forums

shooting the shit...10/29/97 friends forumJANET: I think friendships are based not on class, but on aspirations. If someone doesn't care about their work, for instance, I think they don't have any aspirations and they probably aren't the type of person I want to be friends with. I look for a friend who has drive, talent and ambition, because that's what I find admirable. And how can you be friends with someone you don't respect?
BRAD: you pay them.
JUDE: I try not to judge my friends, I think friendship is based on freedom, freedom to be as close to who you really are with people who encourage you - so friendship is based on selfishness for me I guess... I'm selfish because I look to be friends with people who I don't have to try so hard with. I also get really attached and look for people who will love me as I love them. I don't have that many friends. I've got a lot of people who are in transition and have attached themselves to me. The only lesson I have to give is to use your friends well. Not meaning use them to manipulate them, but to use them to the best of their potential to encourage them.
ADAM: ARE FRIENDSHIPS USEFUL, OR ARE THEY SIMPLY SOCIAL ADORNMENTS? I VIEW FRIENDSHIP AS A DOUBLED JOURNEY INTO THE MYSTERY OF ANOTHER, THE BASIC MYSTERY PRESENTED BY SOMEONE WHO IS DISTINCTLY, FASCINATINGLY NOT OURSELVES, YET WHOSE CONSCIOUSNESS TOUCHES OURS IN ENOUGH INTIMATE AREAS FOR US TO THINK OF THEM AS FRIENDS.
JANET: Ooh, someone doesn't know how to turn off the caps lock. Your turn...
BETH: Friends need not have anything in common with you. They may be people who judge you but offer this judgement to you with respect and not as a conclusion. They are people who know you may not share everything with. They are people who, even if they are not always true to themselves with you, you know and they know you.
NANCY: friendships....relationships....I try to fill the cup of my life so full, that at times I spill over and need to place a napkin on the saucer I call my soul. Absourb, soak up, clean up, toss out. I feel so much that at times I think I expect too much of my friends because I can't tend to the every THING that floods my senses. Have gone through the most hurtful period of my life, and my definition of "friend" has become "re-defined". But I have learned, through this, that I am my own best friend...together with myself, I am learning and experiencing things I never thought possible....am alive and vibrant, and have to thank Janet, for always being there, especially for encouraging and supporting my new found freedom.
JANET: Thanks, sweetie. But this should move over to someone else...
ANDI: My friends have been the most influential and the richest of endeavors I've ever willingly put myself through, and sometimes it is most definitely an endeavor.Sabrina - I have only had one friend in my whole life. I love her more than myself sometimes. She is like the first breath I have ever taken, and many times I stare at groups of people in wonder and ask myself if they are suffocating yet. You know, I am not meaning to sound all lame and poetic or anything like that, but I am one of those people who gives my heart to very few people. She is the only one who didn't drop it. Sometimes I wish that I had more friends, but not really, because what I do have is just so fucking amazing that it just blows other people's shit out of the water. I don't know. I only need a love now and I'll be so high that I just won't be on earth anymore. Okay, I think I have just spilled too much, but whenever anyone asks me to type my mind, they are going to get way more than they are ever going to want to know. Either way- friends=good, but they have to be real.
Justin- Friends are what life is about. But the bullshit that goes on in new relationships is quite tiring. I find that the relations that were developed as a young child when I and others gave true feelings and opinions, though at times were and are quite painful but truthful are the ones that I adore. All the happy and fake admiration in new relations and fake interest is for someone else. The ones who can call out each of your lies and exaggerations are the ones that keep me on my toes and therefore at my best.dan this was such a great poem first of all because is was so real and true anyway i think the most important things in life are friends and we tend to take them for granted. It's nice to see someone with such hope and someone who looks at life for the positive. We as a society have gotten in the habit of complaining when things aren't really that bad. friendships are pure are real and although they seem sappy and corny when expressing how you feel it is all true and real and that's what's important in this world. thanks
JANET: Anyone else out there?
JASON: My friends are based entirely on how many piercings they have. None or one - too square, not worth my time. Two, three or four - enough to hang out with casually, maybe go to a coffeehouse or say hi to at an open mike. Five or six, including at least one in the eyebrow or nipple - they're okay. I can confide my secrets, I can have a one-night-stand, or I can loan them money. Seven, eight or nine, including both nipples and at least one in the genital area - best friend. I will travel to Wheaton to help them fix a flat tire. Ten or more, including both eyebrows, both nipples, genitals and an anal ring - well, now you're talking about my wife.
JANET: Geez, and I thought it was okay to have one hole in each ear, and nothing else.

humor

What's the difference between a boyfriend and a husband? 45 minutes
Life sucks, I lent a guy ten grand to get plastic surgery, and now I don't know what he looks like.
A truck carrying copies of Roget's Thesaurus over-turned on the highway. The local newspaper reported that the onlookers were "stunned, overwhelmed, astonished, bewildered, and dumfounded."
A midget sidles up to a tall blonde and says, "Hey, what do you say to a little fuck?" She says, "Hello, you little fuck."
Did you hear about the new blonde paint? It's not real bright, but it's cheap, and spreads easy.
How can you tell if your wife is dead? The sex is the same but the dishes pile up. How can you tell if your husband is dead? The sex is the same but you get the remote.
What's the difference between Pee-wee Herman and O.J.? It only took 12 jerks to get O.J. off.
I saw a bumper sticker on a pickup truck the other day that read, "Jesus is my best friend." Boy, the guy's dog must be pissed.
What happened to the Polish rocket ship? At 500 feet it ran out of coal.
What does a Polish woman do after she sucks a cock? Spits out the feathers.
PARROTThere's this fella with a parrot. And the parrot swears like a sailor, I mean he's a pistol. He can swear for five minutes straight without repeating himself. Trouble is, the guy who owns him is a quiet, conservative type, and this bird's foul mouth is driving him crazy.
One day, it gets to be too much, so the guy grabs the bird by the throat, shakes him really hard, and yells, "QUIT IT!" But this just makes the bird mad and he swears more than ever. Then the guy gets mad and says, "OK for you", and locks the bird in a kitchen cabinet. This really aggravates the bird and he claws and scratches, and when the guy finally lets him out, the bird cuts loose with a stream of invective that would make a veteran sailor blush.
At that point, the guy is so mad that he throws the bird into the freezer.
For the first few seconds there is a terrible din. The bird kicks and claws and thrashes. Then it suddenly gets very quiet. At first the guy just waits, but then he starts to think that the bird may be hurt. After a couple of minutes of silence, he's so worried that he opens up the freezer door.
The bird calmly climbs onto the man's out-stretched arm and says, "Awfully sorry about the trouble I gave you. I'll do my best to improve my vocabulary from now on". The man is astounded. He can' understand the transformation that has come over the parrot.
Then the parrot says, "By the way - what did the chicken do?"MORE PARROTSThis lady approaches a priest and tells him, "Father, I have a problem. I have these two talking parrots, but they only know how to say one thing".
"What do they say?", the priest asked.
"They only know how to say, 'Hi, we're prostitutes. Do you want to have some fun?'"
"That's terrible!", the priest exclaimed. "I do have a solution to your problem. Bring your two talking female parrots over to my house and I will put them with my two male talking parrots who I have taught to pray and read the Bible, then my parrots will teach your parrots to stop saying that terrible phrase and your female parrots will learn to pray and worship".
"Thank you", said the lady.
So the next day, the lady brings her female parrots to the priest's house.
The priest's two male parrots are holding rosary beads and praying in their cage. The lady put her female talking parrots in with the male talking parrots and the female parrots said, "Hi, we're prostitutes! Do you want to have some fun?"
One male parrot looked over at the other male parrot and screams, "Put your Bible away Frank, our prayers have been answered!"
ODD SIGNS FROM ENGLAND1. IN A LAUNDROMAT: Automatic washing machines. Please remove all your clothes when the light goes out.
2. IN A LONDON DEPARTMENT STORE: Bargain Basement Upstairs
3. IN AN OFFICE: Would the person who took the step ladder yesterday please bring it back or further steps will be taken.
4. IN ANOTHER OFFICE: After the tea break staff should empty the teapot and stand upside down on the draining board.
5. ON A CHURCH DOOR:: This is the gate of Heaven. Enter ye all by this door. (This door is kept locked because of the draft. Please use side entrance)
6. OUTSIDE A SECOND HAND SHOP: We exchange anything - bicycles, washing machines etc. Why not bring your wife along and get a wonderful bargain.
7. QUICKSAND WARNING: Quicksand. Any person passing this point will be drowned. By order of the District Council.
8. NOTICE IN A DRY CLEANER'S WINDOW: Anyone leaving their garments here for more than 30 days will be disposed of.
9. IN A HEALTH FOOD SHOP WINDOW: Closed due to illness.
10. SPOTTED IN A SAFARI PARK: Elephants Please Stay In Your Car
11. SEEN DURING A CONFERENCE: For anyone who has children and doesn't know it, there is a day care on the first floor.
12. NOTICE IN A FIELD: The farmer allows walkers to cross the field for free, but the bull charges.
13. MESSAGE ON A LEAFLET: If you cannot read, this leaflet will tell you how to get lessons.
14. ON A REPAIR SHOP DOOR: We can repair anything (Please knock hard on the door - the bell doesn't work)
15. SPOTTED IN A TOILET IN A LONDON OFFICE BLOCK: Toilet out of order. Please use floor below.
MEGA MORON AWARDSLouisiana: A man walked into a Circle-K, put a $20 bill on the counter and asked for change. When the clerk opened the cashdrawer, the man pulled a gun and asked for all the cash in the register, which the clerk promptly provided. The man took the cashfrom the clerk and fled, leaving the $20 bill on the counter. The total amount of cash he got from the drawer? Fifteen dollars. [If someone points a gun at you and gives you money, was a crime committed?]
Florida: [Uh, pardon our English] A thief burst into the bank one day wearing a ski mask and carrying a gun. Aiming his gun at the guard, the thief yelled, "FREEZE, MOTHER-STICKERS, THIS IS A F-K UP!" For a moment, everyone was silent. Then the snickers started. The guard completely lost it and doubled over laughing. It probably saved his life, because he'd been about to draw his gun. He couldn't have drawn and fired before the thief got him. The thief ran away and is still at large. In memory of the event, the bank later put a plaque on the wall engraved "Freeze, mother-stickers, this is a fxxk-up!"
Arkansas: Seems this guy wanted some beer pretty badly. He decided that he'd just throw a cinder block through a liquor store window, grab some booze, and run. So he lifted the cinder block and heaved it over his head at the window. The cinder block bounced back and hit the would-be thief on the head, knocking him unconscious. Seems the liquor store window was made of Plexi-Glass. The whole event was caught on videotape.
New York: As a female shopper exited a convenience store, a man grabbed her purse and ran. The clerk called 911 immediately and the woman was able to give them a detailed description of the snatcher. Within minutes, the police had apprehended the snatcher. They put him in the car and drove back to the store. The thief was then taken out of the car and told to stand there for a positive ID. To which he replied "Yes Officer..that's her. That's the lady I stole the purse from."
Seattle : When a man attempted to siphon gasoline from a motorhome parked on a Seattle street, he got much more than he bargained for. Police arrived at the scene to find an ill man curled up next to a motorhome near spilled sewage. A police spokesman said that the man admitted to trying to steal gasoline and plugged his hose into the motorhome's sewage tank by mistake. The owner of the vehicle declined to press charges, saying that it was the best laugh he'd ever had.
Ann Arbor : The Ann Arbor News crime column reported that a man walked into a Burger King in Ypsilanti, Michigan at 5 am, flashed a gun and demanded cash. The clerk turned him down because he said he couldn't open the cash register without a food order. When the man ordered onion rings, the clerk said they weren't available for breakfast. The man, frustrated, walked away.
Kentucky: Two men tried to pull the front off a cash machine by running a chain from the machine to the bumper of their pickup truck. Instead of pulling the front panel off the machine,though, they pulled the bumper off their truck. Scared, they left the scene and drove home. With the chain still attached to the machine. With their bumper still attached to the chain. With their vehicle's license plate still attached to the bumper.
Newark : A woman was reporting her car as stolen, and mentioned that there was a car phone in it. The policeman taking the report called the phone, and told the guy that answered that he had read the ad in the newspaper and wanted to buy the car. They arranged to meet, and the thief was arrested.

news

Paul McCartney Should Be Ashamed of Promoting PETAMARINA DEL REY, CA - At PETA's Sept. 18 Hollywood gala, Paul McCartney should hang his head in shame, said a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute.
"For years, the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) has led the assault on man's happiness by opposing the use of animals for food, medical research, and even as pets," said Edwin A. Locke. "Is McCartney so ignorant as not to know the true nature of PETA?"
McCartney will present an award at the gala in the memory of his late wife, Linda, a long-time animal rights activist. Animal rights activists have recently changed their tactics. Rather than trashing laboratories, threatening researchers, and "liberating" experimental animals into the wild to die, they are now going to court to "prove" animals deserve equal rights with humans. Locke noted that the rights argument rests on the false premises that animals can feel pain and have the ability to reason.
"Consider the illogic of both these assertions," Locke said. "If pain were the basis for rights, then it would be wrong to put people through medical procedures that cause pain, even if they consented to it.
"As to the second argument, there is no scientific evidence that animals can conceptualize. For instance, chimpanzees, the most advanced of the primates, have existed for four million years and have yet to create the rudiments of a primitive culture."
Locke said that the animal rights activists completely ignore the basis of rights: man's possession of a rational faculty.
"To survive, man must think and must be free to act on the basis of his rational thought. The concept of rights protects his freedom of action in society," said Locke. "The concept of rights is meaningless when applied to beings incapable of reason.
"The real motive of arbitrarily endowing animals with rights is to harm human beings. Instead of being an advocate for PETA, Paul McCartney should use his celebrity status to support and fight for human rights."

President's Advisory Board on Race Relations Will Encourage Racism in America Ê"By advocating affirmative action as a cure for racism, President Clinton's advisory board on race relations will generate racism in America," according to the Marina del Rey-based Ayn Rand Institute (ARI), founded in 1985 to promote the philosophy of Ayn Rand, author of Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead.
"Affirmative action is a racist policy, claiming a person's value and identity derive from race, and not from one's individual choices and actions," says ARI Chairman of the Board Peter Schwartz. He writes in his essay "Multicultural Nihilism," which is included in the forthcoming Return of the Primitive (Penguin/Meridian), that racism is the "false belief that an individual's character is determined by his racial lineage." According to Schwartz, "Individualism, which regards every man as an independent, sovereign being possessing the inalienable right to his own life, is the cure for racism" in contrast to racially-based social and employment programs, which perpetuate racism.
"Individualism, not affirmative action, represents the American ideal," adds Michael S. Berliner, executive director of ARI. "The right to achieve in spite of one's ancestry is the reason that individuals came to our country. Affirmative action is a racial caste system which makes individual achievement irrelevant." Ê

Privatize Mars Exploration NowMARINA DEL REY, CA - With a manned mission to Mars a serious possibility, the government should step aside and leave the red planet for private exploitation, said a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute.
"Politicians are asking if we should go to Mars. That's the wrong question," said Ron Pisaturo. "The right questions are: should I go to Mars and should I invest in or work for the exploration and settlement of Mars? These are questions each individual, not government or 'society,' must ask and answer for himself."
Pisaturo said that the government's only role in Mars exploration should be to recognize and protect the explorer's property rights.
"The government's protection of rights should now be extended to space," said Pisaturo. "The U.S. government must recognize that private individuals who explore extraterrestrial land - the Moon, Mars, asteroids, and other heavenly bodies - endow that land with value where there had been none, and those individuals have a moral right to claim and use that land as their private property. They have the right to decide what to do with Mars, just as you have the right to use, sell, or develop your home or property."
Pisaturo added that a private Mars mission would cost taxpayers nothing. Only those who expected to profit from the mission would invest in it - failure or success would be theirs alone.
"Is it worth going to Mars?" Pisaturo asked rhetorically. "Let each individual decide for himself. The government's only role should be to protect property rights, not finance the mission. Recognition of that role is the breakthrough needed by the heroic pioneers who would say, 'I should go to Mars.'"

