won't get
blasted, plowed, stoned."
Mom was stirring her coffee with her fork. Dad lit the wrong
end of a filter cigarette.
"For Pete's sake, tell us what you're trying to say," he choked,
"and don't call me Daddio!"
"O.K., Papa Bear, I gotta move now. Have to blow this old
cellar. I'll clue you tomorrow."
Dad was chewing up his cigarette; his eyes were glazed.
"It's time I paid the check," I told them. "Catch your act in the
morning, folks. Got to put juice in the wheels and hit the sub-mari.
ne races. "
Dad jumped up grabbed Mom by the arm. "Come on, Flapper,"
he yelled, "let's drop over to the speak and sip a few orange
blossoms. We'll do the black bottom and then some necking. I'll
bring my uke. Hot Diggety!"
Sometimes I just don't understand my folks.
by Miles E. Notz, Jr.
10 •
A room, quiet but for the distracting sound of time, slipping across
a meadow of fine grained sand. --- Time, a constant companion,
never smiling, never chiding, yet constantly reminding. A cause
lost, a prodding gentle guide to mankind, leading him through
that annoying long last exit, freeing him from his quiet desperation.
A ticking, louder now, easy to ignore, and when it's gone from
sight and mind, back again to remind him anew of satisfying
afternoons spent in that pleasurable occupation of forgetting each
oth9r. A looking not at, but through the looking glass, for what
we see is not actually ourselves, but a reflection of something opaque,
easily recognizable, yet vaguely undefinable. A caricature of
failures past, successes never met, inspirations at their noblest,
ambitions unsensed. But look again now, that reflection you see,
it's mockingly yelling --- It's how you must be.
Notice it again now, as it slips silently through its final exit. But
don't be alarmed. That door swings both ways --- The sun shines
tomorrow as predicted, and someone will surely make arrangements
to have time continued, don't you think?
by Linda McRoberts
11 •
My friend is so "hung-up" on time,
And places he must be.
He cannot spare
The minutes
To climb
12 •
drawing by JOHN SMITH
This "neat" ole tree,
Or catch
A croakin' bullfrog
With Lazy
Latefull me.
by Kath leen Griffith
by Caron Miller
Upon the threshold of disaster
Stands the pauper with his king.
He seeks salvation in his bottle,
His money god, his jet set fling ...
Will he make it thru this day?
He runs to the hills with barren feet,
A vow of escape on his lips.
He hides behind his needle of joy,
His blade of grass, his acid trips ...
Will he find another day?
He mentally seduces his secretary
As she smiles behind her desk.
He fills her heart with lies and wine.
Takes her to bed; then goes home for a rest ...
Did they find their escape that day?
She swelters beneath her hair dryer
As the beautician paints her nails.
She stops behind the makeup counter;
Looks in the mirror, all her efforts have failed ...
Will she try for another day?
They sit on their porches with heads held high,
Rocking their cemented minds.
Reciting the Holy 23rd Psalm, they sneer at lovers,
Chastize the drunkard and condemn the world with
Eyes tfrat are blind ...
They think they've found their way ...
They go to council the President to help him
Solve the world's puzzle.
But first they must dine and have a round of martinis,
Keeping eyes on the red phone that could end
All their troubles ...
Is this the answer to our perilous day?
The answer is hidden within pauper and king
Covered with illusions of jade.
We must search our hearts ... we must look to love
Or, by God, we'll have no more days!!!
13 •
This country
of bottled beer,
This world
of bottled brains,
This planet
of bottle-bearers,
Where to, my fellow man where
To bring
by Robert C. Webb, Jr.
what fools men are!
clinging to emotion of pain and passion.
but mankind will never learn
and love will always be in fashion.
a. nony mus
14 •
j've searched
and gathered my thoughts,
my repertoire of hate,
digested anger stacked on shelves.
i've placed them so
and singularly have left them there.
not for neglect, not of virtue,
have i arranged them so,
but for easy reference
when i think to cast a stone.
by David Reid
drawing by LINDA HASPER
15 •
16 •
and .JJappinejj
" .nltlJIIIII!f"
drawing by JOHN SMITH
by Chrisal Glynn
Idon't know about war,
so I couldn't write about it.
I don't understand people,
so I can't write a good poem about that.
The only thing I experience is confusion
And if I wanted to write about that I wouldn't know where to start.
by Chrisal Glynn
Today a minstrel came to me;
He sang of life and his joys.
His song wailed with the freedom he felt.
Please be away with you sir,
For your joy is the fount of my sorrows,
Your victories the echoes of my defeat.
Many ways
In a maze.
Many thoughts
In a gaze.
by Elizabeth Barnett
17 ���
by K. HARBAUGH
18 •
The four winds of night toss restlessly,
a forest of wailing trees.
The moon has fallen from darkened skies
and clouds drift confused by the breeze.
Time has forgotten to travel the minutes.
The world has forgotten to spin.
My steps are wandering the forest perplexed
by the hypnotic suspension I'm in.
My breath takes within me ominous visions.
The air is alive with unrest.
Slowly I walk down the hazardous canyon
seeking a refuge for rest.
No rivers with which to moisten my lips.
No flowers to soothe my eyes.
Only the branches from hysterical trees
Threatening me as I walk by.
My mind soon forgets to seek an escape.
Eyes become dazed as if blind.
Yet my feet continue their wandering travel
Not aware that my mind has resigned ...
by Caron Miller
19 •
by Robert B. Cordell
It had been a long drive and the flat tire hadn't helped. The town seemed
empty at one o'clock in the morning as his was the only car using the
main street. Weariness was pulling at his eyelids when he turned onto the
side street leading to the old house.
He parked the car in front of the house and got out. A street light,
nearly covered by the branches of the oak tree, shone its filtered rays onto
the old, high-roofed structure. Gusts of wind moved the branches so that
the light splashed on the house and quickly skittered away.
It isn't really that cold, he thought, so why was the little chill creeping
up the back of his neck? A flash of light reflected for an instant off the side
windows. "Is someone in there?" he asked himself. Surely he hadn't expected
anyone. Then another flash made him sure that the street light and
the wind were the only source.
He went slowly up the steps into the shadowed gloom of the porch,
and the wooden steps creaked under his weight. He tried the door and it
was unlocked. But why shouldn't it be? It was never kept locked before.
'Why had he come back?" he asked himself. His mother had remarried
and moved to San Francisco. His sister had gone with her mother. There
was no one to talk with here. What force had caused him to wander off
his course to Sacramento and into his former home town?
The hall was black with darkness, and his groping hand found the light
switch and he tried it. "Electricity must be off or the bulb has failed," he
muttered aloud. He moved slowly, feeling his way along the wall, until he
was in the living room. He felt along the wall for the light switch. It didn't
work. He moved back into the hallway, out onto the porch, and went to the
car for his flashlight. Why hadn't he taken it with him in the first place?
Slipping again, he thought, too tired to think clearly.
Now that he had the flashlight, he walked quickly back into the house.
He pointed the beam into his sister's room, which revealed only that the
worn furniture was still there. The living room was bare. The place had an
odor of dust and mUdewed wallpaper.
A loud bang startled him. The noise seemed to come from the kitchen
in the rear of the house. Moving the light ahead, he walked warily through
the large dining room, his footsteps echoing after him. He pushed open the
heavy door and stepped into the kitchen. It was empty. The cellar door was
ajar and he could feel a cold blast of air as it banged shut again. The high
ceilings and near empty rooms intensified the echo. The door, which led to
his attic bedroom, was stuck and he pulled hard to open it. Up the dark
stairway he climbed.
His old iron framed bed and wooden clothes chest were still in the
room. He raised the south window and directed the light outside. The veranda
was gone. Probably removed, he theorized, because it had been dangerously
near falling from decay. Used to sleep out there in the summer, he
20 •
Another loud crash and the sound of muffled crying stirred him from
his reverie. The wind must have; increased its blowing and he recalled its
familiar whining as it swept around the house. He began to shiver as fear
invaded his senses. Why had he come back? This old house had always
frightened him. What was he trying to prove? Perhaps he intended to conquer
an old fear.
Fully alert and tensing at each creak of the house, he went cautiously
down the stairs to the kitchen.
The cellar door was now wide open as if beckoning him to descend
into the blackness of the basement. Summoning all of his courage and
breathing deeply, he began descending the cellar stairs, moving to avoid
the spider webs.
Why, he wondered again; what was pulling him down here, where he
knew he must not go?
