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Showing posts from July, 2017

A Play Has Got To Say Something

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With the passing of American playwright Sam Shepard, I was reminded of a most interesting experience that unfolded at the scene of what is arguably Shepard's most critically acclaimed play, "Buried Child." Here's what happened. I'd read some of the reviews of the play and wanted to see it.  So I asked a friend of mine to accompany me.  My friend, Ed Robbin had joined the cast of a modest production about the life of Woody Guthrie that I too was involved in at the time.  We're talking Bay Area circa early 1980s. Ed had directed plays in the 30s and aside from being the guy who first put Woody on the radio, has a few accomplished friends.  He'd drop names like Theodore Dreiser or mention projects he's worked on with frequency so I thought, naturally it would be useful and informative to watch this play with Ed.  Besides, Ed was in his late 70s at this time and was delighted to get the opportunity to attend a play in San Francisco without having to dri

Wild Man Fischer

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Most people ignored him.  Even though he smiled and could talk softly. He offered his wares.  "Want to buy a song for a dime?"  Ten cents...one thin dime...one tenth of a dollar was all it took for Widman Fischer to sing his original compositions to you.  Most often I heard him sing "Merry Go Round," but occasionally he'd belt out "Linda and Laurie."      Oh Linda!...Oh Laurie!      Oh Linda!...Oh Laurie! Sort of a lilting up and down voice collage much like the "Merry Go Round" refrain. A human calliope. He was a fixture on the streets of L.A. in the late 60s and a regular on the UCLA campus where I spent my junior and senior years of college. By the time I was ready to graduate, Widman Fischer, who we all knew was a paranoid schizophrenic, but harmless, had witnessed first hand many of the people and events of those politically flaming days.  Anti-war demonstrations, take overs of the Administration building, Black

The Tao of Winshield

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She gave me a poem a bout wiper blades,              tucked it right up under my own on the driver's side a  too cute, if not subtle tale about how her wiper blades had             fallen in love with each other, But it wouldn't work because they would come together and then flee apart...perpetually when activated. What was she trying to tell me?        That love and relationships were like sisyphus...?             condemned to tempt with intimacy and then separate in an instant? Or did she have something else in mind, something that would take a lifetime to learn? Windshields crack, wiper blades do too, Relationships split but linger long after the parts wear out.

Looking Ahead

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I wonder when it first happens?  My guess is that around age 50.  That's a perfect time to realize that it really is half over.  I'm referring to the realization that life will continue here in your town, your country, this world, long after you do. People must have some curiosity of what daily life will be like; what the future holds, because we get glimpses all the time.  Aside from picture phones and cars without drivers, we wonder about the small and simple things too. It does no good resisting any of his and wish to go backward, but how many of us would like to go back a couple of hundred years rather than go forward? The other day at the train station in Portland I saw an Amish family calmly waiting to board a passenger train.  Certainly not the first time I've seen a religious group in a public setting, but it is real Twilight Zone stuff. Compared to the other folks that surrounded them, with backpacks and tattoos, barefoot and wearing shorts, the optics are st

Find Out What It Means To Me

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"It's beneath the dignity of the office." We keep hearing this about the behavior of the current occupant of the White House.  When we look at the highlights and perhaps more accurately, the low lights, of our President's behavior, it's easy to see why this comment comes up so often. He calls it the "modern Presidency" but in classic fashion even the word modern is out of touch in the 21st century.  Perhaps it's the post modern version, but one thing is clear, our President eschews matters of dignity more often than not. So just how much dignity should we expect from the office and the officer we call our President?  I'm reminded of a student who entered my classroom about 20 years back.  His first name was President.  Yup, there it was, right on the official roll sheet and all the other school district documents.  Davis, President. His peers knew the story, or perhaps it had been passed around so much that by the time I officially asked hi