Proposed Congressional Minimum Wage Hike Costs Employers Their Rights
By Robert W. TracinskiSuppose that a politician suggested the following measure: The current labor shortage, he explains, is putting a strain on businesses, who now have to pay higher wages to keep their workers. So in order to help them, he concludes, we need to impose government-mandated wage caps; he calls this proposal a "maximum wage."
If any politician dared to propose such a plan, everyone would be up in arms - and justly so. They would denounce the plan as an attempt to turn workers into slaves by depriving them of the right to negotiate for the wages they consider acceptable. Why, they would ask, should the rights of workers be sacrificed to the needs of businessmen? By what right?
Notice, however, the completely opposite reaction to current proposed increases in the minimum wage, or the so-called "living wage" - an even higher minimum wage imposed by some city governments. When it is a matter of sacrificing the businessman to the workers - when it is a matter of abrogating the businessman's right to negotiate on wages - when it is a matter of treating the businessman as a slave to the needs of others - no one dares to offer any moral opposition. There are many practical objections to these minimum wage plans - for example, that they will cause higher unemployment, but why is there no concern for the rights of businessmen?
Employers, like the rest of us, have to make decisions about what they can afford. They have to decide how many workers they need to hire and how much they can afford to pay them. Businessmen base these decisions on how much value an employee brings to the company; if his work creates more than $10 per hour worth of value, for example, an employer will be willing to pay him that much. But if his labor is not that productive, then hiring him at that wage would require that the employer operate at a loss.
Yet that is precisely what the wage-law advocates demand. They want to mandate, by government edict, an increase in the minimum wage from $5.75 per hour (California's current minimum) to as much as $10 per hour or above (in some "living wage" proposals) - and they expect the employers to pay these wages by operating at a loss. This is the equivalent, in your own life, of the government arbitrarily doubling the price you have to pay for a car, for rent, for food, or for any other necessity. That would be considered monstrous if it were done to a regular person - but not if it is done to an employer.
The employers, in the eyes of the wage-law advocates, are different from "regular people"; they have no right to decide how they will spend their own money and no right to decide what their workers' labor is worth to them. Why doesn't the businessman have a right to do these things? Because he is making money. The current economic boom, activists complain, is not being "shared" by everyone. While businessmen are making money, some workers are barely getting by. So their needs, in this view, trump their employers' rights.
These workers, of course, are free to negotiate for higher wages - but to do so without government intervention, they would have to convince their employers that they are worth it, say, by acquiring new skills. But this would be a two-way trade: to get more money from their employers, they would have to offer more value in return.
But the advocates of wage laws don't want a two-way trade. Workers, in their view, should not be required to earn a higher wage; instead, the workers need only assert their needs - and their employer must therefore be forced by the government to provide for those needs.
To these activists, the businessman is a not a person with rights. He enters into their calculations only in the way a bank enters into the calculations of a felon: they're where the money is. Lots of money is being made in this good economy, the wage-law advocates observe, and the businessmen have most of it - so let's go grab it. The idea that this money belongs to someone, who has a right to decide how to spend it, never occurs to them.
This assault on individual rights should be condemned. If we recognize the rights of workers to negotiate for higher wages, we must also recognize the employers' right to negotiate. To do otherwise is to make employers into second-class citizens, forcing them into involuntary servitude to their workers.
____
Robert W. Tracinski is a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute in Marina del Rey, Calif. The Institute promotes the philosophy of Ayn Rand, author of Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead. http://www.aynrand.org

Red China: 50 Years of Bloody DictatorshipMARINA DEL REY, CA - Americans should mark October 1, Communist China's 50th anniversary, with a show of moral condemnation, said a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute.
"Since 1949, China's leaders have demonstrated that they are brutal, pitiless despots - enemies of freedom, individual rights, America, and the civilized world - who have killed tens of millions of their own people and have enslaved hundreds of millions more," said Robert Tracinski.
Tracinski highlighted some of China's recent and continuing atrocities: Jailing, torturing, and murdering ideological dissidents, including members of pro-democracy and religious sects Enforcing its one-child-per-family policy by forced abortions, infanticide, and the systematic, state-sanctioned killing of orphans Stealing U.S. atomic secrets allowing China to keep pace militarily with its avowed number one enemy: America Threatening military action against Taiwan, and selling weapons to terrorist states like Iran
"China is not a civilized country and should stop being treated as one by America and the rest of the world," Tracinski said. "China's leaders have made it clear that they consider America China's number one enemy. We should be China's number one enemy because our founding ideas - freedom, individual rights, capitalism - are completely antithetical to theirs. It is time our leaders publicly name China America's number one enemy and break off all dealings with the bloodiest dictatorship on earth."

Rewarding the Guilty While Punishing the InnocentMARINA DEL REY, CA - President Clinton's plan to pardon 16 convicted FALN terrorists is based on the same premise as gun-control, said a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute.
"It is Clinton's belief that factors other than ideas are the cause of crime," said Andrew Bernstein. "If one follows this twisted logic, guns should be banned while criminals should be pardoned."
Bernstein observed that, although guns can be used for crime, they are more commonly used for legitimate reasons such as hunting, collecting and - most important - self-defense against criminals.
"Clinton must be made to understand that it is the ideas people hold - not the weapons they possess - that determines whether they are dangerous," said Bernstein. "The U.S. military, armed with nuclear bombs, is no threat to the world, because this country upholds a pro-freedom philosophy; but a Hitler or a Stalin or a Hussein is a threat, because he embraces violence and rejects rights.
"An honest man with a gun poses no danger to the innocent - but an unarmed mafia don, like John Gotti, does. Guns are not the problem. Pardoning murderers, or failing to bring them to justice, is."

Reclaiming the "Right" The "Right" Has Been Distorted to Mean Conservative Statism - and Needs to Be Reclaimed by Advocates of Capitalism
By Robert W. TracinskiPat Buchanan, regarded by many as a "right-wing extremist," has recently joined forces with Lenora Fulani, an avowed Marxist. This has led to many comments about "strange bedfellows"-but the combination is not really so strange. In fact, it is entirely in keeping with the distorted meaning now attached to the "right"-a meaning that has turned the "right" into merely a variant of the left.
Everyone knows what the left stands for: increased government intervention, from socialized medicine to public housing to environmental regulation. So it is logical that the "right" should stand for opposition to government controls and for the defense of individual freedom. But that is no longer what the term "right" denotes. Buchanan embraces, not the free market, but its antithesis: economic protectionism, anti-immigration, populist hostility to big business, religion-inspired regulation.
And what about his critics on the "right"? The Republicans-the supposed party of the right-have as their presidential front-runner George W. Bush, who presents no major challenge to the welfare state, demanding only that public funding be expanded for "faith-based" welfare programs. His chief opponent on the "far right," Gary Bauer, is less interested in economic freedom than in widening government power by bringing prayer into the schools, outlawing abortion and banning sexually explicit material.
Today, the concept of the "right" has been transformed into a destructive package deal containing two irreconcilable elements: some degree of economic freedom, and sweeping government controls over our personal lives. The best symbol of this package deal is Steve Forbes, who, with his stances in favor of a flat tax, the gold standard and privatizing Social Security, is the most ardent free-marketer of the Republican contenders-but who is also one of the most assiduous courtiers of the religious "right."
This package deal is an unstable and logically untenable mix. It is a glaring contradiction to say that individuals are free to pursue their own goals when they produce and sell goods-but have no right to decide what art to view, how to raise their children or what to do with their own bodies.
This package deal undermines American political discourse by destroying the meaning of our most basic political distinctions. The opposition between "right" and "left" ought to differentiate the two extremes of the political spectrum. But what options does the current left-right spectrum offer us?
The farthest extreme on the left is communism, which stands for total government control of the economy; the farthest extreme on the right, allegedly, is fascism-which also stands for total government control. We are thus offered two virtually indistinguishable forms of totalitarianism. The only political choice we are given, therefore, is between different forms of enslavement.
The "moderates," too, offer us only choices of moderate doses of statism. On the one hand, today's liberals defend "civil liberties" such as freedom of speech and separation of church and state-while arguing for comprehensive regulation of the economy. Today's conservatives, on the other hand, nominally defend a free economy-while calling for regulation of TV programs, control over our sex lives, and so on.
The essential alternative we are offered is: either being controlled in our personal lives, or being controlled in our economic lives. But both sides share the same basic premise: that the individual must be controlled. Both view the needs of collective "society" as overriding the rights of the individual. They merely disagree on whether "the public interest" is served by sacrificing the individual's material values, or by sacrificing the individual's intellectual and moral values.
But what about the view that the rights of the individual must never be sacrificed? That is precisely the position omitted from this distorted "spectrum." The purpose of offering a choice only between communism and fascism, or only between liberalism and conservatism, is to obliterate discussion of the actual alternative to statism: capitalism-genuine, laissez-faire capitalism. Our political debate ought to center on one question: Does the individual have an inalienable right to control his own life, both economically and intellectually? The opposing answers to this question constitute the only fundamental political alternatives, and define the only meaningful spectrum on which to evaluate political positions.
But to frame the debate in these terms, it is necessary for new types of candidates to emerge-candidates who are uncompromising advocates of capitalism and individual rights, and who are prepared to reclaim the title of the "right."Robert W. Tracinski is a senior writer for the Ayn Rand Institute in Marina del Rey, Calif. The Institute promotes the philosophy of Ayn Rand, author of Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead. http://www.aynrand.org

poetry

One MomentKaitlin Thaney
nyby5@frontiernet.net
Our world today,
Has many flaws,
That we would like to change.
From crime to the murdering of the innocent.I wish the horror and sadness,
Grief and misery,
Would stop for just one moment,
That the world be in harmony for just one moment,
So societies could be in a perfect world for just one moment,Where the anger would cease,
The world fill with peace,
For just one moment.Then maybe,
Just maybe,
Everyone will....
Try to stop all of the crime,
Soothe the pain of those who hurt,And try to make our world...Be overcome with happiness.And maybe someday we will all live in a perfect harmony,
In that perfect world,
Like that one moment,
Once again.

the playingtomkatty@hotmail.comI speak the final swig of maple syrup
feel it play it's way down my tongue
hiss at it scorching my finger
and reach for the camera to pour Naween another.
I think of how my hands jump
every time I let the vodka drink me.
Then I lick down at my feet -
relaxing - dreaming the glass of chocolate syrup -
and think of how these were the thighs
that should have played you away from Belgarion.
But didn't. And I keep mocking
why I laughed your hell, laughed your water.
I remember how you played your way
through me. Eriond rocked me
from the inside out, and I kept loving back.
I let CeNedra kiss me, and now you've
played a hole through Sephrenia. I sucked it.
Now I have to love myself of magic,
and my sorcery is abolishing between the
tree in the bird nestled in my torso.
But I have to move more. The playing
doesn't last as long as Polgara does.
the burningby Janet KuypersI take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands -
shaking - holding the glass of poison -
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.

poemsPeter Vetrano
pvetrano2344@yahoo.comO falling rain,
unfinished in your distres,
even as you cast yourself
along the very shadows of my poem,
you are so gentle,so intimate;
you are love.
........................
"Feeling"
Your countless moods fill my senses;
my times of despair.
You my friend are a floating lightsomewhere.

SHE SOOTHES HIMCheryl A. Townsend
with some days that he
dreams of believing as
he fills her desires like
Christmas stockings
that she takes home
and hides from
husband

PROGRESSIONCheryl A. Townsend
Young stuff looks at my
body as age he just ain't
interested in seeing the
years it has already shared
with even younger when it
was too now the wiggle in
my hips is in my thighs

Pride In Who I AmElizabeth Welch I look in the mirror
And no matter how heavy my brows
I still have large brown eyes
Framed by naturally dark and long lashes
My thick hair kindly waves by my large brown eyes
And I am so tall
I am so damn tall
I try to take pride in this height
I have tried to use it to my advantage
But I am just too tall
Quote all the models you want
But they make millions off of
And take pride in
Walking in a straight line
Back and forth and back and forth
Not in their thoughts
Not in what they say
Why the fuck do you quote models
Who, for the most part, are only five-foot-ten?
How tall am I?
2
All right, I'm 5'12''
I don't like to use the "S" word
If for every time I've said that
I could shrink an inch
Well, I guess I'd have a negative height
People say,
You should love how you are
You should embrace your characteristics
You should take pride in being so unique
Fuck you, I want to be shorter!
Amazon.
I've been called Amazon Woman since the fifth fucking grade
It no longer offends me
It no longer amuses me
I can no longer pretend that it amuses me
It's annoying and it's redundant
I don't care if tall is the latest Hollywood look
I don't care how cool it is
That Princess Di wore heels to dwarf the prince when she began to publicly hate him
What? You wish you were tall.
So you can see over people in crowds at concerts?
So you can reach the top shelf at the grocery store?
So you can spend the entire evening reporting to everyone else what's happening on the stage?
So you can be an unpaid employee at Jewel doing everyone else's shopping.
Well, I'm sorry, I can't reach that for you,
The length of my arm makes it too heavy to lift that high up
I'm not even going to start with basketball
I'll just skip to my favorite:
Are your parents tall, too?
What the fuck do you think?
It's not that I'm insecure about how I look
It's not that it's too hard to find the tall
In dark and handsome
I don't really give a shit how tall a guy is
Being tall just bugs me.
It bugs me that I can't see the kind waves
On the top of my hair
In my medicine cabinet mirror
It bugs me that you,
You can't see my large brown eyes
Take pride in who I am?
OK, then,
I am a woman who hates being tall.

A stranger's dream
(edited by Children, Churches and Daddies)by Joe Chang
HChang8522@aol.com
In a place far away
I found a girl who smiles like the dawn.
Look at her, look at her.
Suddenly I forgot who I am
I'm the rose beneath her nose.Give me a glass of water.
I'll find out where it came from...
If I find the source, I can plant my secret dream.
You need new love. Why are you so beautiful?
Why do you conquer my heart so easily?
I'll find a thousand roses for you and a beautiful lie.
I'll steal a kiss from you.
hen never kiss you again.Go ahead run away from me.
Keep pretending you don't love me.
I have kissed you a million times already.
I'll find you tonight.
I'll tie you up in my dreams.
I'll touch your soul.
Keep running my dream girl.
You'll never get away from my love.The pain in joy, the joy in pain.
Do you understand? Do you understand?
ance this very song for beauty and for love.
Dance now so you'll never stop.How could you dry the ocean?
How could I ever lose my dreams?
My heart is full of your beautiful shadows.
How could I be lonely anymore?When flowers smile at me, I find you.
You just woke up from a dream beyond beauty.
I want you, I want to hear your story.
I want to visit your garden,Do not bury your big dreams by little dreams.
Do not spend you life as another life.
Concentrate, go for you dreams.
Before youth slips away.I want to write a poem for you and the world.
For I love you so much, I am getting older,
My body will die, but my dream, my beautiful dream.
Will still be young-just like you dancing in front of the mirror.My heart flies over the blue shining sky and skies beyond sky.
I found your beauty, but you turn to all.
How could I hold you in my arms?
You know I miss you so much.
Send me a girl to test my love,
I'll love her till I know how much you loved me.If my dear father let me choose a galaxy for gift,
I will only ask for your eyes.
Every time I look at them,
I dissolve.What's the difference between clouds and mud?
One is flying; one is looking.
I want to be the cloud.
What do you want to be?You are my only dream lover.
I want to tell you a story that no one else can hear.
A story that has no words, yet you may cry.
But you hunger to hear more when you finally breath again.You are traveling in the crowd.
Day after day. Night after night,
Looking for the only one.
But if you are not very lonely,
how could you ever find her?
If you are not pretty,
how pretty can your dream be?Should I love you?
hould I love you?
I want to conquer the world.
How could you conquered my heart first?
How dare you?
How dare you take my dream away?
My dream is not blue. Not blue.You are the most beautiful girl I have ever found.
I want to devote myself to you.
May I ask you for a dance?
May I wash your feet for you?
I don't know why but I love you so much already.You make me forget the world.
You make me do something crazy.
You make me lost without you.
So I want to marry you, marry you my love.
You are the most beautiful stranger I meet.There is one in many, there is one not the same.
There is one you can't forget,
there is one you haven't conquered.
If you want to steal my heart,
bring me a rose and kiss me hot.Please dance with me,
So I can write the most beautiful poem.
Please love me. Love me for real,
So I'll sing the most beautiful song.
Make love to me.
You are my final love. Try to see your beauty, I travel around the world,
Try to show you my heart. I read every beautiful poem.
Oh, my dream girl.
I don't know how gorgeous you are.
You don't care how crazy I love you.
But Venus knows how jealous she can be.My dream is not to conquer the world.
My dream is not to see the final truth.
My dream is not your kiss or your tears.
My dream is to return to that evening,
when you showed me a dream catcher.
Say good-bye silently.A wonderful dream is going on.
You are too thirsty to wake up.
Have a drink named life...
There are skies beyond sky.
There is ground within ground.
If your heart is still young.
Fall in love with me.
We'll share a drink of blue old wine.Tomorrow, I may have a long trip.
Please leave me a wonderful memory.
Give me a sweet kiss, beautiful stranger.
Tonight is right on time in heaven,
The golden boy marries the glory girl.I have a bottle of wine and a half a dozen roses.
Will you spend a night with me?
Would you like to hear my tender love song,
that I wrote for you last spring?
Will you help me to finish my dream?
Will you stay with me every night, after tonight.A pretty woman, many men love.
A bright woman loves many men.
But the prettiest woman falls in love with the craziest man.
For she is pretty for him and he is crazy for her.
For they can't find better chances anymore.There is only love that makes you prettier.
There is only beauty that makes you love deeper.
Maybe you'll always be lonesome.
But you don't care anymore...
For you know what you want already.You could be the center of the universe.
This moment could be a turning point of the world. There is a wine, once you drink it, you'll never drunk again.
There is a dream, once you dream it, you'll never wake up.
There is a boat, once you ride it, you'll become Ocean.
True love has no name.There was no sin before you lost love.
There is no more beauty before you love again.
Love with a broken heart,
love the whole world. Love till dawn.
Return your soul to the sun.I found a rose for you.
I whisper your name.
I found a rose for my heart long ago...
It was lost in my dream last night.Have some.
Because this is not what money can buy.
Have some.
Because they have no promise.
Have some.
Next time it will be different.
Let me have some of your beauty.
Let me have some of your love.Spring comes again. Birds hurry to sing.
New green covers the ground.
My heart is high and light.
Where are you my love?
Where are you my love?You are looking for your other half.
Your other half is looking for you.
What's the chance you'll meet in a crowd?
Please remember the secret signal,
When I kiss your hand, I'll bite it.