He glanced at the movements of the many spiders scurrying to hide
from his intruding light. He saw the window that had been left open and
through which the wind was thrusting its entrance. The door that he had
been forbidden to open was now within his reach. Noone could stop him
now. His breathing was short and quick.
He stopped and listened outside the door, his senses keyed to every
sound. The creaking of the timbers and the crying of the northwind were his
only company.
His hand, shaking in anticipation and fear, grasped the door handle and
pulled. It swung open freely. Why, he asked himself, was this door the only
one that opened so easily.
He stepped into the tiny room and shone the light around. "Why it is
empty!" he exclaimed aloud. "There is nothing here."
Another crash. Stunned, he turned. The door was shut. Quickly he rushed
to the door. He pushed. He slammed his weight against it in repeated attempts
to force it open. Fear quickly welled up within him and clutched his
throat. Desperately he tried to breathe, but he could muster only a low
moan. Down it pulled him, deeper and deeper.
"That car has been parked in front of the old house about a week
now," Mrs: Carpenter said to Mr. Carpenter. "Perhaps we had better notify
the police."
Patrolman Lane's muffled shout reached Sergeant White in the master
bedroom, and the sergeant went to the cellar door. "Down here," called Lane.
The wide-open staring eyes and gaping mouth of the body, its snow
white hair and outstretched arms, all seemed to be crying for help, but it was
too late.
Sergeant White examined the door, noting the many scratches on its
inside. He opened and shut it a few times. It swung freely and had no
apparent method of locking itself.
21 •
22 •
Stale as the bread,
Of long past Sundays.
Tired as the sea
That pounds a thousand shores.
Bewildered as the child
Who's lost his mother's handAn
outcry from the pit,
Into the darkness-
Does anyone hear?
The day will arise
When men of nought
Can only surmise
As to why they fought
Questions of allegiance
And answers of vain
Values of no penchance
Rewards of no gain
Has yet the light of sense
Permeated their core
Or reflected from the dense
Who prefer the orb of war
To know is to study
The books are time
Our history but bloody
Yet still we crime.
by Curt Conley
by JACK DAWKINS
Rainbow rolling
tumbling mirthful
ever earthward
down we spiral!
skyfully playful
we pounce eaglish
and glance away
plumb bob
we toe strafe
tree tops leafy
angle off laughing
roller coaster glide
bounce once
again and roll
touch down!
The day breaks,
your sleeping mind sways,
between a multitude of becoming universes.
Yet you
to This world.
Wassamatta wit yoo? Ya like it here?
by r. j. c. f.
23 •
24 •
Man's mind and man's thought
Will always strive for belief -
drawing by LINDA HASPER
c ~-
The tree vibrates,
the wind speaks.
The moon illuminates,
the sea sings.
The sun rises,
the day smiles.
The rain falls,
the land drinks.
And all is in order;
And all is natural.
Yet man is of nature,
and his life is not so
So what is a natural pattern
for man?
I saw the Sun.
I envied its beauty,
Its brilliance, its
The warmth that it spread,
And its purpose in this
I envied its purpose,
For I knew none of my
I'm a man with a conscience.
And I care for love and peace.
Yet the world comes as a
Crushing force,
To destroy my life-sought dreams.
So endure it I will,
As life demands of me.
And only accept in reward
The things I've learned
To endure.
25 •
by r. curtis lundy
I have met Him on several occasions and in several places.
have met Him twice by the ocean on the white beaches where
the waves roll easily onto the shore. I have met Him once on
the side of a hill, while sitting under a shaded tree and looking
out across flat farm lands. I cannot tell you what He looks like,
and I cannot tell you how He dresses. I can tell you His name
is God, and that there are several things about Him that trouble
He has allowed the suffering of man to continue, the starvation
to exist, the sickness to plague those unable to afford an
advanced civilization, and the evil to survive. Although I must
admit man helps also in the continuing of these sufferings.
I could not analyze His reasons. I do not know how He intends
to write His great novel.
I know the goodness of Him through our meetings. I know
the peace and the sadness; I have been a long-time friend of
sadness and know its goodness also. I have seen Him during
storms and after rains and before the dust storms, and these are
part of Him and His better qualities.
So, in the end, which will come as all endings must, I can
say that good or bad qualities have little to do with Him. We
search a long time trying to find ourselves and the beauty in the
world that we are sure exists. I cannot find myself, but I can surely
see the beauty.
26 •
I sit upon the lap of God,
And with my fingers touch his ringsAnd
think of little things ...
Of how the sun repeats each day
And why the Chinese got that way.
Of why a child within me grows
And why it doesn't have ten toes.
Of what the stairsteps do at night
And why blind people turn on light.
Of when children go to bed
And wake up on their pillows, dead.
Of how the moon drowns in the bay.
And why God's knees are bony, gray.
Then as my head begins to nod.
I tumble off the lap of God.
by Nance Montgomery
Just give me some stars in the midnight hour,
A ripe red apple and a purple flower;
A heart of love for my retreat
And a running brook to cool my feet ...
The summer sun to warm my face
A dancing butterfly for me to chase.
Fluffy clouds of milky cream
To paint a picture of all my dreams.
Then Ican say to all mankind
In all these things, My God I find ...
by Caron Miller
27 •
Why are there no female philosophers, you cry?
I'll tell you why-
Woman has long
Been the singer of the nursery song,
Keeper of the fire,
Servant of her squire,
Through the ages this remains.
I don't complain!
But try to train
A child to tie a shoe
While you
Elizabeth Barnett
drawing by JOHN SMITH
I need to be alone.
I need to know
No one is here but me,
And then my thoughts are free.
I don't mind people -
In fact,
I like people,
But, Sometimes -
I need to be alone,
Just my thoughts and me.
Elizabeth Barnett
28 •
i watched you die
and turned to god
to ask him why.
by Suesi Garva
by Robert C. Webb, Jr.
Now and again the rain will fall time
is around to watch.
Yes now and again for e'.erythingtime
is always here.
A little sooner, or a whole lot late time
will be to see,
That everything that's ever been will
eventually cease to be.
drawing by JOHN SMITH
29 •
30 •
One day we will climb this mountain.
One day we will know the sky.
Give courage to all your footsteps;
Let tears not blind your eyes.
Take each step with forgiveness
For your brother's unkindness to thee.
He is also climbing this mountain,
And he's desperately trying to see.
On that day a radiant sunshine
Will sprinkle our paths with gold.
On that day our burdens will vanish
By the vision of wisdom untold.
We'll no longer walk in darkness.
No shadows will cloak us with fear.
This journey is why we're created,
So let us not shed a tear.
We're all climbing this mountain.
We're trying to know the sky.
Keep searching your heart, my brother,
For the mountain is you and I ...
by Caron Miller
We feel - we give - we take Love
To be reborn again
and again
and again . ..
drawing by LINDA HASPER
31 •
by d. kincaid
We sit we sip
We touch gently by the moonglazed stream
huddled close by the crackling laughing
fire ...
I really can't remember now who brought us together
if anyone
but that hardly matters since the party's been
and is
great fun. And I know
that when I'm brimdripping and can't take
or give
I'll pass the cup smiling
and melt back into the flowers.
Soul is telling it like it is.
It's dreaming and having your dream come true.
Soul is moving on up.
It's loving someone and having him love you.
Soul is being expressive.
It's being inspired by being hip.
Soul is your deepest feelings.
It's self-togetherness.
by Cathy Pogue
I come to you
And you come to me,
As though there was no
I dream
Platinum hair, yours,
Touching my face as you
Lean to kiss me in the
Will today never end?
32 •
Laughter, glorious laughter.
We frolic, again your hair touches
My face.
Sensation overwhelms me.
Your eyes sparkle,
There is almost a tear, and
As we reach an ultimate rapport
I awaken.
by Curtis Downey
If I woke you up with kisses,
Would you get to work on time?
If you got there ten minutes late,
Would you be forced to resign?
And if t broke our alarm clock,
How long would you be mine?
by Sandra Pizer
You're the reflection in my morning mirror.
I taste you in my tea ...
I feel your touch in the summer breeze
As I walk beside the sea.
You're the life within my heartbeat;
The rhythm of my breath,
The melody in my laughter
As I sing of Love's caress.
When I awaken from my midnight dreams,
I reach and feel you there,
I pull you close inside my heart
And whisper thoughts we share.
by Caron Miller
33 •
34 •
I would like to toss you into the air
as a bucket of rain,
And let you sprinkle upon me so I
could bathe in your warmth.
I would like to become as a delicate vapor,
so to be above, below and around you;
Then you could breathe me into you,
and I would become your life.
Let me sit here and quench my thirst.
