Wednesday, February 23

 

A Visit from Jack and Karol

 

I used to go over to Jack and Karol’s house

on Germantown Road.  Now it has several families

of Haitians living in it.  When I worked at IBM,

I would ride my bicycle to work by their house.

They were gone by then.  Karol worked at

Eagle Army-Navy Discount Department Store

and had to take a lie detector test to use the cash register.

This was before she got her degree in English from

Farleigh Dickinson.  But it was after I was stationed at

a SAC base in Albany, Georgia.  They visited me there

en route to New York, pulling a U-Haul trailer behind

a VW hatchback station wagon.  I showed them the ILS

I maintained, and the TACAN.  I took them to

the NCO Club for dinner.  I was an airman first

with over-four-years service.

A buck sergeant.  The buck sergeant of

American letters.  Charles Willeford was

a master sergeant.  He was eligible for

the Old Solders Home.  In fact,

he used to write about characters

who expected to die there.

He died in a tract house

in South Miami.

He wrote me that Theodore Pratt told him

Delray Beach was a better place to be a writer than

New York.  He said I’d never run out of things to write about.

Hell, I haven’t run out of things to write about in Parker, Florida,

where I am a senior fellow at the Point and Shoot Institute (PSI).

So much pressure.  Philip Wylie said he read Time magazine

to keep abreast of the biases.  This was before television.

I have TV and the Internet.  The lunatic-fringe and the mainstream.

An embarrassment of riches.  I have Morning Joe.  Used to have Imus.

I have MSNBC.  Olbermann is gone and they moved Ed Schultz

to past my bedtime.  Lean forward.  How about stand, and in the evil day,

withstand.  I stood, and in the evil day, withstood.

I created a new paradigm.  Now I’m doing

the mop-up work of normal science.

Fleshing it out.  Tell an agent that.  Tell an editor.

Kerouac said, “Issues—I’m talking about sin.”

 


 

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