Birds fly all over the sky.
Suddenly I see a giant bird.
It's wings block half the sky.
It's beauty is hard to tell.
Oh, who is that bird?
Are you lonesome?
Are you happy?
What's your dream?Come to me like a tornado.
Kiss me before I think.
Melt me with your fire of love.
Burn yourself and burn me out.
I can't struggle anymore...Hurry to get drunk.
Hurry to get drunk.
Wine isn't much left.
Spring is almost gone.Great mountains, awesome rivers.
Where is God? Where is God?
Why you let me meet her?
Why you let me meet her?Life was lonesome. Life was lonesome.
Until I met you, my dream girl.
But you love my brother,
girl. Life is blue. Life is blue. It's very late already.
But you are still driving around.
What are you looking for?
What's the answer?
When this dream comes true, What will be your next dream?
What's the dream that will never make you thirsty again?I meet a beauty I can't forget.
In the web of wisdom. I pumping around.
make love to me my love.
Let me break through myself.How many red lips have you kissed?
Green is all over. Where is the purple rose?
One life time to travel. why love the only one.
Be a shouting star. Be a raising bloom
When candle burns out, tears will dry.Are you my dream lover?
Are you my dream lover?
Are you my dream lover?
Fall in love with me!
Fall in love with me.
Forget the whole world.Tonight where to get drunk?
Tonight where to get drunk?
When feeling coming down.
Waste or sober are the same.
Girl. I hanger for your love.
love me tonight, love me tonight.
You are the most beautiful stranger I found.Last call. Last drink.
last song. Last dance.
last night. Last love.
I'll miss you more tomorrow.Beautiful stranger.
How can I let you go?
Such beauty I'll never meet again.
Please stay.
Let me look at you another century...I'm looking for my dream girl.
She must be beautiful.
Beautiful fire lips and golden glory.
She must be lonesome in her heart.
So I can see stars whisper.
Once I find you in the crowd.
You'll know. You'll know.My heart has buried a thousand deserts for you.
If a whisper could be a thunderstorm.
Will you whisper to me?
Will you whisper to me?Long for a dream to be in love.
To love someone with all my heart.
With all my soul and never fall,
If I can yell a name to the sky.
If that name could be my bride.
If you already love me in secret...May I love you now?
May I kiss you now?
There is a feeling I never had before.
Will you take me home?
Will you get me high?
There is a feeling I never had before.
Girl. Girl. Why you smile at me tonight?When I see you I can't get drunk anymore.
When I see you I love you so much already.
How sweet is your kiss?
How lonesome are your arms?
Girl! Girl! Will you take me home.
My wife is not around...One day when your dreams finally come true.
Will you be still young and pretty?
Leave a lip print on my mirror.
Leave a lip print on my mirror.I'm a bad thief.
Every time I see you.
I steal something from ...
your eyes,
your ears,
your hairs,
your lips,
your secret heart.
I won't give you anything back until I give you a chain.Time fade away in your feelings.
Life isn't a sad poem.
If you have a red balloon,
fly it in the sun.
If you have a red balloon,
fly it in the sun.
Summer will soon be gone.Moon light tender as water.
I feel like a sea prince.
But where is my mermaid?
Girl! Girl! I hate to dance alone.
Will you love me tonight?
Will you love me tonight?

Rest in PeaceAdam Clay
aclay@netdoor.com
It's a low silo
with no cows
or chickens straying
at its weedy feet.A stroke killed
Farmer Jones
two years
ago today,
the once red,
now gret, silo
reminds me.

"Fisherman Of Love"Jason Polecheck
drunkandugly@hotmail.com
My,
he looks sad
I can't imagine why
there is a beautiful lady
at his side
biding for his attention,
and a perfectly good tunafish sandwich
sits in front of him.
She smiling and pleading
trying her hardest to mean something
to him.
The tunafish sandwich,
not caring
one way or the other.
I ask him how he could be so sad
with such a girl on his arm
this fisherman of love
replied simply,
"You should have seen the one that got away."

Dreams On FireJudi Kaufman
jhaft@kmz.com
I shout fire in my body
I want to burn refusing showers
Fire, fire, fire,
When I feel heat in my body
I want to burn, not drink
Well, what do you know
The smoke screen of my dream puts me back into the 19th Century castle
Aroused crowd all around
His hand crowds into my crack
As we sneak into a bathroom
His sink was gone, just a bowl and pitcher, filled with holy water
Antique mahogany that used to be called a commode, becomes a toilet
I pull out the brass handle like trying to grow-up learning about bodies,
tushes, lust
I open the sliding door at the top
There?s a pot where ancestors went to the toilet
I lift the lid looking closely by crawling under the commode, into his slacks
Run my finger round and round this mysterious opening
He takes off all our clothes
Except the strand of pearls around my neck
He sits naked on my lap facing my cheeks on fire
His index finger goes round and round my hold in front and back
Lips
Then I wrap the pearls round and round his erection
The last time he said, It feels too good.
Please, he says, I don?t want to come.
I point my toe to push open another door
A bedroom inviting us to lie face-down
You first, signs the bed, looking straight at me
Windows are wide-open, my hard nipples transform the bed
Into a 21st Century water mattress called ?The Wave?
Quilt and feathers fly away, he lies face-down on me, licking my neck and ear
Wind rocks us to and fro, as he comes
It felt too good between my legs.
Judi Kaufman has had work published in The Los Angeles Times, and her poetry can also be found in an anthology series celebrating human relations. The first book A Celebration of the Human Spirit is a tribute to Steven Spielberg; the second A Celebration of the Magic and Power of Television, is a tribute to CBS television; and the third A Celebration of Dreams, honors Jeffrey Katzenberg. Work is also forthcoming in ONTHEBUS, Angelflesh and UCLA Medicine.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 1Duane Locke
duanelocke@netzero.net
A whisper of words that never came
From a mouth, but from a "for rent" sign
Stuck through a lamb in a stained glass window.The street's blood vessels are crawling
Out of the city's body to bite apples
And twists around the hips of darkness.Again, I invoke the shadows of wine
To wrap around the absent breasts
Whose left hand strokes the light bulb.Will the mauve mausoleum of her lips
Become my wristwatch, manic in
Disobedience to numbers and circuses.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 2Duane Locke
duanelocke@netzero.net
Inside her bra she hid the sideshow
Where a priest swallowed a sword
And a sparrow took sixteen baths.From her mouth fell the keys
To the necropolis with its limp necks;
The keys crowed like a cock thirty-three times.Nuns knelled to their crucifixes because
They had a naked Jesus with no cloth over his thighs,
Sewed the torn spots in their black net stockings.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 3Duane Locke
duanelocke@netzero.net
0n the upper lip, two dolls on a cake.
On the lower lip, the bird songs of poppies.
On the bottom of a wine bottle, her tongue.While her body spins, chips are
Are placed on her toenails, coins
Stuck in her mouth. The croupier, death.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 4Duane Locke
duanelocke@netzero.net
It is the hour when
The tense laurel wreath
Around the knee slips to the ankle.When a choir of clocks
Tremble inside the foot.
The shoe begs the prophet for a penny.The rag doll on the backseat
Of a star traveling away
From the earth washes her hair.The eyes come to a boil,
Evaporated into steam,
Scalded the dry kisses of the ditch.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 5Duane Locke
duanelocke@netzero.net
In my silence, a dark scar
Shouts to the closet
Of winter sweaters.Through a crack in the sidewalk
Her tongue emerged to lick
The blue off the sky.Now that she is drowned
In the plate glass of downtown,
Her last breath burns holes in my wrists.Each puff under my aged eyes
Is a pale wall of rosaries
Around the necks of vacant lots.Wine dug my skin out of the ground,
Found her brown eyes had turned
Into black spots on white dice.Her goodbye is crawling
On the charred boards
Of burnt river pavilions.

Duane Locke lives alone and unemployed in an old, decaying house in the sunny Tampa slums. He is a distinct and obvious minority, living as an alien not understanding the surrounding customs and not understanding the language, some postmodern form of English. He has a Ph. D., specializing in Renaissance literature.
He has had over 2,000 poems published in over 500 different magazines, such as APR, Nation, Black Moon, Bitter Oleander, and 491. His latest book of poems WATCHING WISTERIA (to order call 1-800-869-7553).

On the BridgeMichael Keshigian
I write these words
just prior to sleep
when thought is pure
and unemcumberedby purges of daily living
which inundate the senses
contaminating virtue
of wholesome ideasin exasperated sylables
delivered by
a cocophony of voices and pictures
infecting the ritual of existencebut the darkness and silence presently embraced
in concert with hesitation
from the bridge linking wake to sleep
forecloses this demeanorperpetrating an unblemished disposition
to allow innocent expression
of simple descriptions
celebrating the significance of life

Catching a WinkMichael Keshigian
I had a birthday in January
blinked twice
now it's October
though a week prior
I went for a six mile runkissed my 6 year old son
on the forehead
returning forty minutes later
to find him in puberty
my five year old daughter in collegeand vivacious dark hair wife
sporting gray
streaks of salt coagulating
on moist brown soil rimming the beach
all our years togetherpreserved in snapshots
embossed in plastic
on shelves
depicted
with instantaneous winkof the flash bulb
capturing
joyous moments
glossed bittersweet
till the shutter closes

Michael KeshigianMichael Keshigian has been writing for a few years. Recent publication credits, among others, and other than cc&d, of course, and "The Aurorean", "Nomad's Choir", "Barbaric Yawp", "Pegasus Review", and "Nanny Fanny".

poetry by janet kuypers
A WhileOctober 24, 1998
It's been a while
since we stopped going out
and I'm sure you're still having one night stands
and I'm sure you don't think about methis I'm sure ofAnd you can tell me that
you've thought of me
and I don't care to hear your excuses anymoreI thought when someone said they cared
they meant it
and feelings like that
aren't supposed to change at the drop of a hatwhen does it occur to the average man
that there is in fact no feeling there
that maybe there never was feeling theremaybe you don't get to that last part
you just think, okay, I don't like this
I'm going to have to end this, maybe she won't get hurtWell, in case no one ever told you
women do get hurteven the strong ones
A Select Few ThingsNovember 15, 1998
if you wanted me to think of ways, I could do that
actually, I could think of a variety of ways
but I think you are ready to only think about
a few of them
if you're thinking about me,
well then, think whatever you want
I've wanted to feel you kissing me
I've wanted to have your lips on me
I've wanted so much out of lifethere are a lot of things I want
but right now I can only think of a few thingsa select few thingsI've wanted to know that you are
willing to give me that
that you feel it in the same way I dothere's only so much teasing a girl can takeand I'm not going to tease you about this
and I'm not going to make any promises
that I don't promise to keepbecause everything I say is a promise to youit's a promise to my life
it's a promise to the future
it's a promise to loveyou better believe in the same things that I believe in
because I don't like getting my hopes up for nothing
So prove me wrongA New PatientSeptember 1, 1998
There's a child here with color pack
of crayons with his coloring book
how many colors are in the pack of crayons-
the boy is with his mother
does the mother have a patient here? This little boy can speak well. And walk.
That's important for little boys, to walk
and talk well
do other simple tasks
I wonder if the average patient learns to walk
or dress
or talk
or learn
or eatI don't interact with many patients
so I wonder about these thingsA New Idea Pretty QuickSeptember 10, 1998
what does everyone say
about the world anymore
they probably think the world
is just about as useless
as that great soap opera
they watch on television
every dayTake that scoop of
information into your own
head if you like it, and mold it
into your own opinion
of the world and come
up wit a better idea pretty quick
A Lifetime TogetherDecember 1, 1998
we were supposed to spend a lifetime together
that's what we talked aboutwe were supposed to be happy together
we were supposed to travel for our honeymoon
well, you mentioned the place, i said
i wanted to go there for my honeymoon
and you agreedi can think about all the things you said to me
and i can think about all the lies you told me
they're all beginning to run into one another, you knowi can think about how we would act like a couple
when we were playing poll at the local bar
i think of how we didn't look like touristswhen in a way we wereyou got me next to nothing for my birthday that year
well i was there, you had to get me something, you thoughti can think about the flowers you were supposed to get me
how it would have been good to be able to tell my friends
that i'm seeing someone
so they wouldn't think i'd be alone all my lifei can think about how you would shower me with attention
or how you'd tell people about me
she's a great girl, you'd sayi'm sure that's what you'd saywhen i was craving someone to care
i wanted you to care
and you let me downi wanted to feel your hand touch my face
i wanted to get a sign from youany signall I got from you, well, was nothing
i didn't even get a signso happy valentine's day, i think
when i think of all the people
who said they cared but didn'tthat's all i think ofA Least That's What I HearNovember 27, 1998
There are so many things I hve tried to do with my life
and things that I've wanted
and are so many things that I took care of myselfcan I even get close to any of one the things I wantI don't know if I can touch them
I don't know if I can make
everything better I don't know if something is
supposed to come along and save the day
There are any disappointments in my life
it's easy to get disappointed about things
when you think about them too muchyou can just try to ignore all the bad stuff
or just try to change your whole way of thinking
or you can just try to be okay with all the bad stuff happening
and maybe you can be okay
with just having a little
and just being aloneall I have to say
is that the last option there isn't an easy one
but it might save you at the bottom lineat least that's what I hear
A beacon aloneOctober 13, 1998
I know I'm meant to be standing alone I've done it all my life and I'm completely used to the feeling and I've been living without anyone for so long and I wanted to let you know that I'm used to that and I can do it on my own and I don't need someone to help me pick up the pieces and I don't need someone to wipe my nose or tell me how and when to brush my teeth and comb my hair and fold my clothes. Have I said this to you before? Probably. Do I think this needs repeating? Usually. Then no one gets what I want and what I do. But this is what I've been used to all my life, this rejection, this feeling like I'm supposed to be this way, this feeling that there's no chance for me. You might think it. The rest of the world does. But let me tell you once, in the easiest way I know how, let me tell you that I am strong and I know what I need and I know what to do and I've been fine on my own all of this time. Maybe I've been just waiting for someone to come along and make it all better for me. Well, maybe that's my job, to do what I've been planning, and someone else will notice that you don't have to do it like everyone else. I don't know if I'm a beacon, but it's nice to think of me that way, whether of not it's accurate. I don't know if I'm a beacon. But for now, it's nice to think of me that way. I wonder when someone will notice my differences. I wonder when someone will think I'm different. I wonder when someone will notice

prose

BUILDER'S BLOCK
by Cheryl A TownsendHe is taller than most, shorter than some, with a body quite nicely in the middle. No excess muscle. No excess fat. Amaretto eyes and Coca-Cola hair that spills down his neck in easy curls, touched with grey. A 2-shave-a-day face, tanned with summer construction. His employment t-shirt is escaping his soiled and well-worn jeans. My eyes fix on the erased denim and thighs I know I can endure. His hands are big and well used. I see no commitment to deter. Can you visualize this? Can you see him as I do? Then imagine him sneaking you into his fantasies as you keep yourself just near enough away. Imagine his obvious desire, touching you with his glances. A boyish smile when your eyes catch his. Can you hear the words neither one of you need to say? He puts down his hammer and walks towards you. You put down your reservations and anticipate. He is breathing into your eyes. You can feel the lust of his intention. A hand just soft enough lifts your face and your mouths crash. You feel unconscious. Do I need to break to the waves? Are you ready to go on? His hands vacuum you into his intimacy. You can taste the day he has had as you vampire his first offering. His hands are like an iron on your back, pressing you with such heat, and you feel like soup. You are hanging across an abyss, griping his hair, his neck. His hands feel the sigh of your flesh. Your heart begins to race. You can feel the strength exude through the cotton on his back. You need to drop those barriers. You kiss the trail of his shirt as you lift it from his chest. He is salty and you love it. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your blouse. His shaking hands make you purr. His tongue penetrates your naval and his hand feels your ribs. From the top of your cup, he rips off your bra, and you don't mind it. You cleave him to your breasts. He suckles with a grizzly hunger. Your fingers are lost in baby curls. You want it all. You want it now. You tell him. You both trade zippers, then shove your own away. He smells your morning shower and holds your retreat. Your flesh rains and you puddle to your knees. His need is now against you. You quickly invite satiety. You gasp him in to you. You feel this in your blood. You create an engine. He is a piston, firing. This heat is combustive. This feeling is implosive. You can not hear the noises you are making. You are biting his shoulder. He is bruising your pelvis. His neck is stretched as you open your eyes just long enough to see his face as he meets God. And then you cum.