Let me cover your mind and body with my thoughts
And drink of you until I'm filled.
Then I can leave here replenished.
I'll have a Love Cup to draw upon
and when it's empty,
I'll return to you again and again ...
To drink more of your sweet wine ...
by Caron Miller
I am no longer me, but you.
My soul is a medley of all your dreams,
And your dreams a reflection of my desires;
Swirling visions dancing through eternity ...
* * *
Reach out to me with open arms,
Your face aglow with sunlight.
So I can run to you on clouds of laughter
And bathe in tears of joy!
* * *
In my silent room, I hear laughter
and feel your touch.
Your vision dances before me as a
flickering candle;
An endless light to brighten the
shadows of time ...
by Caron Miller
Affectionate Suicide
by Linda McRoberts
Dreams held hand to hand
flicker in syncopated rhythm while muted
lips left holding thoughts,
move to choir music in the loft.
Clouds moving;
are we as real as clouds in our
Drifting to each other in one another,
the existence of separate others.
Touching lips,
to smiles,
to eyes,
To wash away the tears of quiet sorrows,
to dreams shared still never slumbered too.
We find each other to lose the
other in ourselves.
Sharing secrets in hidden phrases to
questions replied for yet unasked to We
see just what we are -
if not each other,
then all
drawing by LINDA HASPER
35 •
by r. curtis lundy
ALFRED GOODHELM entered the cafe carrying a brown weatherbeaten
suitcase. He sat at a table next to a large window and
looked at his reflection against the night. Outside it began to
snow. Inside, the cafe was warm and well-lighted and crowded
with talking people. He took the menu and began looking
at the prices. A waitress approached his table and stood leaning
on one leg with her order-pad ready.
"You're beautiful," Alfred Goodhelm told her. "Your face
is beautiful. Your hair hangs long and beautiful. Your body is a
"Could I take your order, sir?" The waitress asked.
"Coffee and a bowl of chilL"
"Will that be all?"
Alfred Goodhelm sat at the table eating chili and drinking
coffee. He listened at times to the music being played on an
old phonograph, but blanked his mind to this music when he
did not care for the song. He finished the chili and the waitress
took away the bowl and refilled his coffee cup.
'I have come a long way," Alfred Goodhelm told the wait-ress
as she poured the coffee.
"Would you care for anything else, sir?"
"1 am just back from the war. I drove an ambulance."
The waitress walked away. Alfred Goodhelm drank slowly
at his coffee. Across the street he saw the Greyhound terminal
lights as they flashed on and off. The lights were distorted by the
falling snow. He saw several people running along the sidewalks.
Their heads were bent into the driving wind. He turned from the
window and called for the waitress to bring more coffee.
36 •
"This is your third cup, sir," the waitress told Alfred Good-helm
as she poured the coffee.
"I love you very much," Alfred Goodhelm said.
"1 will have to charge you for any more coffee refills."
The waitress left Alfred Goodhelm sitting at the table slowly
drinking his last free cup of coffee. She cleaned the dirty, abandoned
tables and made them ready for other customers, and
when the tables were all cleaned she stood beside a table where
an old man sat. The old man and waitress talked and occasionally
the waitress would look about the cafe to see if she was needed.
Alfred Goodhelm watched the waitress and the old man as they
Cliff Tedman entered the cafe and shook the snow from his
overcoat. He removed the overcoat and hung it on a rack beside
the door. He then crossed the room to where the old man and
waitress were and sat at the table across from the old man.
"Kriss, bring me a hot chocolate."
"Sure thing - anything to eat?"
The waitress left for the hot chocolate. Cliff Tedman smiled
at the old man and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
He offered one to the old man, who accepted.
"How are you doing, lad?" The old man asked.
"My wife has left me."
"1 am glad to hear that - and how are the children?"
"My wife has left with the children."
"That is fine," the old man exclaimed.
The waitress returned with the hot chocolate and set it on
Cliff Tedman's table. Cliff Tedman thanked the waitress and
ignored the old man. He sat drinking and smoking. The waitress
returned to refill his cup. She poured steadily.
37 •
liMy wife left me, Kriss," Cliff Tedman told the waitress.
"Are you sure you wouldn't care for something to eat?"
"She took my kids and threw away eight years together.
She has gone to her mother."
"C1iff, you should eat something. We have a nice special.
You cannot live without food."
"Then I will never eat again. I will teach my wife a lesson
and starve to death. I don't know why she left, but I will never
eat, until she returns."
"Maybe a roll?" The waitress asked.
"Well, that is not exactly food," Cliff Tedman said. "Yes, I
will have a roll."
The waitress smiled at her victory. Alfred Goodhelm returned
her smile thinking it was meant for him The waitress, seeing
Alfred Goodhelm smiling at her, quickly dropped her smile and
replaced it with a frown. Alfred Goodhelm dropped his eyes and
looked into his empty coffee cup.
"Old man, are your married?" Cliff Tedman asked.
"Four times," the old man said smiling.
"How could you stand being married four times?"
"It was hard swimming across the first time, but after that
it was easy."
"Swimming?" Cliff Tedman questioned.
"They put my picture in the paper. I was the first person to
ever swim the lake. That was a long time ago, but I bet I could
still do it."
The waitress returned with the roll and Cliff Tedman turned
his attention away from the old man. The waitress began talking
to the old man. Cliff Tedman ate the roll hungrily.
"And young lady," the old man was saying. "I never stopped
swimming until my feet hit the bottom on the other side."
38 •
"My feet hurt something awful," the waitress said. "I still have
to clean my apartment, but that can wait until tomorrow." She
paused to look out the widow. "Don't you just love the snow?"
"Is it late? Everyone is gone," the old man said.
"It's the snow - that's why I love it."
"Waitress," Alfred Goodhelm shouted. "I love you. I can't
stand being this far away from you any longer."
"If you want a refill you will have to pay for it," the waitress
"Yes, another cup of coffee. I want another cup of coffee."
The waitress got the pot of coffee and walked over to Alfred
Goodhelm's table. She poured the coffee steadily. Alfred Goodhelm
took her free hand in his and squeezed it tightly. The waitress
smiled and took her hand away.
"When do you get off work?" Alfred Goodhelm pleaded.
"I have been working hard all day."
"Yes, I know, but I have just hitchhiked from San Luis Obispo.
I was given a ride by some truck driver."
'Hitchhiked?" The waitress asked puzzled at the feeling the
word gave her.
"Hitchhiked," the waitress said again.
"Yes. Yes."
"Hitchhiked," the waitress said more puzzled than ever about
this strange word and the man who had given it to her.
"Yes. Yes. Yes."
"Hitchhiked," the waitress screamed, feeling the desire grow
inside of her.
39 •
The waitress took Alfred Goodhelm's hand and held it tightly.
She had to have this man. She had to have this man in her bed
at night and have his strange word told to her over and over and
over. She was drawn to him by an uncontrollable wanting.
"I love you/' the waitress cried. ''I'll love you forever."
"Yes, and I love you/' Alfred Goodhelm said.
They kissed.
Cliff Tedman put on his overcoat and walked outside into the
wind and snow. He waited on the corner for the light to change.
The snow dropped down the back of his collar and melted in his
neck. He drew the overcoat tightly around his neck with his fist
pressed under his chin. The cold wind tore at his naked hand.
The light changed and Cliff Tedman crossed the street, walked
past the Greyhound terminal, crossing over three blocks and en��tered
a bar that sat on the corner. Inside, he shook his overcoat
and found a table. He sat down and began to cry.
"What's wrong, pet?" A woman with heavy eyelashes ask-ed.
"I just saw the most beautiful thing happen between two
people. They really fell in love and all right before my very eyes.
I watched it all as it happened."
The woman with the heavy eyelashes motioned to the bartender
for two drinks. The bartender made the drinks and gave
them to the barmaid, who carried them to the table.
"Drink this/' the woman with the heavy eyelashes said.
"It'll make everything better."
Cliff Tedman looked at the woman with the heavy eyelashes
and drank the drink down in three swallows and set the empty
glass on the table. The woman with the heavy eyelashes motioned
for another drink and it was brought to the table. Cliff Tedman
thanked her.
The old man looked at the waitress and Alfred Goodhelm
as they sat side by side at the table.
40 •
Iam older now,
for I have traveled beside
his chariot being disquised
as blue eyes-and
I have vibrated on his ardor.
I have been the goddess
beneath his touch, and
in culmination,
seen a million universes unfold.
(Hellenic hemispheres of heightened harmony).
We have been inebriated
at Dionysian orgies
and drifted through the
purple portals of sleep.