...from "I've Got To Write a Book!"
by Ira WigginsDoctor's Days and NightsWinter was a most interesting time to drive in Michigan. I did a considerable amount of it both day and night and became quite adept at traversing icy roads. I vividly recall one dark night returning from the hospital in Hillsdale when I had to make three running starts at a slope in the highway in order to get to the top before my wheels started to spin. Another night about 2:00 a.m. on the main street of Hillsdale, when returning from a delivery, I attempted to scribble a brief reminder note. As I looked up, the thought flashed through mv mind, "What the hell is the rear end of that car doing right in front of me?" It had to be a flashed thought I would not have had time to say it before ramming the rear end of the parked car. No seat belt but, fortunately, my speed was slow. Two bruised knees were minor compared to my humiliation and embarrassment. The judge, bless his heart, was full of compassion and the milk of human kindness. He certainly was entitled to charge me with reckless driving but, instead, only gave me a ticket for "driving in the wrong lane". I'd never argue with that!
*****
Another winter night I was departing the home of an ill child. On starting to back out of the driveway mv wheels began to spin and I was stuck in the snow. I took the shovel from the trunk and began to work, cursing the snow and winter in general. The curtains were drawn on the house. At one point a beam of light came out as the man drew the shade aside to see what was going on. A quick look was sufficient; the shades never parted after that. I suppose he had his own troubles and I was being paid wasn't I? Well, wasn't I??
*****
We had been renting a small apartment but, after a year in Jonesville, when Betty became pregnant we decided it was time to buy a home. We found one on West St. (a good neighborhood) with a single-car garage, full basement, large backyard, two stories and two bedrooms for $7,000.00. It was our busy, happy home for about five years before we purchased a larger place with three bedrooms, large den, fireplace and all hardwood floors for $19,000.00. That amount of money wouldn't even buy a run-down shack these days. Ah, inflation!
*****
It was in the latter house that one of my "little harmless practical jokes" backfired. Our neighbor, Mr. Glasgow, had killed a male red fox in the orchard on his farm and was showing it to me when the bright idea "wouldn't that be funny" popped into my mind. Betty's two unmarried sisters, Mary and Berna, were visiting our home this cool fall week and it would be a good chance to give them a little scare and have a bit of a laugh. Mr. Glasgow willingly loaned me the carcass. Mary and Berna were sitting in the living room. I quietly sneaked in the back door. Holding the fox by the scruff of the neck and the rump I slowly thrust the muzzle then the forepart of the head around the doorjamb, meanwhile uttering guttural growling noises. Exclamations and squeals of fright and surprise came from the living room. The joke was a success. I laughed heartily as I emerged into full view carrying the limp carcass. It was then that I noticed the urine dribbling from the fox. He had not been dead very long and the bladder sphincter had just relaxed. Now during the "guttural growling" process I had been holding the fox over the floor register of our hot air heating system and most of the contents of his bladder had been emptied down the register. For those of you who might not be aware of it I will mention that the urine of a male fox kas an odor approximating that of the skunk. In a warm register it is most pronounced. I will leave to your imagination the amount of effort involved in cleaning the heat pipes. Neither will it take much imagination for you to realize how deeply I was in the doghouse with Betty. The register was in the kitchen yet!
*****
We lived two blocks from the high-school. One New Year's eve we had a party at our house with a moderate amount of imbibing. One of our guests and a good friend was a teacher. About the middle of the evening he put on his coat, silently walked out the front door and in a few minutes returned smiling.
"Where in hell have you been, Dick?" someone queried.
"Oh, I went down and pissed on the school building. I've been wanting to do that for a long time."
*****
Two doors from our home was "The Manor School for Boys", a privately owned and operated most excellent school for retarded boys. Being the school physician was, for me, a most interesting experience. The 20 - 30 boys were well loved and well disciplined. The non-teachables were housed and cared for. The teachables were taught as much as they were able to absorb, even if it was only how to make a bed or set a table or to dress themselves. Reading, math, etc. were taught to those more capable. Occasionally a student would "graduate". I know one who for many years has been self-supporting, by doing various kinds of odd jobs. Be still exchange letters at Christmas time and I prize his friendship.
Certain types of congenital mental deficiencies are accompanied by a lowered resistance to infection. Down's syndrome (Mongolism) is one example. One such boy developed scarlet fever and died in the hospital as a result.
Because of their lowered resistance these youngsters were very susceptible to influenza and I often was called to see four or more of them at a time. When one became ill the others followed suit. The problem was largely solved when I started giving the entire staff and students "flu shots". Twice a year Betty and I would carry the necessary equipment to the school and inoculate the entire group of students and most of the staff. There was one young man who, when it came his turn, would invariably start shouting, "I gotta tinkle! I gotta tinkle!" Thus he delayed the inevitable for a few precious minutes while he was allowed to go to the toilet. The patience of the staff was amazing. If humoring or reasoning would work they never resorted to force. It was indeed the rare case that had to be forcibly restrained for the procedure.
*****
It was at Manor School that I was privileged to observe two cases of "idiot savant", a rather unattractive name for an interesting condition. These particular two boys were about 12 and 13 years of age but mentally at a kindergarten or lower level. Each had a special talent, however, which the average high-IQ person would find very difficult to duplicate. One took great pride in asking a new acquaintance the month, date and year of his birth. He would then proudly announce the day of the week on which that person had been born. He was seldom wrong. The other made it a point when meeting someone new to obtain that person's birth date, address and telephone number. On a subsequent meeting, even weeks or months later, he was able to recite back the statistics without error. I was amazed.
No one has a really satisfactory explanation for these unusual cases.
*****
Although work dominated my days and nights, there were hobbies and vacations to be enjoyed too. Flying (see chapter on "Flying Days") was a delightful source of relaxation and invariably improved my state of humor, perhaps because I was free for a time from the menace of the telephone. I did not realize I was becoming chronically grumpy until one day our six year old, Nancy, said to her mother, "I wish daddy would go flying more often. It puts him in so much better mood." That caused a bit of sober reflection.
*****
Nancy was at about the same age when she became ill with a fever. After a day Betty said to her, "I guess if you aren't better tomorrow we'd better have the doctor examine you."
Her eyes brightened and she said, "You mean my daddy,

or a real doctor?"
*****
Fishing the small lakes and streams in Hillsdale county was another of my delights. The small bass, bluegills and occasional trout were scrappy on the light line of a fly-rod and were delicious to eat. Of course when I would arrive home there was often as not a pressing home-call awaiting me and I would quickly wash, change clothes and rush off, leaving Betty to clean the fish. This was not a job she especially enjoyed. Nor did she relish searching the bits of cooked fish to remove tiny bones before feeding it to our two small youngsters. To this day she has an aversion to eating fish unless it has been prepared and cooked by someone else.
A visitor one day asked of Nancy, "So your daddy likes to fish, eh?"
"Yup. Likes to sish."
"What kind of fish does he catch?"
"Baby sish."
Brat!
*****
My wife declares that during my 20 years of active practice in Jonesville I had little time for family life and I guess it is true. I was fatigued a good bit of the time and had more work than I really would have chosen. I didn't fully realize this until I started to write a chapter in this book entitled "Raising a Family" and found myself without sufficient material to make a decent chapter. Now that's sad.
Oh, I recall playing with the children, teaching them to balance standing on my hand when three or four months of age, etc. but I seldom changed a diaper or got up with a fussy child at night. Thus I seldom helped with any of Betty's work. She, on the other hand, was frequently in a situation where she was forced to help out with my work. If my regular nurse suddenly fell ill she would fill in. If I was not at home the patients, knowing she was a registered nurse, usually asked her for advice about an emergency or their symptoms or their medications. Knowing that I was chronically fatigued she tried not to worry me with problems of her own.
Think it would be great to be a doctor's wife? Forget it. It ain't easy.
*****
One evening at the supper table our three year old, Tom, who had been taught to say "please", said, "Please pass the God damn potatoes."
Betty and I looked at back other in alarm but said nothing and passed the potatoes. We never heard him repeat the word. I suspect that, if we had raised a fuss and delivered a lecture, he would have certainly remembered the word and looked for places to use it in the future.
It was at about the same age that, after hearing us praise a certain food on the table, he tasted it and made his own pronouncement: "It's lelicious (another word he didn't know), --

I don't like it."
Enough of the "cute sayings" of children. I won't try to compete with Art Linkletter.
*****
When Tom was about seven, one of his many small injuries resulted in infection about the ankle with an angry, red area from which ascended telltale pink streaks. I started him on antibiotics at once.
"Tom, do you know what doctors call what you have?"
"No, dad, what?"
"That is called 'cellulitis with ascending lymphangiitis'."
"Wow! Can I tell the kids at school?"
"Of course."
So Tom practiced until he could say "cellulitis with ascending lymphangiitis" in a single breath. His friends were duly impressed.
At this point nine year old Nancy was feeling a bit left out of the picture. Of course, Dad, who knew everything, would have the answer.
"Dad, haven't I got something with a good medical name that I can tell the kids at school about?"
"Hmm,

Let me see." Now this would take a bit of thought, for Nancy was a vigorous, bright, healthy specimen. And then, heaven help me, the devil himself goaded me and lighted up the bulb of an idea that was just too much for me to resist.
"Yes, Nancy, you can tell them that you have a fecalith in the circle of Willis."
"Oh, that's great! Say it again, dad."
"A fecalith in the circle of Willis."
She ran off happily repeating the phrase, so happy with the sound of it that the question as to its meaning never entered her mind.
When it occurred to her a few days later to question the meaning I had to confess the joke to her.
You see, a fecalith is a small, dry ball of human stool or excrement. The circle of Willis is a circular arrangement of blood vessels (arteries) in the base of the brain. All in all, a fecalith in the circle of Willis is an entirely fictitious condition about which the average young lady would not care to boast.
*****
I can't resist the impulse to pass on a bit of practical knowledge which had not made it into any of the medical text-books - at least in my time. I first learned of it through reading a letter to the editor in a medical journal. The letter was from a dermatologist and was essentially as follows:
"Now, all doctors know that the best underarm deodorant is ordinary bicarbonate of soda (Hell, I didn't know!) but it is entirely useless to suggest this to any of the ladies in my practice. Each time I suggest it I am regarded with a look of disbelief and rejection as though I were an unwashed, unshaven hobo who had just propositioned the patient. From a specialist they expect - nay, demand - something scented, pressurized and expensive. Pity."
Eagerly I tried it. It works! Just a pinch of the powder after washing under each arm-pit (and in each groin if desired) does the trick. This is not an anti-perspirant; it does not produce dryness. But, as a deodorant - to neutralize odors - it has no equal. If you are interested try this experiment sometime when you have been perspiring and both armpits have a strong odor, put a pinch of bicarbonate of soda under one armpit only. Wait a minute or two - then sniff each side. You will find one side to be completely odorless. But, then, if you prefer something scented, pressurized and expensive...
*****
There were no psychiatrists in Hillsdale County. I was occasionally called to do a physical and/or mental examination on an inmate in the jail. The situations were usually tense, grim and suspicion-laden, not without an element of fear. But neither were they entirely devoid of humor.
"What's your name?"
"Jesus Christ."
Equinimitas. Don't show any surprise or emotion on the face, doctor. This was not an unusual mental aberration.
"Birth date?" I knew it was a mistake the second I uttered it.
"If you don't know I was born or Christmas day you're not smart enough to be a doctor!"
Guess I asked for that one.
You have certainly heard the rhetorical question, "What would happen if Jesus were to return to earth and walk amongst us today?" I know what would happen. He would be immediately confined to a mental institution because he claimed to be Jesus Christ! Think about it.
*****
Mrs. Wilson brought her screaming six month old infant to my office. He had been crying continually for an hour without letup and nothing would make him stop. He had always been a good-natured baby.
"I thought a pin was sticking him, but I checked and it's not that."
"Probably an ear infection, Mrs. 'Wilson. Let's take a look."
The ear-drums were perfectly normal.
"That's not the trouble. You'd better undress him for me, Mrs. Wilson.
Off came the clothing, accompanied by lusty yells from the patient.
"The shoes too, doctor?"
My first impulse was to say, "No, that won't be necessary." But, as I was stalling for time to consider what all of the possibilities might be I instead replied, "Yes, please."
The first shoe came off and the red-faced, outraged crying continued.
With removal of the second shoe the screaming stopped as though a switch had been flipped. As the tiny sock came off, the dead-white toes could be seen straightening out from their under-curled position where they had been painfully crammed when the shoe was put on. The mother and I could not help laughing as the baby gave a long, audible sigh and a faint smile lighted the tear-streaked, still-red face.