We have danced with wood nymphs
to the mellifluous wind
in juniper forests where
many seeds were
EMPLANTED, and grew into fine ideas.
We have played sagaciously
the labyrinthine game of words
and won.
(ludicrous literary lingo on lyre).
He has kissed the face
of the ocean's most clandestine depths
where tiny mermaids
laughed and loved
in jade and emerald courts of
Neptunian palaces.
(surrealistic seaborne sensuality).
He has carried me to the port of Delphi,
city of the Great Oracles
and I have been awakened to the
essence of existence.
I have been given a small taste
of the Food of the Gods
and I stand longanimously beside Time
to await the Feast.
by Carol
41 •
42 •
i think i saw you sailing, fiberglass angel,
around the edges of the earth
and when you came down the sun had
scorched the thread
the wind had blown the weaving loose
i see you sailing sailing sailing
it seems the sea will never end
until we see someone on the shore
(it is me; i am waving, shouting)
i clutch the cutting fibre
but i cannot get too close
is my sandpaper skin seeping
orange oils and old wines
old' words and old songs
shattered translucent promises
i see you, angel of glass,
wearing away like the marys
josephs and jesuses in the
windows of god's sunstruck
by pattie leo Krohn
If sadness be my life
Then let silence lead my way
And if I do not speak to you
No, not to say my name
For I am me,
A man in search
Inside his Soul
So do not bother to know me
My story seldom told
And take me for not what you see
For what you see is the shell of me
And within its walls I lie
Crying to be free
As my happiness turns to sorrow
I reach for goals that can never be.
by Russell Elton Walsh
I know him-an
earthly paradox
caught between continents
like wings of the butterfly
in a spider's web,
not knowing whether to remain there
or to change.
His story is the esoteric whispering
of ages lost,
laid upon the sands of timelessness,
hinting of other dimensions and
begging for recognition
like wide-eyed children
standing in doorways,
(or of all the Arts ever conceived).
He touches upon the shores of my life,
lapping at my body,
at my being
until distant lands
beckon, and he,
(in all his worldliness and levity)
slips gently away-and
Iam left to fashion
a temple in sand.
by PISCES
43 •
44 •
What a forsaken road we travel
When using that road named past.
f ./ '\ ,1
~< ~~.;~
by Rita Samuels
His name was Grusendorf. He is dead now. (It seems so absurd
to accept that, but the Post Office returned my last letter to
him stamped DECEASED, so it must be so. He wouldn't answer
his phone to deny it all. So I had to write, you see.)
He was alive - beautifully, outrageously alive - ten years
ago. Ten years ago he once tried to be my lover. He wanted to
be lover to all women and to all of life. If too much beer sometimes
left him temporarily impotent, he was just as delighted with
the riant triumph of precipitous sleep.
He was a graduate art student when I knew him. I can't remember
meeting him - he was just there, new among the circle
of old friends when I came back to town. Tall, he was, and brawny
and bearded. Strong and laughing and lusty. That was in the
In the Spring he called for me at my echoingly empty apartment
above the Goodwill Store. We recorded and listened to our
voices on a borrowed tape recorder - he with great laughter, I
very haltingly, with great embarrassment. Later we went out in
his clattery, battered pick-up truck for more beer, and he took
me to his place.
He lived, during those student years, in the carriage house
of an old town estate. There were giant, gossipping oaks and elms
and firs all around, with Boulder Creek jostling rockily along in the
moonlight at the back border of the lot. He parked his truck behind
the carriage house, just above the creek bank.
He wanted to show me his work first. With a casual strength
he pushed aside the massive sliding garage door to the lower,
downhill story of the building, and, with grandiose gesture and
exclamation, floodlit the cluttered innards of the unheated chamber.
Now he became more subdued, and the room filled with his
aura of defensive, vulnerable pride. His work was in the abstract
period that most graduate art students explore, forsaking "the
figure" because they've grown bored with it after several years
of life drawing classes. Bold lines and harsh shapes, then more
liquid forms and oozing colors offered their moods from among
the stacks of canvasses and masonite. On the wall was hung a
magnificent structure of mostly-white painted boards and slats and
blocks, touched with black in enough places to give it life. Metal
and clay and wood sculptures crowded among the other treasures.
The mingling odors of paint, turpentine and liquid plastic with wet
clay and sawdust completed the atmosphere - dedication and
deep, violent love. 45 •
'Apparently, I exhibited a proper mixture of interest, reverence
and good taste, because he then invited me up the hill to
the top floor, where he ate and slept.
He was pleasantly shyer, even a little gallant, as he ushered
me into the small square room at the summit of the climbing stone
footpath. The room was warm and good smelling. It was comfortably
lighted - perhaps by a lamp fixture on the wall. He offered
me a seat at the scarred wooden table in the center of the kitchen.
He opened two beers and got some strong cheese from the refrigerator,
then found a knife somewhere and sat down across the
table from me.
We talked (he talked; I listened) of his hopes and fears and
general philosophy of life. While he spoke, I was callously inattentive,
even slightly bored. (I've never understood why, never forgiven
myself.) He poured out his thoughts while I looked at the
painting and drawings on the smoky, plastered walls and wondered
about a paint-stained washcloth hung up there with the art.
(It was an accident, and he liked the result.) If he looked at me as
he spoke, I studied his now seriously burning brown eyes, the thick
rich hair of his head and face, the marvelous power of his hands,
the soft, full lips just showing beneath their bristly camouflage.
He put on some music and we danced. He grew jollie~ drunker,
making happy remarks about "nice buns." Then, gruffly, "Let's
make it, Baby!"
He led me across the solid, footworn floor, through the low
doorway into the cold, dark, cuddly bedroom. It was dimly crowded
with trunks and scattered clothing. I banged my shin against
the edge of something low and incredibly hard - a cement slab
bed, ridiculously padded atop with an inadequate four inch-thick
foam rubber mat. This was the night, however, when alcohol and
Morpheus outdid me - immediately. With a curse and an enormous
laugh, Grusendorf rolled over and slept.
I left town again at the end of Spring, carrying with me pleasant
memories of a rather sporadic comradeship with him.
In the Fall, when I returned, there was a sequence of other lovers
between us and our mused-about, would-be affair never happened.
Some kind of darkness began to crowd his exuberance. The
irritation of grinding out a Master's thesis, worry about the Draft,
tenuous dreams of studying in Spain, the necessity of packing up
all his work to be shipped home to New York - all these, possibly
more, pushed at him in the months before Christmas.
I had some almost happy times with him after my return.
(We were somewhat incidental in each other's lives, in spite of the
tone of my recollective hindsight after many years.) I loved his
46 •
laughing, exhausted story of chasing a P.E. Major through the
mountain forests one lazy autumn afternoon; and several of us
gleefully patched his wounds for him the time he'd forgotten his
feet were imprisoned in the toe straps of his new bike and had
fallen into a roadside ditch at the first stop light. (He and a friend
had sung the order form for the bike in Italian, to the tunes of "La
Boheme," in the Spring.) We attended a marvelous one-man marionette
production of Oedipus Rex at the University. He, Leonardo,
escorted me, Mona Lisa, to a costume party on Halloween. He visted
me in the hospital and, troubador that he was, presented me with a
flower from someone else's bouquet and an easy kiss on the forehead.
We finally even loved once, perfunctorily; and he tried to
disguise himself in a red babushka to fool my laughing landlady the
next morning. By the time we'd driven East at Christmastime with
friends, though, irritation overshadowed friendship, and his sudden,
crushing hug of farewell was a surprise. We separated at the
Pennsylvania Railroad Station in Philadelphia.
The time I saw him later didn't count. He was on his way to a
training center for the Peace Corps. His face was clean-shaven and,
I thought, repulsively shiny - too soft, too young. I didn't know
The Peace Corps period in Peru was, according to friends he'd
written, a torture. Something about his life after that in a New
Jersey artist's loft weighed too heavily on him. He called a friend
one night to say he regretted an overdose of sleeping pills.
The emergency staff at Belleview Hospital pumped his stomach
free of the poison, but the psychiatric people let him wander
around in the solarium before the doctors came on duty the next
morning. They never decided whether he jumped or fell from the
balcony. They hadn't been watching. He was buried in Chicago. A
thing like that can be embarrassing for the family, you know. So
they had him carted out-of-state. '
When my friend called to tell me of his death we laughed.