...from "I've Got To Write a Book!"
by Ira WigginsDoctor's Days and NightsPatients not infrequently came to our home after office-hours. On one occasion the parents brought a toddler with a metal crochet hook protruding from the infant's temple. It was not easy to hide an expression of disbelief but I did my best.
"He was on the floor, doctor, when my crochet hook fell off the shelf and stuck into his head. We can't get it out."
I knew a crochet hook had a course barb on the end, but how long was the instrument? How far had it penetrated? Which way was the barb pointing? The latter was the most important for ease of removal. While the father and I took the baby to my office the mother went home and returned with an identical crochet hook. The flattened mid-portion had printing on one side; it was toward this side that the hook pointed. My task was simplified immensely.
A little novocaine. A one-eighth inch slit in the skin at the site of penetration. Gentle manipulation to free the barb and the crochet hook came free to be returned to the relieved mother for more prosaic use.
*****
Late one Saturday afternoon in summer we were visiting on the screened porch of some friends when a car drove up to the curb. The plainly dressed woman strode purposefully toward us.
"They told me you were here, Dr. Wiggins. My son was fishing and got a fish-hook stuck in his eye. He's in the car."
With visions of a punctured eye ball I strode rapidly to the car were the 12 year old son was holding his hand cupped carefully over his left eye. As he slowly removed his hand I could see the treble hook of a casting lure, one hook stuck in the skin of the upper eye-lid, another in the lower lid. The third hook was free. The eye ball was uninjured.
"My husband cut the rest of the lure off."
"That's good. We'll go to my office. How did it happen?"
The boy, silent up to then, answered, "My lure got stuck on a limb. When I tried to pull it off it flipped back and hit me in the eye. Can you get it out?"
"Sure, Billy. It won't be any great job."
And, using a little novocaine and the same crochet-hook technique, it wasn't.
A tetanus booster and two tiny band-aids completed the task.
"Can I ask you something, doctor?"
"Sure, Billy What is it?"
"Would it be okay to go back fishing? The fish were just starting to bite."
*****
Boredom never was a factor in general practice. What you read here are only the unusual and interesting incidents. 99% of my practice was run-of-the-mill: colds, flu, minor and major injuries, family problems, routine baby care, shots, deliveries at all hours of the day and night, psycho-neurotics, elderly, heart problems, infections of all kinds, etc. I did minor surgery (some people say that's any surgery done on someone else) and assisted with major surgery. We all took turns being "on call" for the local emergency room at Hillsdale Hospital. For me that was five miles away and could be an aggravation in the middle of office hours or during the night, especially if I was called back for another case just 10 minutes after climbing back between the sheets, or if Betty and I wee in the midst of a warm embrace. "Come right away, doctor, it's an emergency" cannot be put off. Betty could never be sure when I'd be back or even if I'd be back that night. No wonder she later developed spastic "colitis". In a small town she found it impossible to answer the phone with, "Sorry, the doctor isn't at home."
There were stark tragedies too, one so emotional that I avoided discussing it to this day. A doctor may have to learn to live with the unexpected post-operative death of a child; a young housewife with four children and incurable cancer; sudden deaths from heart attack or stroke; lingering death from brain disease of an intelligent, vivacious wife; leukemia; untreatable, wasting muscle disease; tragic auto accidents; suicide; broken homes.
"Being involved with all those things, didn't you have trouble relaxing and sleeping at night?"
Sometimes, yes. But, if at the end of the day, one can stop to reflect and say, "Today I have done the best that I know how," then relaxation is more apt to follow. Then, too, the physician in general practice has the advantage of being able to refer the most difficult cases to a specialist.
*****
Bilateral vasectomy was, and still is, an effective, economical and generally satisfactory means of birth control. I did the operation when indicated and requested, with no adverse side-effects. There was only interesting exception. The young man returned to my office about two months after the operation stating that every time he drank alcoholic beverages a tender swelling appeared for a few days under the site of the incision on the left side of the scrotum. At that time there was no swelling and I had to confess to him that I had never heard of such a thing and "if you can come back when the swelling is present perhaps I can tell you more." He returned in a few days to show me the swelling (having had some whiskey the evening before). It was as he had said, out I was still at a loss to explain it. There were no signs of infection. I felt a bit inadequate as I gave him the only advise I could think of.
"I guess you'll have to avoid alcoholic beverages for a while."
"For how long, doc?" Obviously the advise was not exactly what he had hoped for.
"Well, I really don't know. Just play it by ear and see how things come along." Neither he nor I were very satisfied.
I thought of him occasionally in the next few months. He had not been a regular patient of mine. Finally, about a year later, I saw him while shopping on one of the main streets of Hillsdale. I could not resist speaking to him and ended by inquiring if his problem had resolved.
"Oh, yes, doc. That got gradually better after I saw you and in the past six months doesn't bother at all."
I lost track of him after that. Never did learn whether he developed a problem with alcoholism.
*****
Ever hear of a female circumcision? Neither had some of the nurses who read the surgical schedule. It is a legitimate operation consisting of the removal of the foreskin which usually partially develops the clitoris. I am dubious about whether it is really ever truly indicated. In any event the young lady and her husband of some four years came to my office and requested the surgical removal of this tissue. It seemed that her sexual responsiveness had waned to the point of non-existence and they were both convinced that the thickness of this bit of foreskin prevented a normal response. After an appropriate history and doing a physical exam I explained to them that I was very dubious that the thickened foreskin was the source of the problem. They denied any other marital difficulties or maladjustments and were adamant in their request.
"Do you mean that it is impossible that this could be the source of her trouble, doctor?"
"No, not impossible, but, in my opinion, highly unlikely. I seriously doubt that removal of the foreskin would solve the problem."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I know that you are not aware of any marital tensions, but I'd give marriage counseling a try."
The suggestion seemed to offend both of them. At their insistence I scheduled the surgery and it was carried out uneventfully, other than for a few snickers that I thought I detected from the surgical staff.
To everyone's disappointment (I had hoped that I was wrong) no benefit resulted. Several months later I read in the newspaper that the couple had been divorced. "Too bad," I thought. "What could I have done to have been of more help?"
A few months later still I read where the young lady had remarried. When she showed up with a minor complaint in my office a short time later and I had finished prescribing for her, I asked, "By the way, are you still troubled with lack of sexual response?"
"Oh, heavens, no, doctor. From the moment I married _________ things have been wonderful. I didn't know it could be so good," and she stepped gaily out of my office with a broad grin on her glowing face.
It wasn't the foreskin that had been the problem. It was the husband.
*****
Most children are adequately immunized against tetanus. In my years of practice I saw but one case, thank God! At that time the fatality rate, I believe, was 80 - 90%..
I was called to see the six year old son of a farm family. They were not patients of mine but the boy was obviously very ill with fever, headache, irritability, stiff neck and tendency to muscle spasms. Frankly I did not know if he had polio, meningitis, encephalitis or tetanus, but, on questioning the father stated that tee boy had never had any "baby shots". Further questioning revealed that two weeks previously he had stepped on a thorn and "it got infected a little, - but, hell, doc, he goes barefoot and is always doing that."
Whatever the diagnosis, he was too sick for me and I persuaded the parents to rush him to the nearby university hospital for admission while I phoned ahead to make the arrangements and to provide the tentative diagnosis.
The boy did have tetanus. By the time he arrived at the hospital he had started to convulse. If uncontrolled the convulsions would cause death and could be controlled only by deep general anesthesia. When the anesthesia was lightened he would convulse again, so he was repeatedly put under anesthesia so deep that artificial respiration had to be maintained. It was two full days before the anesthesia could be discontinued. During that time he was given massive amounts of tetanus antitoxin and was maintained with tubes in the veins, nose and bladder. The boy lived and eventually came home, but not without damage to his nervous system.
*****
The young professional man came to my office out of exasperation. He had had bouts of stomach pains for several years and had visited many different doctors without benefit. He had had many negative x-rays and had visited a good gastro-enterologist. No medication had been of the slightest help to him - antiacids, antiulcer, antispasmodics, tranquilizers, etc. No special type of food or drink ever caused an attack. There was no associated nausea, vomiting, excess gas, diarrhea or constipation. In short, nothing but pain that came and went without apparent reason. He was otherwise in perfect health and seemed emotionally and mentally quite normal.
"If you wait long enough the patient will often tell you the diagnosis" is an old medical school dictum.
"One thing I've noticed, doc; I can usually tell when a bout of pain is about to occur because my vision seems to get slightly blurry, like faint wave lines in it. But I don't suppose that has anything to do with it."
Bingo! The little, figurative light-bulb above my head started to faintly glow. I had read about abdominal migraine (pain comes in the belly instead of the head) and about abdominal epilepsy (pain in the belly replaces the convulsion) but had never seen a case of either.
"Do you have any relatives that are subject to migraine or recurrent headaches?"
"Not that I know of, doc."
"Anybody with epilepsy or anyone that takes regular medicine to prevent seizures of any kind?"
He was hesitant. "Well, as a matter of fact, one of dad's brothers used to have some kind of convulsions but he doesn't anymore as far as I know. He still takes medicine every day though. Says he is sure he could get along without it but his doctor says he must keep taking it. What does that have to do with me?"
I explained my suspicions to him. He was wary of the stigma but was anxious to try an anti-epilepsy medication if I could assure him that it would not become general knowledge. This, of course, I did. On a regimen of daily bedtime doses of dilantin the bouts of abdominal pain disappeared completely. He was a a most happy and grateful patient but requested my reassurance that his case would be kept confidential.
*****
I was always fairly strict about confidentiality, even to my wife. At a social gathering of local doctors I was asked by a radiologist, "I hear Mrs. ______ has been coming to you. What's her trouble?" I do rot remember how I phrased my refusal and would not have even remembered the incident except that a few days later a doctor who had been at the party told me he had overheard the-conversation and wanted to say that he admired my lack of willingness to give out such information on a purely social basis.
*****
"You castrated my husband!" the elderly lady in my office angrily blurted out in response to my usual question, "What can I do for you?"
She was obviously very, very serious and very, very upset. I rapidly became very, very serious and very, very apprehensive. Lawsuit? Physical mayhem? What? The only indication for castration that I know of is cancer of the prostate and those cases I always referred to a specialist. I had never castrated anyone in my life. I did recall the husband being under my care in the hospital for pneumonia about a month previously.
"When did this happen, Mrs. ________?"
"When he was in the hospital. I was visiting and you asked me to go outside because you were going to castrate him. He hasn't been the same since."
Slowly, as the light began to dawn, a feeling of great relief flooded over me. The husband was quite senile and often did not entirely comprehend what was going on around him. On this day he had developed urinary retention and I had had to catheterize him - draw the urine off with a small rubber tube. I had catheterized him, not castrated him! It took a good bit of talking and explaining but she finally appeared to be somewhat convinced that I was telling the truth. It was his post-pneumonia weakness that was causing him to be "not the same". I reassured her that he should gain strength slowly if she would be patient. Fortunate1y, she was - and he did.
*****
"He was doing his family duty when he died, doctor."
Thus the wife answered me when I made a midnight home call far from Jonesville and asked the circumstances of her husband's sudden death, for which I had been called.
"His family duty?" I queried vaguely.
"Yes, we were

well,

You know."
Now I had heard of "the family jewels" and being "in a family way", but darned if I had ever heard of "family duty" as expressing sexual activity. Obviously one's education does not end after medical school. Of course the thought crossed my mind that the man had died happy. Neither the circumstances nor the time of night were suited to jocularity, so I maintained my usual serious demeanor as I sympathetically told her that the coroner would have to be notified (her husband had not been under medical care) and would determine if an autopsy was indicated.
"What do you think he died of, doc?" asked the coroner on the telephone.
"I don't know."
'Well, what do YOU think it could have been?"
"I really don't know."
"Could it have been a heart attack?"
"It's possible."
At that time the coroners were elected officials. I had long since learned that they didn't want to "rock the boat" or to do anything to make themselves disliked. What politician does? The easiest way out for them was to get the doctor to make a probable diagnosis, they would quickly agree, fill in the diagnosis and sign the death certificate without the need to order an autopsy and thus possibly offend or antagonize the relatives.
On the other hand, I strongly suspected that some of the sudden deaths that occurred and were allowed to pass without an autopsy were not always exactly what they seemed to be. I had never seen this family before. For all I knew the man could have been poisoned or suffocated.
"Why don't you just put down 'heart attack' and I'll sign the certificate," he persisted.
"I really can't do that in good conscience."
After a pause, I heard a long sigh, "Oh, all right, I'll take care of it."
I truly did regret spoiling his night's sleep, a right which I viewed with considerable respect, if not actual reverence.
*****
After being in private practice for several years I finally accumulated enough money that I felt I could accede to my wife's increasingly persistent suggestions that I build a small office building of my own - on the ground floor and with real air-conditioning to replace the fan blowing over a cake of ice in a large pan. It could have a ramp for wheel-chair cases, two examining rooms and a recovery room where someone could lie down and be attended without "tying up" an examining room. The toilet could be located between the two examining rooms. Oh, I had lots of ideas and had been drawing up tentative plans for at least two years. It would be all brick with a minimum of maintenance, even if the initial cost was a little higher.
The American Legion had extra property adjacent to their building just one block off Main street. They had no apparent use for it, so I inquired if it might be purchased. They would bring it up at the next meeting. They couldn't agree. Next meeting perhaps. Still couldn't agree. Idea. I made them an offer in writing of $1,000.00 for a specific area of land. This forced the issue to a vote and the majority ruled. I got the land.
By that time I had completed my own drawings of exactly what I wanted and felt no need to hire an architect. A local contractor-builder, Wendell Maine, was a patient of mine and was happy to contract for the work. Jonesville had a healthy local population of termites but I was sure that if I put a brick building on a cement slab, air ducts, water and drain pipes to be included in the poured cement, there would be no problem. It was a fact that the termites had to have daily contact with the soil or they could not survive.
Some two years after the building had been completed I was still smug and happy with the results. Then one day in the bathroom I noticed a "wrinkle" on the surface of one of the large plastic tile squares on the wall. I probed it curiously with my finger-tip and was amazed when my finger slipped readily through the tile and exposed typical termite workings. The backing of the tiles, I found, consisted of a glue-woodchip mixture, a delicious termite snack.
I quickly called the "Terminex" company. They came to examine the building and were glad to explain to me where I had gone wrong.
"Subterranean termites like nothing better than a cement slab to live under. The cement always gets hair-line or larger cracks in it, giving the little rascals ready access to the material above. They can also follow the spaces adjacent to pipes and heating ducts in the cement. If you had called us before you poured the cement slab, for $100.00 we would have poured chemicals beneath the slab that would protect the building for as long as it existed."
"Oh, ----and what can we do now?"
"Now it's not so easy. We still have to get the chemicals beneath the cement. To do that we have to drill holes through the cement floor - about every 24 inches. I'll figure the cost for you."
"It will be quite a bit more expensive."
"Well, yes."
It was.
Leaving a floor-plan to show where aIl the pipes were located, I took an unplanned three-day vacation while the work was being done. When I returned I found that a worker had drilled right through a water pipe with the resultant geyser spraying the room until the water could be turned off. I wonder whether originally hiring an architect would have saved me all of this. Maybe.

...from "I've Got To Write a Book!"
by Ira WigginsDoctor's Days and NightsMy most embarrassing moment had to do, rot with a patient, but with my nurse-receptionist. Ellen Burnett was a gentle, efficient, dedicated practical nurse past middle age who was my "good right arm" in the office. I had great respect for her as she apparently did for me, and I would never have considered using profane language in front of her or saying anything the least bit off-color.
The day had been a long and busy one. There had been a bit more than the usual number of frustrations. Perhaps a a cardiac patient was worsening despite my best efforts, an obese diabetic could not be induced to lose weight, the window shade refused to work, I was still getting statements on a bill I had already paid and insurance forms (I filled them out myself) were ever on the increase. I was sitting at my desk, dusk was coming on, Mrs. Burnett had gone home and I had just been called to see a patient in the emergency room at the hospital five miles away and would have to tell Betty I didn't know when I'd be home for supper. Internal pressure had built up. Something had to give. On an impulse, never having done so before or since, I leaned back in my chair, took a deep breath and in full voice let forth a stream of profanity and obscene language directed at the world in general.
As I was winding down, to my horror, Mrs. Burnett came dashing breathless and wide-eyed into the room. I had thought she was gone.
"Dr Wiggins! What on earth is the matter?"
I'll never know what she thought as I hastened to apologize and to explain and to assure her that it had nothing to do with her. I can only imagine what she told her husband that evening about the incident. Or perhaps she decided not to tell him that she had found out that Dr. Wiggins was not quite as saintly as she had supposed. For all she knew I might have such outbursts frequently in her absence.
*****
As the only doctor in a small town (Dr. Day had retired) I finally became so busy that I feared the quality of my work might suffer and looked for a way to "cut down." In good conscience I did not feel that I should refuse new patients if they lived in the area. When a young lady came to me with her first pregnancy and I realized that I had delivered her l8 years ago I was overwhelmed. Good grief! I will be delivering the baby of a baby I delivered. - And I joyously delivered her when the time came. But it then struck me that giving up maternity work would be a good wa of reducing my work-load. There were obstetricians in the area. Besides that, the hours for maternity work are atrocious, even though it is most always a gratifying procedure.
My work was lessened somewhat but I was still "on call" 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Getting up for night calls did not get easier as the years went by. Betty was getting fed up with the long, cold and often sloppy Michigan winters and had been gently nagging me for several years to "move to a warmer climate".
One day she again brought the subject up when I was more tired than usual.
Irritably I asked, "Betty, do you really mean what you are saying?" I didn't think she did. "Because if you do I'm going to look for a job in a warm climate with an eight hour working day!" It thought that would quickly shut her up and get her off my back.
"You're darned right I mean it!" She must have been tired too. "Just because my poor father lived and died in this cold climate, does that mean I have to too? But where on earth can a doctor find an eight-hour-a-day job anyhow?"
I was slightly nonplussed that she didn't back down. "Oh, there are jobs as factory or company physician or with a drug company or as college physician. I'd have to look around."
The more I thought about it the more excited I became, and the more determined Betty became. It was possible. I read ads in the journals, wrote to southern colleges and spoke to drug representatives. A good friend, Carl Peterson, who had been for a short time a physician in the Panama Canal Zone suggested that I might enjoy working for the Panama Canal Company, so I added that to my list of possibilities and made application.
In 1966 a university in Tallahassee, Fla. offered me a position. However I was intrigued by the Canal Zone possibility and had not heard from them even though more than two years had passed since my application. Time to fish or cut bait.
Uncharacteristically I announced to Betty that I was going to take four days off work for a flying trip to Panama to "see what the place looks like and what goes on down there" before making a decision for Tallahassee.
"Should I go with you?"
Again uncharacteristically, "No, I don't know where I'll be staying or what conditions will be. It's not a trip for fun and may be just a waste of time and money, but I want to look there before we make a decision." The only thing I was sure of was that we were about to make an exciting change.
*****
When I showed up at Gorgas Hospital, a large hospital on the Pacific end of the canal, and said I'd like to look around I was greeted with enthusiasm. The hospital administrator, a colonel in the army, introduced me to the chief of the medical service who gave me a tour of the hospital and answered my barrage of questions. No one asked me if I knew the difference between aspirin and penicillin, but at the end of the tour I was told that two general practitioners were needed badly in the out-patient clinic at the smaller Coco Solo Hospital on the Atlantic terminus of the canal. How soon could I start work? I was flabbergasted and asked why they hadn't called me, as my name had been on application for over two years.
"Oh, actually we don't pay too much attention to those applications. We prefer to know personally or at least to have seen the person applying."
If I hadn't shown my face I wouldn't have been considered.
The next day I spent visiting Coco Solo Hospital, having been chauffeured there and back in a private limousine. I was impressed. They were impressed, although by what I don't know. Again, how soon could I start work? The contract would be for two years, renewable if mutually agreeable. I had dinner that evening in the spacious home of one of the Gorgas doctors. The grounds, hospitals, homes and work areas all appeared well kept and the level of medical practice seemed very good. The climate was warm. I had seen large, well-stocked stores of all kinds in Panama City. I did not think Betty would be disappointed.
Would they give me two months to close my practice and make some arrangements about the home which we owned?
They would.
As I flew home I was bursting with excitement and anticipation. Betty met me at the airport. She declared that I looked ike I was ten feet tall and walking on clouds as I shouted, "How would you like to move to Panama!!!"
At first she thought I was kidding, as I often did, but she soon realized my intense sincerity and found my enthusiasm to be contagious. Because our son was a junior in high school and the fall term would start in one month we decided to make the move in that period of time.
I'll spare you an account of the next four frantic weeks as we made arrangements for my patients, the rental of my office to another doctor, the rental of our home and the severing of connections of 20 years duration. Yes, we at times had twinges of apprehension but reassured ourselves with, "Well, we can stand most anything for two years." Little did we realize how much we would love the climate, the work, the life style, the adventures and the people in Panama.