We chatted of other things. We knew Grusendorf couldn't be dead,
wouldn't put up with death, would simply refuse to lie still in some
foul hole and rot. There was no point to it. For months I furiously
refused to accept that some distant place in my future was void of
a renewed friendship with him, that his and my children would
never know each other, never share adventure and ribald laughter,
that I would never know the satisfaction of having "matured" to
thA point of being able to refuse his outrageous advances.
But when the Post Office rubber-stamped him into officiality
at last, I deamt of him - riding up to me on his bicycle and rooting
for me to prove it all, to give me peace.
He haunts us sometimes. And we all have a good laugh.
47 •
Con/en/ion (Part II)
by Larry Aguirre
Reflections of watchful eyes are seen on
shaded waters of
A tranquil bay. Seeking no harm, they watch
In restful quietness that seems but a moment's
link with the ancient universe.
!Jmportant :Jhinr,jd
The books line the shelves
With gaudy backs,
Row on row
Of Forgotten Treasures.
As we sit and talk
Of Income Tax
And the Proposed Changes
In Weights and Measures.
by Elizabeth Barnett
I wanted to write a children's book once
and join the circus and ride elephants,
wear flowing capes
and bow in the wake of the applause.
I know I wou!d have been a
success at tight-rope walking.
Then Iife presses out
and things like elephants
that are important to me--
not interested?
Do older people play other games?
by Chrisal Glynn
48 •
When our family first moved into our house, there were many
fields around us. This was twelve years ago when I was only six.
My brothers and sisters (there are five of us in all) and I used to
have a grand time playing in these fields, with each other and the
neighborhood kids. It is one of my fondest memories because we
were so close and had so much fun in those fields for many years.
The fields were at the end of our street and seemed to
stretch out for miles. On clear days, quite often in those days, we
could see all the way to Camelback mountain. Some of these fields
were used for crops but in the summer most of them were empty,
except for the masses of tumbleweeds. Both seasons of the year
offered many hours of play in these magical fields.
In the winter when the farmer came and planted, we always
had plenty of vegetables around the house. Our favorites were the
carrots. We looked upon those fields as our very own - except,
of course, when the farmer would catch us picking our carrots.
I remember one day when we caught some kids picking our carrots;
we made them plant every carrot back in the ground. Of
course, if you were outnumbered 21-3, I guess you'd do the same
thing! I know I would have! And then, after the kids ran home,
we picked the carrots all up again, washed them off, and had a
huge feast. Oh, it was great fun being rulers of a carrot field.
We spent hours playing there. Of course in the summer, being
out of school, we spent the whole day there.
So school's out and the crops were gone. The only thing
left was a field full of tumbleweeds. The tumbleweeds were our
favorite crop. They were much more useful than carrots. More
fun too. Why with a few weeds we could build a huge castle.
Boy was it some castle! Then after we got our castles made we
49 •
had dirt clod wars. That was the most fun. The winner was the
one who captured 1he most castles. There was only one bad thing
about these castles: they never stayed up very long. They weren't
very strong, so it was always fun for this one kid to ride his minibike
through them and destroy them. This really made us mad.
Why we couldn't just whip up castles every day! So we decided
to trap the bad guy. We dug a hole and filled it with bricks and
stones and all kinds of pointy things. Then we put a camouflage
over the hole and built a huge castle so it would be sure to lure
him in. Finally we got him to chase us down to the field. We were
calling him names and sticking out our tongues, and he got really
mad. So we all ran into the castle and when he came tearing at us,
POWI right into the hole he went. He didn't get hurt, but I never
saw that bike again. After that, our hours in the fields went pretty
much undisturbed.
Today when I look down the street all I see are rows of
houses, layers of smog, and empty streets. I'll never forget those
fields where I grew up. They were certainly enchanted. Our kingdom
is gone, but the memories keep it very much alive.
by Mary Corcoran
50 •
Jeturn cf!o,st JJeritage
by r curtis lundy
HE came home. He had been gone three years. He had spent his
first day back trying to find old friends, but they had all gone. His
first day back was a cold day and winter had moved in from some
distant place across the Pacific and the sky was grey and the wind
strong. The beaches and rock lined shores down by Carmel were
empty and forgotten. The streets of Carmel were also empty. He
spent his first night back walking along those empty streets and
remembering those things that seemed to have taken place so
very long ago.
His second day back he took a taxi to Fisherman's Wharf in
Monterey. He looked for the old cabin cruiser and saw her tied to
the dock, and he walked down the wooden steps and came aboard
her. She was rising with the swells. Above, where the top controls
were, he saw the back of a man. It was a wide back and he
knew it well. He climbed the ladder to the top, and still standing
on the ladder he said: "Hell-a, old man."
The wide back turned and an old man looked at him. The
old man smiled and showed no teeth. Then, "Aaron? Aaron Spencer?"
"Sure," Aaron Spencer said. "How are you?"
There was much hand shaking and laughing as they descended
the ladder and entered the cabin. Aaron Spencer was pleased
to see that the cabin was in a messy condition.
"Coffee?" The old man asked.
"And some," Aaron Spencer replied. The old man laughed.
The coffee was made. The old man poured two cups and put
in the 'and some,' and with a long sweep of his powerful arm he
cleared the table top and they sat at the table and drank the fortified
coffee. It was cold and damp inside the cabin, and there was
the strong smell of fish which Aaron Spencer inhaled deeply. He
had missed the sea most of all during his absence.
"They let you out?" The old man asked.
"I am out," Aaron Spencer said.
"Was it difficult?"
"You were in," Aaron Spencer said. "It is the same."
"The place is different," the old man said.
Aaron Spencer leaned back in the leather seat and closed
his eyes. He felt the roll of the ship, and it was a ship. The old
man poured more fortification into the coffee.
51 •
"Where is everyone?" Aaron Spenced asked. His eyes were
still closed.
"They have all gone off," the old man said. "They were fine
people and I miss them."
"Where did they QO off to?"
"Different places," the old man said. "I'll tell you. Remember
that young, pretty thing, who always wore the wigs? Well, she got
married last year."
"You mean Carol?"
"Yes. She's living in San Francisco now." The old man paused
in thought. "Cherie is married, also."
"Did she marry Earl?" Aaron Spencer asked.
"No. She married one of th~soldiers at Ord. Earl is going with
a very sweet girl now. Her name is Julia. They are living up at Big
Sur and come by from time to time."
"Do you have their address?"
"Yes, I will give you all their addresses. You should have writ-ten."
"There was nothing to write about," Aaron Spencer said.
"Well, I guess you are wondering about your girl, too?"
"I have no girl."
"Karen?" The old man asked.
"She is dead," the old man said quietly. Then, "I am sorry."
The old man poured more fortification and added a small
amount of coffee to warm it. He looked out the port hole towards
the sea. It was dark and capped in white where the waves broke
along the reef line.
"How?" Aaron Spencer asked again.
"She killed herself. I do not know how."
Aaron Spencer took a drink from the cup and closed his eyes.
Then he asked: "And the others?"
"Silvia is working at Carmel," the old man said.
"A bar on Dolores Street, I think. She dances and has many
"You mean she's a whore," Aaron Spencer said dully.
"Such names Me not for those that we love and care for,
52 •
"The others?"
"Well, let me think." The old man thought. "Remember
Reid? Well, he is gone. He was drafted and is now in the war.
And Kirk? He is traveling. I think he is in New Mexico working
at something."
Aaron Spencer looked out the port hole and saw the sea
and knew that they could not go for a trip along the coast. He
drank again at the coffee.
"Was it not Thomas Wolfe who said you can never go home
again?" Aaron Spencer asked.
"Yes, and Steinbeck, also. I guess most writers have said it."
"What about Dexter?" Aaron Spencer asked.
"He bought a boat and is down in Mexico."
"Running I'll bet."
"He was never a good person, but he was a part of every-thing
and everybody. I do not know what he is doing."
"And you, old man? What about you?"
"I am still old. I still charter my boat."
The two men sat in quiet. The old man knew what the
younger man was thinking. He had himself had the same thoughts
many years ago. He felt sad for the young man. The old man
spent twenty minutes gathering addresses and writing them down
in his careful print.
The ship rose and fell at its mooring and the two men talked
until the sun set. They watched as the sun fell back across the horizon
of grey and saw the red streaks along the clouds, and it was
dark and cold looking out along the sea's surface. Aaron Spencer
left the old man and promised to return the next day. He waved
down a taxi and told the driver the address of the cemetery: The
taxi moved through the traffic. It began to rain in a light drizzle.
The driver turned on the wipers and Aaron Spencer watched as
they moved back and forth.
"Do you know of a bar on Dolores Street?" Aaron Spencer
asked the driver.
"I think so," the driver said.
"I would like to go there after we leave the cemetery."
"Anything you want, mister."
"It seems that way," Aaron Spencer said almost to himself.
The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror, but said nothing
and drove slowly along the wet road. Aaron Spencer closed his
eyes and listened to the sound the cars made as they passed.
53 •
On 5he Scene
by Kathleen Griffith
It was almost midnight on Halloween Eve. Michigan had provided us a lightless
sky. No lamp of moon or luster of star touched the rural highway upon which we
traveled. The cold October wind whipped the barren trees. The naked branches, the
chill, the depth of darkness added an undefined loneliness to the night. We, my hus��band
and I, were speeding to our home. It has been an incredibly long day, and
fingers of fatigue crept around us.
Directly before us loomed a lethal curve in the highway. We had almost completed
the curve when a vehicle approached us from the opposite direction. It was
moving too fast to safely complete the curve. We sensed the crash a moment before
we heard it. The "fast moving vehicle" had struck a car behind us. After the crash
there was a strange silence. We witnessed the development of confusion that is the
aftermath of tragedy.
There was first the sound - the human cry of confusion and pain. The occupants
of the damaged car were young people. All four were teenagers, and all four were
innocent victims. The "fast moving vehicle" had come out of the blackness to strike
them down. Their car sat off the highway at a cockeyed angle. It was a new car, but
looked utterly crushed and beaten. The driver's door was "stove-in" against him. The
door opposite was flung open. The interior light was on. Its illuminating whiteness
was bitterly harsh against the blackness of the night. The young driver was deathly
pale and unmoving. His companion, blinded by her blood, was a vivd contrast. Someone
in the back wept; someone else simply sat and stared in shock.
My husband lit flares from our car. They gave an unearthly wavering red glow
to the scene. We did the essential things. Help was summoned. Traffic was directed
around the injured. We were able to keep the victims warm with blankets from nearby
homes. A passing stranger was able to calm the weeping girl. There are concrete
things to do for the injured and the frightened, but there was nothing we could do
for the driver. For who can ease the grasp of death?
The confusion reached its crest as the police, ·ambulance and "the crowd" arrived
on the scene. The police brought their own peculiar sights and sounds. They
brought a fashing beacon light and sirens that wailed forlornly, and crackling sounds
of a shortwave radio. Their arrival relieved us of immediate responsibility. We were
asked to wait for an interview. It was at this point in time that I was free to watch
the drama around me, and ev'aluate my place in it. I watched the crowd. They were
a silent, but "clucking" accumulation of humanity. Some had come to help, and did
so. Others had come only to look at the blood. Still others had come and knew not
It was Halloween Eve. If reality was the cruel master of this scene then fate was
its mistress. They had consorted and crushed the life from youth. My numb senses
began to awaken. Fate had placed us three seconds ahead of the death car. We had
been spared the bl,ackness of this night. We were free to continue our journey. As
we walked away from the scene, and towards our waiting car, our hands touched. In
that touch was the warmth of living flesh with its promise and its need that a tomorrow
may fulfill. Intangible to the moment was the strengthening of our commitment
to the life we share. Intangible to the moment was a reminder of the warmth and
human comfort we may willingly give to one another.
This was not to be our Halloween Evening. Ancient Oruids could not dance with
glee upon our tragedy. We were granted a tomorrow. This, then, was our Hallowed
54 •
photograph by JOHN H. WALTER
Removed from all anxiety,
the freedom of birth returns
to him.
Surrounded by his love of knowledge,
he sees a hope in the darkness ahead.
Finding his beginning,
he proceeds toward his goals.
And the journey has begun
And a man has found his birth.
~ --55
:lite :J,.avele,.
• 56
Click tabs to swap between content that is broken into logical sections.


text:
Coca-Cola® Tubing at Winter Park Resort
The newest tube park in Colorado, Coca-Cola® Tubing features four individual lanes, exciting banked curves, a covered conveyor lift ride back to the top and the comfortable Hill House warming lodge, with restrooms and select specialty beverage and snack service.
For reservations and information, call 800.729.7907.
You may print and complete a tubing release before arriving to the Registration / Guest Service Desk at The Vintage Hotel.
Download Waiver
Season Pass Add-on
New this year, get more with your winter season pass with the Coca-Cola Tubing Pass. This add-on pass gives our most loyal guests extra downhill fun off the slopes. This pass allows unlimited days, one one-hour tubing session per day. Walk ups only, based on availability. Pass is not direct-to-lift. Cost: $49
Why Coca-Cola® Tubing?
Coca-Cola® Tubing at Winter Park Resort Is The Perfect Family-Friendly Adventure!
- Newest tube park in Colorado.
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- Convenient location adjacent to the Vintage Hotel with easy access to Village restaurants via the Cabriolet.
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- Four separate lanes with banked curves.
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- State of the art Hill House warming hut serving gourmet hot chocolate, fresh-baked cookies, snacks, and select bar offerings.
- Did we mention it's FUN?!?
Rates per Hour
|2013/14 Dates
|Walk-In Rate
|Online Purchase
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(Walk-In Only)
|Peak Season:
How to Have a Great Time:
- Dress warmly in layers and wear comfortable winter boots (hard shell boots are not allowed; i.e. ski boots).
- Must be at least 36" tall to participate.
- Children 9 years of age and younger must be accompanied by a guardian 15 years or older.
- The accompanying guardian must actively tube each run with child(ren) 9 & younger, and assist with start and dismount and riding carpet lift.
- Outerwear and helmets available for rent.
- Show up at the tubing guest services desk at least 20 minutes in advance.
- It is recommended to reserve tubing tickets in advance – tubing times will sell out.
- Tubing ticket reservations can be made online, by calling 800.729.7907, or at the Registration / Guest Services Desk in The Vintage Hotel.
- All participants, including children, are required to have a ticket and ride in their own tube.
- All participants must sign a tubing release, or if under 18 have a parent guardian sign.
- All participants need to view the instructional video at the Registration / Guest Service Desk.
- You may print and complete a tubing release before arriving to the Registration / Guest Service Desk at The Vintage Hotel.
Our Partners
Intrawest is the leading developer and operator of village-centered destination resorts across North America.
Subaru is proud to be the Official Vehicle of Winter Park Resort. With Subaru's symmetrical all-wheel drive, you can have the confidence to get where you want to go regardless of weather conditions. For more information on this partnership, visit SubaruWinterPark.com
Frontier is proud to be the Official Airline of Winter Park Resort. Born and bred in Colorado, Frontier offers nonstop service to over 75 destinations in the United States, Mexico, Costa Rica, Jamaica and the Dominican Republic. Learn more and book low fares at FlyFrontier.com.
Coca-Cola® enjoys being the soft drink partner to Winter Park Resort and is honored to have the opportunity. Coca-Cola® offers a complete beverage experience while you are hard at work out on the slopes.
GoPro, the world's most versatile camera and producer of some of today's most engaging content, enables people to capture footage during their favorite activities. GoPro products are sold in more than 30,000 stores in over 100 countries worldwide.
Red Bull is a proud energy drink sponsor of Winter Park Resort. Thanks to a unique combination of high quality ingredients, Red Bull Energy Drink vitalizes body and mind.
Choose from a variety of SUVs then check out the products you need, like ski racks and snow tires. Plan your trip today with Avis, the preferred car rental company of Winter Park. Visit avis.com.
Budget is the preferred car rental company of Winter Park. Pick from a variety of vehicles, like roomy SUVs, and products like ski racks to get you to the lodge. Visit budget.com.
Jagermeister is a proud Partner of Winter Park Resort. Jagermeister is one of the best-selling imported liqueurs in the United States and the favorite drinks of millions.
Robert Mondavi Private Selection® is a proud Partner of Winter Park Resort. Created to celebrate the diversity of California's wine growing regions; Robert Mondavi Private Selection wines are sourced from vineyards ideally suited for each variety.

subset: commoncrawl


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HOME San Francisco 49ers Gear San Francisco 49ers Kids San Francisco 49ers Kids Shorts & Pants $20 to $40 (34 items) Product ID: 1177925
Main Content
Your little fan will feel like a 49ers star in the Reebok Court shorts. Contrasting team-colored panels decorate the sides, while a team logo is featured on the left leg. The elastic waist offers optimum comfort, so your miniature fanatic can practice his moves in team style!
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Customized items can be personalized with options such as your name, your favorite number, and/or designs. Some options may be limited by league rules.