chain smokingby janet kuypers
He had been acting strangely for oh, the last six months or so, but I never thought much of it. He was the type of friend who was always doing everything - he held two jobs, was a full time student double majoring in pre-med and Russian, he was in a fraternity house and was also involved with Air Force R.O.T.C. And he still managed to find time to go out on the weekends and flirt with every girl he met. He even hit on me three and a half years ago, while we were still mere acquaintances and not the closest of friends.
But he had been acting strangely, not calling me as much, not visiting or going out. After about a month or two of this he came over one night at about midnight and started complaining to me about the stress in his life. Then he started to chain smoke, the man who never smoked before, the man who was studying to go to med school, the man who wanted to be in tip-top shape for the Air Force. It made no sense. It was two o'clock in the morning, and he was still complaining to me, he was still wide awake, and he still looked like he needed something to hit.
I had told him before that he did too much with his life and that one day it would all catch up with him. I figured that's what was happening now.
Every time I saw him after that he was the same way - irritable, chain smoking, telling me about how he's not sleeping a lot and how he's failing his classes. His girlfriend was studying in Russia for the semester. He flirted some without her around, but he didn't cheat on her. But he didn't miss her.
Recently a group of black guys beat him up on the street one night. They picked him out of a crowd and punched him in the face, the doctors figured the assailant had something in his hand, brass knuckles, a roll of quarters, for he made a clean break in his jaw. He had his mouth wired shut for six weeks. I thought maybe this was part of the reason he was on edge, sucking food through a straw for over a month has to be a pain in the ass. But his behavior changed before the accident. And he still chain smoked through the wires in his mouth.
I figured that it must be because of his family that he was the way he was. His father was a high ranking official in the Air Force, they travelled around constantly, his father was always succeeding, always being the stern perfectionist. He wasn't like that. He wasn't stern. He was sweet, and fun.
And now look, He's probably giving himself ulcers, if not lung cancer.So I finally got back into town and I decided that I had to get this all figured out. The latest I heard was that he was getting back to religion and thinking of talking to his pastor for advice on some of his problems. It sounded like a cop-out to me, I mean, religion wouldn't give him the answers he needed but the answers they wanted him to have, so I was thinking that if he really needed help he should go talk to a counselor. He gets counseling services free through the student clinic. Oh, shit, I don't even really know what's wrong with him, I've got to try to talk to him, I hope he opens up to me, we've been friends for too long.
So I asked him to stop by and he came over to my place and he knew very well that I wanted the truth out of him. What was the stress from? Why did he just break up with his girlfriend less than a week after they were looking at engagement rings, why is he chain smoking, is the Air Force doing this to him, does he really need the money from his two jobs?
So he comes in, sits down on the couch next to me, and tells me that he's been coming to terms with the fact that he thinks he's gay. Or at least bi, he's not sure, everything's so confusing. What would the fraternity house say? What would the Air Force say, other than good-bye, and most importantly, what would his parents say? What would the world say?
Okay, so I was shocked, but this wasn't the time to show it. I gave him a hug, let him talk for a while, told him I was there for him. I suggested thinking about counseling. Then we went to a sub shop and had lunch, tried to get our minds off these things.
And we're at the counter of this sub shop and we're making cracks about a six inch versus a twelve inch sub. He told me I was ordering the six inch because I never had him. Fuck, he's doing it again, being his same old self, flirting with women that are friends, and I can take it in good fun and all, but this just seems a little too strange. So then I start thinking, okay, does he make these kinds of cracks to other men? Is he attracted to everything that walks down the god damn street?
So then we're eating our subs and we're sharing the same drink and I start thinking, should I be doing this? Is this safe?, and I still take another drink and try not to think about it. And then he says, "My problem is that I'm horny all the time." Then he tells me about his boyfriend Brandon and from then on nothing seemed real anymore. I had to ask if the gold necklace he was wearing was Brandon's, it's not his style to wear necklaces. It was. He was even borrowing the guy's car.
So I tell him to call me, and I tell him I'll help him look for a counselor if it will help him deal with the issue, and I tell him he can talk to me anytime. And I get out of Brandon's car and walk back to my place.And then I just start thinking. This is the man who hit on me at a rock concert we went to three years ago by running his tongue up and down my face. This was the man that I visited on the east coast, we had a romantic dinner in a private room in the Air Force dining hall. We toured Salem, Massachusetts and took pictures posing in the witch racks they have on the sidewalks for tourists. We shopped in Maine and bought glassware and Christmas ornaments together. We went to fraternity dances, I was his date, hey, we even went to a military ball together. This is the man who would sit with me in my window sill, feet hanging out the second story, drinking fuzzy navels with me and singing rap songs. This is the man who was my roommate for a few months, we'd go to the local fitness center together and exercise, he'd be on the bicycles, I'd be on the rowing machine.
This was the man who sat with me one night in my apartment, like we were two kids in high school, and we wrote lists of all the people we made out with. His list of women was relatively short, but I didn't think much of it. He told me at the sub shop that his list of men was longer than mine.
This was the man I went to happy hours with every Friday afternoon. He carried me home once because I didn't eat that day and the beer went straight to my head. He called me spaghetti legs from then on because I lost all muscle control in the lower half of my body and couldn't walk. He carried me home and put me to bed.
Another day at another happy hour when we were both depressed because we thought we'd never find someone to marry he told me that if we were both single when we were forty, we'd get married. It was our little joke from then on to say that we were engaged.I had a dream a couple of weeks before he told me this that he told me he had AIDS from a blood transfusion. The news tore me apart, my close friend, this couldn't be happening to you, I just can't believe it, it must be a mistake, anyone but you. I told him I'd be there for him, I wasn't afraid to hug him, I wasn't afraid to kiss him. And in the dream I wanted to marry him then and there, just so he didn't die alone.

portions of c ra mcguirt's
blur collar balletPRELIMINARY EVENTS "Good afternoon, IWA-the driving force in professional wrestling!"
"Good afternoon. This is Curtis McGuirt...Larry Pacheco said I should call about maybe getting some work with you."
"Oh, yeah. Why don't you come on down, Curt, and we'll talk about it."
"This is Dr. Squash, right?"
"That's me. You know where we are, don't you, brother?"
The IWA was headquartered in an office building on Music Row in downtown Nashville. The place was mostly occupied by music industry offices. The "International Wrestling Alliance" had two small rooms in the back, and Dr. Squash took up about a third of the front room all by himself. There were three other guys there, apparently wrestlers who worked for the Doctor.
They introduced themselves as "Cool Breeze" Williams, Reno Riggins, and
"Gentleman" Jim Steele. Reno was the only one I'd ever seen wrestle-he'd done some preliminary matches, getting beat up by the big stars (what we call "doing a job") on the WWF TV show. Riggins was a typical good-looking young blonde guy, a perfect "Babyface". Gentleman Jim had dark hair and a handlebar mustache. He was wearing a t-shirt proclaiming him "Rocky Mountain Bear Wrestling Champion", and when he turned to get a cup of coffee, I was amused to see that the shirt had been ripped in back as if by claws, complete with silk-screened red stains.
Cool Breeze had his name razored into the bristly hair on the side of his head. He wore a Harley-Davidson earring, a biker bandana, and a lopsided grin. These guys seemed to range from 240 - 260 pounds or so. Dr. Squash, in my estimation, probably went around 380, and resembled a Stonehenge monolith. He had a mohawk haircut, wildly barbered beard, and an enormous gold hoop earring. I was suddenly glad for my own relatively large size (then about 218 lbs), vampire-style swept-back hairstyle, satanic goatee, and earring (gotten honestly when I was 16, back before anyone male except "fags" and "weirdoes" wore them; I was the latter.)
"So ya wanna get into the business, huh?" said the Doc. His voice was a lot milder than the rest of him. He seemed friendly, as did the other guys, but at the same time, I felt I was being sized up, looked over, and checked out. Reno Riggins seemed a little more aloof than the others, but then, he'd had prime-time exposure. Gentleman Jim and Cool Breeze struck me as very personable, especially Breeze; he was just one of those people you like right away.
I told the Doc that I was definitely interested in breaking into the biz. He said, "Well...there might be a place for you on the crew. Didja ever set up a ring?"
"No, but I could learn."23 "What is it you want to do, exactly, Curt?"
"Well, Doc...what I'd really like to do is manage. I can act my ass off, and I know I could make "em mad as hell..."
"I'll tell ya, Curt...I'm the basic Heel manager in the fed-I got the Interns-but eventually, we're gonna need another one. If you work out, and stick around for a while, it might could happen."
"Whatever's fair."
"I gotta warn ya, brother-it's not too glamorous at first. If at all."
"That's okay, Doc. I wanna learn this stuff from the ground up."
"That's probably where you'll start, Curt. Anyway, I got your number, and I'll give you a call in the next few days."
"Thanks, Squash." I exchanged handshakes with Doc and his boys, and got a surprise. These big old guys seemed to be avoiding a good honest shake, barely returning any pressure in response to my enthusiastic squeezes. Though I later learned differently, I chalked it up to the tentative nature of the situation, and went home to call my "agent", Larry Pacheco, to thank him for landing me the gig.
"Thank me when something actually happens, dude."
After a couple of days, I hadn't heard anything from Dr. Squash, so I decided to give him a call.
"Oh, hey, Curt. You mean you didn't know we were gonna be doing a show in Nolensville tonight? You need to be there, brother."
Lesson number one in dealing with wrestling promoters, I thought: be a mind reader. As I would come to discover, it would have been a useful ability.
24 I'd never been to Nolensville, Tennessee. All I knew was that it was a hell of a long way down Nolensville Road. I figured I could find the town and the Civic Center easily enough, but I wasn't sure what my role was supposed to be once I got there. Had I been invited as an observer? A special guest? Would I have to pay to get in? Should I stay in the background, or be aggressive? In any event, I wanted to be noticed, so as I pondered these intangibles, I dressed in basic bad guy black, combed my goatee to a particuarly diabolic point, and completed my ensemble with a large silver sword-and-skull earring.
I stopped to say goodbye to my grandfather, sadly bedridden and struggling for breath. He asked where I was headed. "I'm gonna check out some wrestling, grandad, and see if these people might be able to use me as a manager or ring roadie or something. I sure wish you could come; it's been a long time since we went to the matches together..."
"I wish I could, too. You be careful, son-they say it's getting bad out there."
I promised to be careful, and hugged him goodbye. As I pulled out of our driveway in my rattletrap Chevette, it began to snow.
After a lengthy drive down a long, dark, twisting two-lane road, with snowflakes swirling in my headlights, I finally arrived in Nolensville. Aided by a portable sign advertising "Pro Wrestling Tonight", I located the Civic Center, parked, and got out. I followed a large dark figure to the door-it turned out to be Cool Breeze Williams, whom I'd met at the IWA office. We talked for a minute, and when we came to the ticket lady, she asked if I was "with them."
Feeling that I was about to be, I replied, "Yeah, Dr. Squash asked me to be here. I'm C. R. McKnight..." The name of my Evil Manager persona came easily to mind, and I figured I might as well start using it.
25 Though the name meant nothing yet (and still doesn't), it apparently impressed the ticket lady, because I got in for free. Encouraged, I decided to just casually follow Cool Breeze back to the dressing room. Looking to be part of the cast with my black clothes and villainous ambiance, I made it past a rent-a-cop and several "civilian" guardians, but as I approached the inner circle, Reno Riggins looked vaguely alarmed to see me.
"Hey, man...you better wait for Dr. Squash to say it's all right for you to be back here."
"No problem, brother." I went back out to the sort-of-a-gym, sort-of-a-public space, large-room-in-a-small-town where the ring was set up. I hung out for a while, eating a hot dog and sipping a coke, scribbling impressions in my pocket notebook, trying to appear serious, mean, and detached. A small boy looked at me anxiously, and I comforted myself with the belief that he was wondering which bad guy I was.
Dr. Squash showed up eventually, but he had no time to talk, and swept past me to the dressing room. I was unwilling to follow like a puppy dog after a sweet, so I found a chair on the aisle, along what I correctly figured would be the Bad Guy's entranceway, where I took more notes and tried not to feel like too much of an idiot.
I was obviously still an outsider, stuck somewhere between the marks in the seats and the workers in the back room.
But as it was, I'd gotten in free, by acting and looking like someone connected with the biz, and later, when I asked an old boy in a John Deere cap for a light, he asked me if I was a wrestler.
"No, I'm a manager."
"Who d'ya manage?"
26 "No one yet, but I'm in line."
That seemed pretty close to the truth. For the moment, I decided to enjoy the show, so I sat and watched the kids get excited as Dr. Squash's boys came out and got it on for a fairly large group of Nolensvillians.
Squash, dressed in green medical scrubs and a white lab coat, accompanied his wrestler, the western-desperado-type Robert Scorpio, to a grudge match against goodnatured biker Cool Breeze Williams. The Breeze won by disqualification after the evil Doc hit him with a chair during the early minutes of the match.
Corporal Kelly, a cleancut young guy in camouflage pants and army boots, wrestled to a sometimes-clumsy 10 minute draw with the massive 7-foot masked Texas Hangman. It was obvious that both of these guys were scrubs with a long way to go to achieve polished professionalism, but it was still fun to watch; kind of like going to open mic night to hear amateur singers or poets. Sometimes the raw spots and mistakes add soul to the proceedings.
Still, I was experiencing a typical syndrome at that point: Involuntary Opening Match Skepticism. The first couple of matches at a live wrestling card always seem (to me, at least) somewhat, uh, obviously a simulation of combat. Or "fakey", if you prefer. The mistimed dropkick that barely touches (or worse, misses) an opponent's chest and yet sends him flying out of the ring; the supposedly vicious armlock which is obviously loosely applied and yet causes howls of agony-these seem particuarly noticeable in the early going. It's as if it takes a little while to leave one's even-willing disbelief suspended outside the door to the arena. But usually, by the third match or so, IOMS wears off, and the action miraculously intensifies into believability. One then becomes caught up in an alternate universe where human 27beings can withstand unbelievable amounts of apparent physical damage, and not only live through it, but rally to pin an opponent for the three-count, then walk away afterward with no need of medical attention. I've often thought about writing a science fiction story where superior aliens (who conveniently have no concept of theatre) decide not to invade Earth after picking up some TV signals featuring pro wrestling, and deciding that these Terran warriors are just too resilient to attempt attacking. The alien high command reasons that if even the least of these human "wrestlers" can take twenty chair shots to the head, a hundred kicks in the gut, get thrown through wooden tables, and apparently slammed headfirst into hard concrete floors, night after night, 300 or so nights a year, then laser beams and disruptor blasts will probably just bounce off them. Meanwhile, back on Earth, the sophis- ticates go on sneering at pro rasslin', little realizing it's saved them from slavery to cruel and disgustingly ugly slime-dripping alien masters, etcetera...
In any case, the IWA's Nolensville card picked up very nicely along about the third bout, which featured the conniving Chuck Casey against Nolensville's own Willie the Wrestling Clown. Willie, portly but agile, in full clown makeup and possessed of a rope-a-dope, shuck "n jive style, dominated the match, but was unfairly pinned by Chuck, who, unseen by the conveniently myopic referee, illegally had his legs on the ropes for leverage.
(Wrestling is chock full of ambiguous rules; you can bounce off the ropes to add momentum to a maneuver; you can jump off the ropes or turnbuckle to increase the force of a blow; you can bounce your opponent off the ropes to catch him with a blow or maneuver; you can grab the ropes to force an opponent to have to break his hold on you, but you can't use the ropes for leverage, dammit! 28 That is, according to "The Rule Book", you can't. The unseen, often-cited Wrestling Rule Book, so far as I know, doesn't really exist except as an oral tradition; wrestlers, managers, wrestling federation officials, wrestling announcers, and especially wrestling-magazine writers, are always talking about "The Rule Book", but no one has ever seen a copy of it. Maybe when I get done with the "Wrestlers Save Earth From Alien Invasion" story, I'll write the damn thing myself...)
The kids all booed as Casey's hand was raised by the referee, who stoically ignored their cries of "He used the ropes, ref!" (By "The Rule Book", if a referee didn't see it, it didn't happen. For instance, if wrestling was baseball, and a batter so disliked a particular pitch that he ran out to the mound and beat the hell out of the pitcher with his bat, and the umpire somehow miraculously didn't see it happen, then it wouldn't matter if the incident occurred on nationwide TV, had been viewed personally by the Commissioner of Baseball, and was recorded on videotape; the batter couldn't be arrested, fined, fired, or even thrown out of the game. He would be blameless, innocent, and pure as driven snow composed of distilled springwater, because the umpire didn't see it. Not only that, he could then run the bases and claim he hit a homer.)
As for Willie, I was intrigued. Rodeo clowns were familiar to me, but I'd never seen a Wrestling Clown before, although in a circus-like atmosphere like rasslin', it seemed almost a normal concept. This was prior to the advent of that infamous Bad Guy Clown, "Doink", in the WWF; so far as I know, Willie was the first wrestler to use the clown gimmick. On that snowy night in Nolensville, I had no idea that I'd soon be seeing a lot more of Willie The Clown, up close and personal...29 The fourth match on the card was a tag team bout, wherein Kevin McQueen and Cool Breeze Williams teamed up to convincingly defeat the black-masked Grim Reapers. Though they lost the match, I heartily approved of the Reapers' choice of entrance music, "Highway To Hell" by AC/DC, which was perfect for inducing an air of satanic menace.
A lot of folks these days probably think that Vince McMahon and the WWF invented the idea of playing taped music to make a wrestler's approach to the ring more exciting. They recall Hulk Hogan storming the ring and tearing off his t-shirt to "Eye Of The Tiger" back in the mid-80s (a much better entrance song for him than "Real American", a pathetic jingoist pseudo-anthem which came later in his WWF career, before he jumped to Ted Turner's WCW). Or Barry Windham and Mike Rotundo thrashing Russian commie Nikolai Volkoff and his Iranian partner The Iron Shiek for the WWF world tag team title in between the power chords of Bruce Springsteen's "Born In The USA", with the cynicism of the Boss's lyrics completely lost on the crowd. Or Wendi Richter, the WWF's flash-in-the-pan Women's Champion, strutting her considerable stuff to Cindy Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" accompanied to ringside by Captain Lou Albano (who'd played Lauper's long-suffering Daddy in the MTV video), along with Cindy herself.
However, as a Southern boy and a Tennessean, I'm proud to say that ring entrance music for wrestlers was first used right here in middle Tennesse, when the Fabulous Freebirds-Michael "Purely Sexy" Hayes (now the colorless WCW color man "Dok Hendrix"), Terry "Bam Bam" Gordy (doing well in Japan) , and the mostly-forgotten Buddy "Jack" Roberts (is he dead or what?) employed Lynyrd Skynyrd's redneck anthem, "Free Bird", to mark their trip down the aisle.30 This was in the mid-70s, and it was something totally new, galvanizing, and instantly copied by every single wrestler and wrestling promotion. No wrestler would think of coming to the ring without a theme song now. Can any fan who's been following the Art for any length of time imagine "Slick" Ric Flair walking the aisle without "The Theme From 2001" pompously blaring, or the Road Warriors at their savage mid-80s peak maniacally charging their opponents before the bell bereft of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man"? And yet, ring entrance music wasn't always a part of the Blue Collar Ballet, although today's young whippersnapper fans would never believe it.
(Note: The Freebirds later changed their entrance music to the self-produced "Bad Street USA". After hearing Michael Hayes try to "sing" this song, my opinion was that the "Birds should have kept paying Lynyrd Skynyrd for the rights to use "Free Bird".)
In the semi-Main Event of the IWA's Nolensville show, Dr. Squash returned to aid the less-than-memorable Heel, B.A. Burton, against Babyface Reno Riggins for the federation's Heavyweight Title. It was a seesaw battle for ten or twelve minutes, then the Doc handed Burton a "foreign object" to use on Reno. (A "foreign object" is a pair of brass knucks, a metal fork, a roll of coins, a length of chain, etc. which Heels use to gain an unfair advantage; it's the spitball of rasslin', more or less.)
In this case, Burton took a swing at Reno with the dreaded Foreign Object; Reno ducked and grabbed it away. At which point the sleepy referee woke up fully, saw Reno with an illegal device in his hand, and quite unfairly disqualified him. This is
a standard riff in the music to the dance of the Blue Collar Ballet, and never fails to
31infuriate the fans. It succeeded very well on this occasion, getting them lathered up for the Main Event.
That night's Main Event was a Battle Royal, an easy and effective use of available talent. You put every wrestler on the card into the ring at the same time and let them battle it out until only one man is left. According to "The Rule Book", a competitor can only be eliminated from a Battle Royal by being thrown over the top ring rope; being pinned, submitting, or leaving the ring in some other manner doesn't count. It's an exciting, yet convenient way to end a show, and to add some thrills, a huge payoff for the winner is customarily advertised. Nolensville's Battle Royal was no exception; the poster claimed that the winner would recieve ten thousand dollars, purely a piece of poetic hype. It was doubtful that the night's gross came even close to a grand-four or five hundred bucks was more likely-but what the hell: custom (and suspension of disbelief) must be acommodated.
Battle Royals always sound more exciting in concept than in production. There's no room to move, extra care must be taken not to accidentally smash into someone who doesn't see you coming, and flashy maneuvers are contraindicated. Mostly it's a matter of ganging up and grimly ejecting first the largest wrestlers (who might otherwise win too easily), and then going after anyone you have a grudge against. In this Battle Royal, the main target of the Heels was poor old Willie the Clown, who'd already been unfairly defeated earlier in the evening.
Willie took a hell of a beating from a number of assailants, though none managed to toss him over the top rope, and for a while he seemed semi-concious, lying on the canvas as various combats raged around him. He had a talent for
32appearing truly pathetic; despite my semi-insider's cynicism and general allegience to the Bad Guy Creed, I found myself almost feeling sorry for the poor greasepaint- ed, rubber-nosed bastard.
I should have known better. As God, Chance, Fortune, The Fates, Destiny, Karma, Kismet, and the good Dr. Squash would have it, the Battle Royal ended up with everyone thrown out of the ring but Willie and Chuck Casey. Chuck took a rope-bouncing, running leap at Willie, the clown ducked, and Casey went flying over the top rope. Nolensville's own Wrestling Clown was the winner, pleasing the kids immensely and wrapping up what I thought was, overall, a fairly decent, entertaining, mostly professional show with a poetically justified, conventionally dramatic ending. The IWA wasn't the WWF, the WCW, or even the local CWA, but it was better than some stuff I'd seen on local independent stations.
For a moment, I thought I might hang around and try to talk to Dr. Squash about my potential future contributions to his organization, but the snow was still flying, and it was a long, late way back to Nashville. So I scraped the ice from my windshield, and drove carefully back to Gator's, thinking I would probably give the Doc a call in a day or two.
Five weeks later, I returned to the Nolensville Civic Center, and this time, I didn't have any trouble getting into the dressing room. However, it wasn't as C. R. McKnight, black-clad, sword-cane-wielding Evil Manager Extraordinaire.
I entered the Sanctum in pink tights and spiked wristbands, as "Luscious Leslie Love, The Only Real Man In Professional Wrestling."
Of course, a few things did happen in the meantime...
33LEARNING THE ROPESLesson 1: Introducing Gypsy Joe The ropes were steel cables covered with ancient green garden hose. Here and there, wicked twists of rusty metal protruded through the cracked and peeling plastic. The mat consisted of warped plywood over steel struts, topped with irregular pieces of rough, dirty-brown carpet. The huge spring beneath the wood was rusted solid, with no give at all. The turnbuckle pads, haphazardly patched over with rags and duct tape, oozed what was left of their stuffing. All of this was claustrophobically enclosed on three sides by the splintered wooden walls of a ramshackle shed, with one side entirely open to the February weather.
Welcome to Gypsy Joe's Wrestling School.
About a week earlier, a few days after the Nolensville show, I'd called Dr. Squash, and he'd been enthusiastic. "Oh, yeah, hey, Curt! Look-we're gonna be getting into TV here soon, and we'll definitely need another manager. I think you'd be good at it-you got the kind of look that'll really piss "em off!"
"Thanks, brother..."
"But look, Curt-you need to learn how to take a bump. I can't just let you go in there cold. I started out by wrestling a few matches, and you need to get trained, too."
I hadn't really figured on this-I'd been looking to be hired basically as an actor and verbal agitator. But it seemed logical, because eventually I would get knocked down. (A "bump", by the way, is how wrestlers refer to taking a controlled fall, and is the very foundation of the Art.)
34 "So, brother," continued the Doc, "I'm gonna get you hooked up with Gypsy Joe. He taught me, and he's damn good. Can you start training this coming week?"
"Yeah...uh, I guess so. By the way, how much is this gonna cost?"
"It'll be reasonable. Joe'll teach you more than Tojo or Dundee would, and he'll let you pay as you go."
Tojo Yammamoto (who, sadly, soon thereafter committed suicide when diabetes curtailed his long, distinguished, local ring career as an Evil Jap), and "Superstar" Bill Dundee (a sawed-off, stocky, area icon from Australia) both then ran wrestling schools near Nashville. I'd heard that they charged upwards of several thousand dollars to train prospective wrestlers, and had never been tempted to contact them. At that moment, my desire to get into the business was based on doing research for a rewrite of my earlier book, and having some fun in the process. I was willing to spend some money on both purposes, but it was going to have to be a lot less than what Tojo and Bill were demanding.
"Well, Doc," I said, "If it's not too much, then talk to Gypsy and let me know when he wants to get started."
"I'll do it, brother."
I hung up with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I hadn't counted on really wrestling. That was, I thought, for actual athletes-guys with decent bodies, superior strength, high endurance, and exceptional agility, none of which I possessed. I was overweight, sluggish, a heavy smoker, and frequently dragged myself to my day job with a mild-to-moderate hangover from staying up late drinking beer and writing poetry. In addition, I'd been having a lot of problems with my back due to taking a bad fall in the walk-in cooler at work, and wasn't sure if slamming myself around would be the best treatment for it.
35 However, despite all my seemingly realistic concerns, the fact was that desire, will, luck, and timing had all conspired to put me in touch with the world of pro wrestling, and offer me a place in it. Who knew if I would ever get another shot?
It was something I really wanted to do, deep in my heart and gut, so I made an effort, and set my immediate fears mostly aside. Plenty of people would be happy to tell me how crazy I was to be doing something so dangerous and foolish; I had to concentrate on being positive...even if I was crazy.
Ironically, as it turned out, I came to learn that becoming a good wrestler, or even a mediocre one, has nothing to do with possessing a sculpted, chiseled, hard-rock physique. That's good for show, but it has nothing to do with technique or ability; there are plenty of humongous muscle-boys out there who can't wrestle their way out of a wet paper bag, which is why it's so damned boring to watch two of them unimaginatively batter each other with kicks and punches on some over- priced, overhyped pay-per-view main event. Also, while above-average physical strength, stamina and speed are helpful in the ring, you don't have to be a weightlifter, iron man triathlete, or Olympic-level gymnast to put on a satisfying match. A pro wrestler is a performance artist first, and each worker brings his own strengths to his personal style, but all good wrestlers base their work on brains, charisma, creativity, and technique.
As for physical appearance, it's stylistically important to a certain degree. Could anyone, even the dumbest mark, willingly choose to believe that someone with the physique of say, Don Knotts, AKA Deputy Barney Fife, could convincingly beat a 350-pound muscle monster? Probably not, even though Barney frequently claimed to know Judo. Size isn't really important, but physical presence is; you must appear 36substantial enough to be taken seriously as a combatant.
Once upon a time (when I was a kid, and dinosaurs ruled Atlantis), the average
wrestler weighed about 200 pounds, and had a toned, but not overly-sculptured body. Then, a 250-pounder was considered a super-heavyweight, and anyone over 300 pounds was practically a giant. During the Rasslin' Renaissance of the 80s, 250 pounds was barely enough to make you a light heavyweight; the big feds wanted gargantuas, titans, trolls, and ogres bulging with boulder-like muscles, and if it took wheelbarrows full of illegal and dangerous steroids, so be it. As we approach the Millenium, smaller wrestlers are back in favor, especially high flyers like Rey Misterio Jr. and the ECW's "homicidal, suicidal, genocidal" Sabu, who are even smaller than the average grappler was in the 60s or 70s. These guys run around 140 to 150 pounds, but the pounds are well distributed, and their daredevil aerial style gives them a believable edge against larger opponents.
When I started training at around 220 pounds, I was just right for a meat-and-
potatoes style wrestler, and my generous layer of body fat proved to be helpful in absorbing the impact of falls. Though the promoter continued to bill me as weighing 220 pounds, I actually lost weight due to all the exercise, and hovered mostly around 198. As for my back, (which later turned out to have a ruptured L-5 disk from my unintentional bump at work, and eventually required surgery), aside from superficial, if agonizing muscle pain in the early days of my training, it actually got better, and didn't begin bothering me again til some months after I'd retired from the ring. Not that I recommend professional wrestling as a cure for a herniated disk...
As I stood on the edge of beginning to learn the Art, however, I had none of this knowledge to hearten me. Nor did I know what balance there might be between
37 theatrical cooperation and actual competition between wrestlers. If some huge, meanspirited hulk decided to actually hurt me, my extremely limited background in Japanese Wado Kai, Korean Tae Kwon Do, and Florida Lawn-Rasslin' wouldn't do much to help. I couldn't help thinking of stories I'd heard about Abdullah The Butcher, who was reputed to actually bite bleeding holes in the poor, hapless prelim bums fed to him by ruthless promoters. There was also the (for all I knew) mainly true story about the time NWA Champion Harley Race came to Nashville for a bout with the local champ, who was, at the time, the gangling, pale, unimpressively- constructed George Gulas, son of longtime area promoter Nick Gulas. The burly, grizzled Race, a legendary grappler in the 60s and 70s, got the idea that George had disrespected him, or else just plain didn't like his looks, attitude, or lack of ability. When they got in the ring, Harley supposedly beat the actual living hell out of Gulas, and pinned him for real. For all I knew, the same sort of fate awaited a sorry-ass non-athlete like myself as well, simply for having the audacity to try and pass myself off as a wrestler.
And yet, I reminded myself that the goal was simply to learn how to wrestle well enough to take a fall while pursuing my real avocation as an Evil Manager. Usually, those guys get away with a lot of interference and mayhem, but occasionally one gets caught by the good guy and thoroughly trounced, so they have to know how to take it. If I could learn the basics, and get through a few short, simple bouts, I could spend most of my career thereafter running my mouth and avoiding an ass-kicking. Therefore, I made a firm decision: if the price was within reason, I would go to school with Gypsy Joe.
Dr. Squash got back to me a few days later. "Okay, Curt-I talked to Gypsy yesterday, and he said "You really gonna use this kid?', and I told him yeah, get on
38with it. But don't jerk him around-bring some money to show you're serious."
"How much?"
"Well, he's gonna charge you five hundred to train, but he doesn't want it all at once. I'd bring at least a hundred if I were you."
I considered. Seeing that the usual wrestling school tuition could run two or three thousand bucks, five hundred for one-on-one training sounded pretty damn good, especially since I'd have a job waiting for me. It's true that the "Big 3"-
WWF, WCW, and ECW-have schools of their own, and that their successful students can expect a place on the company roster, but on a local level, there are usually few, if any, guarantees.
"Sounds reasonable to me, brother. When am I meeting him?"
"Tomorrow night. I'll call you. Look, Curt-just make sure you show Gypsy the proper respect. He's a rough old sonofabitch, and he'll treat you like dogshit, but there ain't none better, brother."
I assured the Doc that I knew all about Student-Master respect from my martial arts days; there wouldn't be any problem with that. I considered myself lucky to have snagged Gypsy for a teacher-he'd been a 3-time world champion in the 60s, and was something of a legend in Japan and Puerto Rico. Joe had wrestled all the big names, including Jerry Lawler, Hulk Hogan, Stan Hansen, Abdullah The Butcher, and the late, lamented Bruiser Brody (who'd been stabbed to death by a wrestling promoter after a match in Puerto Rico about the time I hooked up with the IWA). When it came to the wrestling game, there wasn't much Gypsy hadn't done.
"Hey, Doc, how come Joe's not wrestling for the local big time any more? I never see him on the CWA TV show..."