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Who are the only people in the world who do not have to go to jail or be suspended from their job for receiving stolen property? In Cincinnati it appears to be a police officer who is also head of the local Fraternal Order of Police! The stolen property, a lot of cash she got […]
About The LettersThe Enquirer receives dozens of letters to the editor each week - and because of space limitations, only a fraction of them can appear in print. Here online, we are able to post all of the letters we receive that add to the community conversation. We do not post letters that we deem inappropriate, however. Join the conversation by submitting a letter below or adding your comments to posted letters.
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- 'Judge not' on either side of gay issues
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text: Ok guys. I have for sale or trade,my Firecat 360,G1 camo,45-60 pound beauty. This is the single cam model,not the Nitro cam. I honestly have about 75 shots through it. Just bought a G1 camo string rattler for it,and cable rod with an alpine camo super slick slide that was 18.00. It feels like at least 5 to 10 pounds less weight with that on there,its awesome! I just took it off and replaced it with the stock trg/sos. It will come with the aforementioned parts also. Was open to offers,but I would like $350.00/offer for it. It really is in new condition. I can email pics if interested. This beauty won't last. I am interested in another bow as well,as long as it isn't too old. Thanks guys Tom.


text:
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Little bang
Little Bang #15
Two shuttles are stolen by the officers who carried out the Tarchennen investigation. One is destroyed as it enters the planet's atmosphere, the other is on the surface. It is not known if the latter is recovered, but given the infection risk I would guess not.
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text:
By Cody Funderburk, Staff Writer
It's pretty hard to deny that Warren Wilson knows how to be constructive, and this value is apparent on Work Day more than any other day of the year. This year on Work Day, the campus community tackled tree planting on Dogwood Pasture, a river trail clean-up, a drainage pond clean-up, several garden cleanings, several building deep-cleanings, a community art project outside of Vining C, and much more! The participation of cooperating students in activities to benefit the community places a very strong emphasis on the civically engaged values of the college and allows the student body to thrive in the college environment.
The day begins with individual work crews eating breakfast at a predetermined time, followed by small projects that individual crews designate for themselves to complete. This aspect of working in individual crews is unique because many times students working in the same crew may not see each other outside of crew meetings, so this provides the opportunity for students to associate outside of a normal work day. Lunch is then served between 11:30 and 12:30, Lunch is followed by a school-wide trip to the pavilion for a photograph. The photographs continue to accumulate each year in the Work Program Office and serve as an excellent means of observing how the Warren Wilson Community has changed over time. At the pavillion, the Work Day projects are announced as well as the number of students needed for the given task. As the projects are announced, students run to the bottom of the hill by the pavillion to designated spirit leaders until all the projects are full of volunteers. The projects range from outdoor large-scale projects to small-scale projects and anywhere in-between. This year, a community mural project took place on the side of Vining C as part of a Work Day activity. Once the projects are completed, the day ends with a picnic dinner at the pavilion, followed by live music, and work awards.
Despite having such deep roots in the community, Work Day has not always been a tradition at the college. Dean of Work, Ian Robertson shared the origins of Work Day as it exists in the modern Wilson community: "When I came in 1981, the following year, Alan Haney and myself got together and said we would like to do something that everybody worked on." That afternoon, everybody on campus worked to build the stone wall in the parking lot between the Chapel and the gym to keep soil from washing into the parking lot. With only 430 students, the collaboration of students and staff helped to finish the entire wall in one day; although, at the time, there weren't work prizes, picnics, music, or other special planned events. "From then on" says Robertson, "there's been a Work Day." However, he admits that other faculty members who have worked here longer may have more specific memories about the origins of Work Day. Clearly, the structured predetermined events that take place during Work Day, as well as its recognition as a campus-wide holiday, are a relatively recent development.
The primary changes that have occurred in the structure of Work Day are influenced by the presence of a committee. The Work Day Committee seeks projects that need to be done on campus, usually various small tasks that are important but often overlooked. Then, as a group of 18 to 20 people, the committee works to organize a list of projects in order of priority. Considering the extensive labor force of the student body, lots of important work can be done around the campus with relative ease. Other changes that have happened are the addition of communal activities, such as picnics, volunteer work, and the general photograph of the student body. These sorts of social alliances strengthen the emphasis this day places on community, and, according to Robertson, "We often get the comment 'we should have more of them' because it brings the community together."
All in all, Work Day creates the potential for students to engage in activities they may not normally partake in, meet people they may not have met before, and work in a part of campus they may have never visited. With no classes, students can honor the work they do on campus while celebrating and being productive. It creates an atmosphere where people can interact with others and work for the benefit of everyone. Some examples: all of the smoking huts were built during Work Day; some of the pathways were cleared and built during Work Day; the skateboard ramps were constructed on Work Day; lots of weeding and clearing of invasive species occurs on Work Day; and much more has happened on Work Day.
Work Day also allows students to create a legacy and leave a bit of their work and creativity on campus for years to come. Certainly, Work Day is a day to be remembered by all that partake, and it continues to improve with each passing year.


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text:
Energy & Resources Quarterly Accounting Update Webcast Materials – Q4 2012
The Q4 2012 Energy & Resources Quarterly Accounting Update webcast was held on January 7, 2013. This webcast covered the following topics:
- Year-end reporting reminders
- IFRS rate-regulated activities
- 2012 AICPA Conference on
- SEC and PCAOB developments
- Balance sheet offsetting disclosures
- Convergence project
- Industry accounting reminders
Download or listen to the recording of the webcast presentation
The PDF copy of the webcast presentation is also available by clicking the download button on the top of the page.
If you have any questions regarding the session, CPE credits or want access to webcast materials, please reach out to firstname.lastname@example.com
Save these dates!
May 21-22, 2013
Deloitte Energy Conference – Washington, DC
For more information, please contact email@example.com
September 18-20, 2013
Deloitte Alternative Energy Seminar — Phoenix, AZ
For more information, please contact firstname.lastname@example.com
As used in this document, 'Deloitte' means Deloitte LLP (and its subsidiaries). Please see www.deloitte.com/us/about for a detailed description of the legal structure of Deloitte LLP and its subsidiaries. Certain services may not be available to attest clients under the rules and regulations of public accounting.


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Kellan Christopher Lutz (born March 15, 1985) is an American film and television actor, who is best known for playing Emmett Cullen in the 2008 film Twilight. Before acting, he was an Abercrombie & Fitch model. He also happens to be a gorgeous beast.
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Our take: The Airsoft Megastore Armory Airsoft AK Chest Rig is a lightweight and efficient piece of tactical airsoft equipment capable of carrying up to eight (8x) AK47/ AK74 magazines or most other types of airsoft AEG magazines. This tactical chest rig features four double stack magazines pouches, two side utility pouches, an a central admin pouch. Built out of heavy duty 600x600D tactical grade nylon, this seriously versatile chest rig protects and stores your valuable airsoft gear. This Chest Rig is ready to withstand the rigors of Airsoft combat while simultaneously providing storage for eight (8x) AEG mags, your sidearm, spare sidearm mags, a radio, and many other pieces of pertinent gear and accessories! This chest rig provides ample space for carrying most if not all of your airsoft magazines and gear, and its minimal design allows maximum maneuverability. Heavy plate carriers are great for looks and storing a ton of gear, however they can drastically reduce mobility and maneuverability. The lightweight AK Chest Rig by AMA provides the maximum amount of storage space, without restricting your speed and mobility! When it comes to high speed and intense airsoft battles, the last thing you want is heavy airsoft tactical gear which increases your profile and slows you down. Features:- Premium durable double shoulder D-rings- Wide plush shoulder straps- Quick Detach buckles on both shoulder and waist straps- 4 Integrated high strength rifle mag pouches with hook & loop open/close flaps- 2 Integrated high strength side utility pouches with QD buckle open/close flaps- 1 Integrated Central Admin Pouch with large storage capacity- Integrated Belt Fastener straps located at the bottom of the chest rig- Adjustable size (for height and waist), universal fitment sizes S-XL- Adjustable tactical utility belt, easily removableColor: ACU
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HOME Nebraska Cornhuskers Gear Nebraska Cornhuskers Mens Nebraska Cornhuskers Mens Hats Nebraska Cornhuskers Mens Hats Adjustable (88 items) Product ID: 1380817
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Your Cornhuskers pride deserves to be sported in the best way possible. In this Scat hat from Top of the World, you'll have it! This super soft adjustable cap has a slide closure on the back with "Huskers" lettering, distressed details and an embroidered school wordmark on the crown for first-class Nebraska spirit.
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text: A new online video game is taking political discourse to a whole new level. We already reported the death threats being received by NRA executives and now, a video game which allows users to shoot NRA President David Keene in the head, has been released. The creator of the game identified as gizmo01942 Ediot says, "Share this everywhere, especially gun-nut and anti-game websites. Also see if you can't send it in to the NRA somehow, like through the feedback on their website or something." Gizmo also provides screen shots to viewers, which can be seen below.


text:
Noted businessman and best-selling author Josh Linkner joins University of Michigan-Dearborn as Entrepreneur-In-Residence and Adjunct Professor of Applied Creativity
May 23, 2011
DEARBORN / May 23, 2011---Entrepreneur and best-selling author Josh Linkner is on a mission to make the world more creative and beginning this fall he will do that at University of Michigan-Dearborn. Linkner, CEO and managing partner of Detroit Venture Partners, a venture capital firm helping to rebuild urban areas through technology and entrepreneurship, will join UM-Dearborns College of Business as entrepreneur-in-residence and adjunct professor of applied creativity.
Creativity has been identified as the #1 skill CEOs look for in the talent they hire, but they face a severe shortage of creative people who can synthesize solutions, identify opportunities, and laterally think, says Kim Schatzel, dean, College of Business. We are thrilled to have Josh joining the College of Business and believe his expertise and experience will add greatly to our efforts to prepare students in the areas of digital marketing, entrepreneurship and creativity.
In this role, Linkner will partner with College of Business and University faculty, staff and senior leadership to infuse programs and courses with his innovative principles. The first piece of the partnership will have Linkner working to transform his best-selling book, Disciplined Dreaming: A Proven System to Drive Breakthrough Creativity, into an educational experience for UM-Dearborn students.
"I am honored to have the opportunity to contribute to the University of Michigan-Dearborn and its students. We are at a pivotal point in the business world, and building creative capacity is mission-critical for success. Working closely with the University and faculty, I'm eager to help students reach their full creative potential, and in turn, leave their biggest impact on the world," says Josh Linkner, CEO and managing partner, Detroit Venture Partners.
Linkner is the founder, chairman and former CEO of ePrize, the largest interactive promotion agency in the world providing digital marketing services for 74 of the world's top 100 brands. Prior to ePrize, he was the founder and CEO of three other successful technology companies. Linkner has been named the Ernst & Young Entrepreneur of the Year, the Automation Alley CEO of the Year, and the Detroit Executive of the Year. His writings are published frequently by Fast Company and Forbes and Linkners been featured in the Wall Street Journal, Inc. Magazine, USA Today, and on CNBC.
Founded in 1959 with a gift of just over 200 acres of land and $6.5 million from the Ford Motor Company, University of Michigan-Dearborn is a metropolitan university serving southeastern Michigan, committed to excellence rooted in strong academics, innovative research and programming and civic engagement. The University has nearly 8,900 students pursuing more than 90 bachelor's, masters, doctoral and professional degrees in liberal arts and sciences, engineering, business and education. A top-ranked university with a faculty devoted to teaching, and students committed to achievement, UM-Dearborn has been shaped by its history of partnering with local leaders and communities, and is committed to finding solutions for the challenges that face the region.
Beth Marmarelli
313-593-5542 / firstname.lastname@example.com


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Design Statement for the Royal Palace of Caserta to their Holy Royal Majesties Carlo, King of the Two Sicilies and of Jerusalem. Infante of Spain, Duke of Parma and of Piacenza, Great Hereditary Prince of Tuscany and of Queen Maria Amalia of Saxony
Luigi Vanvitelli (1700–73) was an Italian architect and engineer, the son of Flemish-born painter Caspar van Wittel. Vanvitelli trained in Rome under the architect Niccolo Salvi, and designed churches and other structures in Rome, and in Ancona, in east-central Italy. He received a commission in 1751 to build a new royal palace at Caserta, just north of Naples for Charles VII, the Bourbon king of Naples and Sicily. Construction of this magnificent building began in 1752. It was one of the largest buildings erected in Europe in the 18th ...


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NIAID scientists study all aspects of infectious diseases, from bench to bedside. With the help of support and administrative staff, they work to find ever better methods of disease prevention, diagnosis, and treatments. Your individual talents could help us complete our mission and make a difference in the lives of millions in the United States and around the world. Apply today!
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The Resource Center has all the info you'll need From content to user feedback, the resource center has the information you need for every level of the entrepreneurial process.
Trade Data on Service, Tourism and Financial Industries
The Guide is intended to assist those firms seeking to do business with the Department in identifying procurement opportunities within the Department. The Guide is issued by the Office of Small and Disadvantaged Business Utilization (A/SDBU). The Guide includes: procurement program and acquisition policy, points of contacts, potential subcontracting opportunities, listing of all Federal Officers of Small and Disadvantaged Business Utilization.
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Article highlighting the basics on Intellectual Property Rights
Basic Guide to Tariffs and Import Fees
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When shipping a product overseas, the exporter must be aware of packing, labeling, documentation, and insurance requirements.
The Brazilian Embassy's Tool kit for dealing with IPR issues
An Intellectual Property Rights guide for Brunei Darussalam
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Krock's 6th Annual Dysfunctional Family Barbecue (DFB)
by Sara McCarthy
Staff Writer –
May 27, 2012 Chevy Court at the New York State Fairgrounds, Syracuse, NY
Every rocker in Central New York knows that the short but jam-packed summer concert season officially starts every year with the DFB aka Dysfunctional Family Barbeque. This one-day festival is produced by Galaxy Communication's modern rock radio station 100.9 Krock. The phone calls and questions about when where and who will be at the show start earlier and earlier each spring. Rainman, arguably the station's favorite DJ, makes the announcement typically on a Monday afternoon during the Ride at 5. This year was no exception, those not in their car listened either from their computers or on Radio Loyalty, an app that streams radio stations. This year's line up was packed with an eclectic grouping of bands including The Dirty Heads, Filter and headliners Flogging Molly.
The gates opened at eleven and although the official rules state that there is no tailgating allowed, it is obvious there is no way to enforce this rule. Concert goers had beer-pong tables set up, Jello shots were being sold, every few hundred feet another vehicle had its' windows down and sound system blasting one of the acts for the day. The fans were obviously enjoying themselves, meeting new people and catching up with old friends.
Inside the show were food and drink vendors, merchandise booths, and tents offering products of all sorts. Having such a large space makes for a very happy crowd, the lines for beers were never too long and there was room for those that just wanted to hang in the back and take it all in.
The Dreaming, out of Hollywood is fronted by Stabbing Westward's Johnny Hall was the third band to take the stage. Playing a mix of songs off their album Puppet and Stabbing Westward hits, the crowd was very responsive. Hall's voice was top notch and it was awesome to hear him hit those ultra high notes he is known for. The band tore up the stage and was all over the set, working the crowd up into a frenzy. Fists pumping and crowd surfing, the fans were having a blast.
The Dirty Heads were another crowd favorite. A sound that is a fun mix of reggae, rock and rap, you are unable to sit still while watching these guys perform. Their lyrics are quirky, and songs so energetic, singer Jared "Dirty J" Watson, danced all over the stage, and when he started singing their latest single "Spread Too Thin" fans intensified their singing and security had their hands full with the additional crowd surfers rolling off the front of the barriers. They closed their set out with "Lay Me Down" the single featuring Rome Ramirez from Sublime with Rome. Their new album Cabin By The Sea is set to drop on June 19, 2012.
Headliners Flogging Molly was a 360-degree change from all of the other bands. Also from Los Angeles, this Celtic punk band had their work cut out for themselves when they took the stage. The younger members in the crowd were not overly interested and had started to head for the gates. Opening with "The Wrong Company" band members grabbed a hold of the crowd and showed them there is more to rock than just guitars, bass and drums. They incorporated fiddle, mandolin, banjo, tin whistles and some more obscure instruments such as a bodhran. The resulting performance was awesome to take in. This group of seven musicians had a blast on stage, laughing, smiling, jumping all around and engaging the crowd. Fiddlist Bridget Regan was actually performing with a broken foot and that didn't slow her down a bit. Flogging Molly, although a bit off the path for a typical Krock fan, closed out the day with a bang and all of the naysayers realized that Celtic punk rocks too!
Krock 6th Annual DFB Line Up:
Cry To The Blind – www.crytotheblind.com
Weaving The Fate- www.weavngthefate.com
The Dreaming- www.thedreamingband.com
Twelve Stones- www.12stones.com
Dirty Heads- www.dirtyheads.com
Hurt- www.hurtband.com
Filter- www.officialfilter.com
Flogging Molly- www.floggingmolly.com