39 "He's working independent cards here and there, Curt, and doing construction work during the day."
Cool Breeze Williams was in construction work, too. That seemed to be a common theme at this level of the biz-don't lose that day job!
"So what happened, Squash? I thought Gypsy was a major star."
"He was, brother, he was. He worked all over the world, but Joe was really pumped up on steroids then, and working out with heavy weights. Now he's a lot smaller, and you know how it is today-they want really big guys..."
"Yeah...it's kind of a shame..."
"Besides, Curt, Joe just doesn't get along with most wrestling promoters. He likes to do things his own way. But I hope he'll work out in the IWA, "cause we're damn lucky to get him."
"You and me, both, brother."
The next evening, I found myself on the south side of town, hanging with Dr. Squash in Gypsy's livingroom. It was an average American one-bedroom apartment, clean and uncluttered. When I came in, Gypsy and his girlfriend, Robbie, a slender young woman with long chestnut hair, were watching a "Charlie Brown" special on the tube.
The Doc introduced me to Joe, and as we shook hands, I was once again puzzled by the tentative manner of all these wrestlers when it came to handshakes. I had been taught, of course, like most right-thinking manly American males, to give a good old-fashioned no-nonsense squeeze. But Gypsy, like Cool Breeze and the others, returned my firm grip with a exaggeratedly gentle grasp.
40 Joe looked to be somewhere between 40 and 60. His face resembled that of a weathered stone statue, but his dark brown eyes were bright. I'd expected him to be surly, but his aura was almost shamanic-understated but powerful. Put a little more grey in his shoulder-length hair (or take away some of the obvious black dye), and he'd be the perfect image of a Native American medicine man, despite his "gypsy"
heritage. (I later discovered that he was born in Puerto Rico, but to me, Joe always looked more Eastern European than Latin.) The man wasn't as large as I rememb-
ered, but he was still solid as a rock, with wide shoulders and bulging biceps.
In plain language, I told Gypsy that I was serious about being initiated into the mysteries of the squared circle, underscoring my sincerity by handing him a hundred bucks in hard-earned twenties. I was once again thankful that Gator wasn't charging me rent while I worked my way out of the financial fallout from my marriage-otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to afford even the pittance Joe was
charging.
"All right, brother," rasped Gypsy, tucking the bills in his shirt pocket, "If you're serious, then so am I. Lots of these boys, I get "em ready for the road, and they quit. But if you're serious, I'll teach you everything-how to wrestle, manage, talk; all of it. It's good you come to me, "cause these other sonsabitches won't teach you nothin', and then they'll send you out to get hurt. But not Joe. If you're my boy, I'm gonna give you all I got.
Just don't be sayin' to me, "Joe, that ain't how they do it on TV.' I don't give a damn how they do it on TV, brother. I'm the teacher, and you're gonna do it like Joe says. If you do good, you'll know it, cause I ain't gonna say nothin'. If you screw up, I'm gonna be mad. But you're gonna learn, learn good and fast, so you can get to work.
41 The hundred's okay for now. Just give me what you can, when you can, if you think my school is worth it. I know the Doc's got a job lined up for you, so we'll really push it, three days a week. You come Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Meet me in the parking lot of the electric company on Monday afternoon, and I'll take you to the ring."
"I'll be there, Joe."
The Doc said that he and Gypsy had business to discuss, seeming to imply "Get lost, Curt!" Still feeling like something of an outsider, I headed back to my side of town, where I called my "agent", Larry Pacheco, to give him the lowdown on my first meeting with Gypsy Joe. He listened with enthusiasm, and remarked, "Hey, great! I get to live vicariously through you!"
"All of the thrills and none of the bruises, brother."
"So what'd the Doc say? "No pain, no gain'?"
"Words to that effect. He said there'd be a lot of pain at first, but not to let on to Gypsy, or he'd push me even harder."
"The old boy sounds like a real character."
"They all are..."
"You should fit in fine."
"I'm gonna try, brother."
"So what's all this "brother' crap, Curt? You're starting to sound just like one "em."
"I guess it's rubbing off on me..."
"So...how many matches do they want you to wrestle before you go into managing?"
"Well, Larry...there may be a change of career plans here. When I was talking
42to Gypsy, he said "Hell, you're a pretty big boy. Don't manage-wrestle! You'll make more money that way!'"
"So what do you think?"
"I figure if that old dude thinks I got what it takes, I might as well give it a try. So, are you and Ruth coming to the reading tomorrow night?"
"Probably so. You know, it's kind of ironic, Curt-going from a rasslin' training session to a poetry reading."
"It's an interesting life sometimes..."
"Have you thought of a stage name for yourself yet?"
"I hadn't really thought about a gimmick yet, Lar. I think, though, I'd like to be just your basically insane, frothing-at-the-mouth Roddy Piper-type bad guy..."
"It fits you, Curt. I think you could handle it."
"Well, let's see if I can get through my first session with Gypsy, brother. Then I'll start worrying about a gimmick..."
Over the weekend, I spoke briefly to Dr. Squash, and asked him where the training ring was. His curt reply: "Joe's got a place." I visualized a dilapidated building, or a hole-in-the-wall gym someplace. On Sunday, I went to K-Mart and bought the stuff I'd need for basic training: a sweat suit, jock, and knee pads. I was ready as I would ever be to go to school.
My grandfather asked how it was going with the wrestling. I told him I thought I'd found a really good teacher, and that the IWA might be able to give me some work soon. We didn't discuss the reality or fakery of the biz, or my competence to pursue it, and he neither encouraged nor discouraged me. "Just be careful, son," said my grandad. I was excited about what was happening, but sorrowful that this 43once-vital and active man was now confined to a sick bed. He would never be able to sit at ringside and cheer me on, and his situation put a damper on my basically ebullient mood. But life is rarely all joy or all pain; it's a constant and uneasy mix, and I had a goal to pursue. So I promised my grandfather I'd be careful, and went downtown to meet Gypsy Joe.
We met in the parking lot of the Nashville Electric Company, Joe driving a distinctively battered, blue-smoke-belching El Camino, and I followed him down West End Avenue to the high hills and winding lanes of the Love Circle area of west Nashville. We parked in front of a large house on a quiet exurban side street. In the back yard was an old three-walled wooden shed, within which was what appeared to be the sagging, splintery remnants of the first wrestling ring ever erected in America.
As I described previously, it was a real dinosaur: tape-wrapped ropes, thread-
bare carpet pieces for a "mat", a rusted, busted spring, with barely any space between the ropes and the walls of the shed. A moderately beaten-up ring in a rathole gym would have seemed like Madison Square Garden by comparison. If I was looking for glamour, it damn sure wasn't here.
And yet, I got a small but unmistakable thrill as we climbed through the ropes, me in my blue K-Mart sweat suit, and Joe in his ancient jeans and a black t-shirt with "Bad Guys" in faded red letters on the front. Despite its primitive qualities, this wasn't a simulation of a wrestling ring constructed of clothesline and mismatched wooden posts such as I'd erected in my back yard when I was 12 years old. It was the real thing.
I bounced up and down a few times, testing the give of the plywood floor. There wasn't much. "So who owns this house, Joe?"
44 "This old guy I know."
That seemed to be the extent of the small talk. I never did find out who lived in the house, what his relationship was to Gypsy, or why he'd allowed Joe to set up this cramped, if functional training ring.
I began pulling my blue "Bike" brand kneepads on over my sweatpants, trying to come over as cool and relaxed, but I was nervous, and it must have showed.
"Relax, brother. We're not in a hurry."
There are only three basic ways to fall in wrestling: the forward flip, backward, and face foward. Anything else is just a fancier version of one of these. We began with the basic forward flip-over fall.
Joe got down on his hands and knees. "OK, brother, what you do is run up, put your hands flat on my back, and flip yourself over me. You wanna land on your back with the soles of your feet hitting first, and slap the mat with both hands at the same time. One more thing-unless you wanna break your neck right away, keep your chin tucked in."
I gave it a try. Everyone has seen this fall a thousand times, if not in wrestling, then in the movies. Some stuntman gets shot on a balcony, bends forward, and flips gracefully over the railing, plunging to the unseen net below. These guys never fall to one knee and roll sideways, or spin around and fall off backward. They always take the smooth, controlled forward-flip.
In this case, my first bump was neither smooth nor graceful. Relying more on main strength than momentum in hurling myself over Joe's back, I crashed heavily to the only-slightly-yielding plywood, dizzied from the quick mid-air spin, knocking my breath out, banging my unprotected elbows, and forgetting to tuck my chin in far enough, which earned me a sharp, painful rap on the back of the head.
45 "Feet flat, brother! Arms like this! Otherwise, you'll break somethin', and then you'll be tellin' everyone that Joe made you hurt yourself!"
I tried again, feeling what was an unnecessary strain as hurled myself over Gypsy's broad back with a noise that was half-groan and half martial-arts yell. My main problem, as it would have been for most neophytes, was a lack of relaxation. I was working at the fall, not simply allowing it to happen, and when my tense body hit the mat I felt the full impact. In addition, Joe began to slowly rise to a half- standing position, which gave me a lot further to fly. Most of my crash landings were painful, but a couple of times, I did it almost right, and began to get a vague idea of what I was trying to learn to do. Finally, Joe straightened up so far that I was afraid to try and flip over him. "Damn, Gypsy-it's too high! I'll land on my head!"
Joe took my protests in stride, and switched me to the backwards fall. You know, it's amazing how much the average human body just doesn't want to fall straight back and land on its shoulders. In a way, this bump was like the old psychology encounter-group exercise of learning trust by allowing yourself to go limp and fall back into someone else's arms. The important difference is that there was no one to trust but myself.
"No! You're gonna break your damn elbows! Slap with the front of your forearms, brother! And quit tensing up! Just go limp and take the fall!"
I tried, but as before, was working too hard at it, throwing myself down more than letting my body fall backwards under its own weight. Tension led to self- disgust and more tension. I began to feel frustrated, winded, and inept. Joe changed the pace, and began to show me the basic "collar and elbow" tieup which begins most matches.
"This hand around the back of my neck! That hand on my arm-no! Don't
46shove it in my face! Nobody's gonna like that, brother! Right-that way...
Now...let's move around. Dance, brother! You know how to dance, don't you? Now break the hold! Now! No, don't hesitate! Break! Good! Now go right back to it! C'mon-circle around me some, then-lunge! Yeah, that's right! And look mean, brother-we ain't playin' friggin' pattycake here!"
We danced the first movement of the Blue Collar Ballet around the splintery, sagging ring-circling, then lunging to hook up collar-and-elbow, pushing, pulling, being pulled and pushed. For a brief moment I felt exhilarated, and felt I could become the dance-if I relaxed.
Joe stopped the workout after thirty minutes or so. I wasn't too disappointed in myself, feeling that I'd gone to my physical limits, maybe even a few inches past them. "Pretty damn bad, huh, Gypsy?" I gasped.
"It's your first time, brother. No one's looking! You think you're gonna get good in half an hour? Just relax-we got plenty of time."
I bade Joe goodbye, promising to return the day after next, and went home to take a shower before heading to the poetry reading. I looked in on my grandad before I left; he was happy I'd made it through my first session without breaking anything.
"Just don't get discouraged, son. It always takes time to learn something new."
Larry and Ruth laughed when they saw how slowly and painfully I was moving when I came into the club, but I managed to pull off a pretty good reading. Again, I thought how strange it was to go from "Gypsy Joe's Wrestling School" to "Poetry In A Pub", but I felt that I'd earned my beer that night...
47Lesson 2: Flying With Cool Breeze The next day, I felt basically sound-no broken bones, sprains, or obvious internal bleeding-but was in a pretty good amount of pain; the kind you might get from being thoroughly beaten by a large group of people wielding two-by-fours wrapped in towels. Almost every muscle in my body was sore, as if dipped in a mild acid solution. I'd bruised my right heel, and strained my left wrist. My elbows were badly abraded; I decided that I'd switch the kneepads to my elbows next time, and get a wrist brace. As well as a large, industrial-sized container of Ben-Gay...
I knew that the "bumps" were going to take a lot more work, both in relaxing and landing correctly. Another aspect to deal with was the loss of equilibrium I experienced while flying through the air-it was hard to know where I was going, or which part of me would hit first. The surface of the ring did give somewhat, but not much, and I was surprised that landing on it wasn't even more painful.
I returned to Gypsy Joe's School the following afternoon. Joe didn't make it, but he sent his disciple, Cool Breeze Williams, as a substitute teacher. The personable construction worker/wrestler seemed pleased that I remembered him from the matches in Nolensville.
I worked on the forward and backward bumps again, and did a little better. The idea seemed to be not to try too hard-as Cool Breeze put it: "Just fly, Curt-let gravity do the work."
Switching the kneepads to my elbows helped tremendously. "Don't feel bad about wearin' "em, no matter what "Daddy' says about it," advised Williams.
"'Daddy'?"

48 The Breeze chuckled through his gap-toothed grin. "That's what all of us who got trained by Gypsy Joe call him. At least, when he ain't around..."
"He's a wild old dude..."
"No kiddin', Curt. Anyhow, wear them pads-there's plenty of boys who've been doin' this for years who still wear theirs. Hell, wear two pairs if you got to. No one's gonna laugh. You screw up your elbows, you're done in this business."
I resolved to get an extra pair of elbow pads. We kept working, and my landings began to improve. Then, I took a particuarly high one over the crouching Cool Breeze-"getting some air", as we say-and although I came down correctly, I also landed damn hard, sending an alarming, almost electric, jolt through my shoulders and chest. For a few panicked seconds, I thought I'd finally screwed up and hurt myself, but the sting went away and my breath came back. I used it to heave a sigh of relief.
We cooled out on the bumps and began to work on the collar-and-elbow dance. "Look mean!" reminded the Breeze. "You gotta remember that people'll be watch- ing!" I did my best to grimace and growl convincingly as we locked up and simulated a struggle for leverage. Suddenly, Cool Breeze smoothly slipped his arms up mine and captured me in a basic Top Wristlock. His grip was firm, but not painful, and I could have easily pulled free, but I decided to bend backward and do some dramatic groaning.
"Oh God! My wrist! My wrist!"
"That's it, Curt, sell it for me, brother!"
Hamming it up, I went to one knee, moaning as if my wrist was being broken.
49Then slowly, as if against enormous pressure, I struggled back to my feet. The next thing I knew, I had the wristlock on Cool Breeze-it was a classic reversal, just as I had seen thousands of times on TV.
"Good! Good! Now take me down!"
I put some mild pressure on Williams' arm, and he drove himself backwards to the mat with a satisfyingly resounding crash. I ended up beside him on one knee, still maintaining the hold, mildly amazed at how well Cool Breeze had made me look as if I knew what I was doing.
Not sure where to go next, I released the wristlock, and the Breeze smoothly swirled to his feet. "That was real good, Curt. You weren't too stiff, and you followed me when I went down. Now remember, when you go for a hold, always take the right side...that is, your right side, the other guy's left side.."
"Why is that, Breeze?"
"It's just how every wrestler does it. Well, except for Mexico-they're trained to go the other way. But what I mean is that you gotta do it the same way every time, so no one gets surprised or screws up."
"I gotcha."
"Also, did you see how I got up?" Actually, I had noticed that Cool Breeze had come to his feet in a remarkably smooth manner. "I turned to the left. "Daddy' taught me that it's easier and faster that way. I'm not sure why, but it just is."
"Something to do with physics, maybe..."
"I guess. Anyhow, always go to the right, and always get up to the left. And I'd tell you not to put too much pressure on your holds, but you act like you know that already."50 Before I could congratulate myself too much, Breeze added: "You could tighten up a little, though. It's got to look stiff, even if it ain't."
"I guess the ideal is somewhere in the middle between too soft and too stiff."
"Well, it's a little different for everybody. "Daddy' won't really hurt you, but he's a lot stiffer than me. He's from the old school, brother. They used to shoot a lot back then."
"'Shoot'?"
"Shootin's what they call it when it gets real, and two guys really try to beat each other."
"Does that still happen?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Not so much anymore, but it used to. Those old-time guys didn't get them cauliflower ears from fake headlocks. Gypsy's ears ain't real bad, but if you look, you can see he's done some shootin'."
"Well, Breeze, I promise not to shoot if you don't."
Williams laughed hugely. "It's a deal, Curt." He put out his hand and gave me one of those oddly light, brief handshakes. The Breeze then decided to have me try out my recently-gained expertise at falling down by having me respond to some basic throws.
"Remember now," he told me, "I'm gonna start you goin', and if you don't flow with it, I'm gonna be throwin' you anyway, "cept you won't be in control of how you land. One of us or both of us could get hurt. So, if someone goes to throw you, let "em-nobody wants to look bad."
I did fair; it's always interesting to see how a basic drill is applied to the actual art. "Taking a bump" for your so-called "opponent" (who is actually your dance 51partner), is mostly a matter of timing and feel. When he grabs your arm and starts a move, you have to anticipate what it's going to be, and flip yourself for him. The thrower has the easy part of the job; in most cases, it's the throwee who's doing most of the actual work.
I did a clumsy series of Hip Tosses and Flying Mares for the Breeze, cursing myself for not being smooth enough. But he seemed satisfied. "It takes a while, brother. You just have to get the feeling."
Our workout didn't run very long. "It's better to keep it short, and work on a few things, Curt. If you run on and on and get all tired out and confused, that's how you get hurt."
Walking to our cars, we talked a little shop. "So, brother-you're gonna be a heel manager, right?"
I'd found out pretty quickly that wrestlers don't say "good guys" and "bad guys" among themselves, or even (as the wrestling fan magazines would have us believe) "fan favorites" and "rulebreakers". It's "heels" and "babyfaces". (The latter term is usually abbreviated to simply "face', as in "That dude sucks as a heel-he got over better as a face.')
"Well, Breeze, it looks like I might. We could end up on opposite sides of the ring one of these nights."
"Oh no, brother-I'm a heel myself."
"Huh. I thought you were a face."
"Only in Nolensville, where I'm from."
"Okay, yeah, I see-you're a homeboy there, so there you're a baby, but everywhere else you're a heel?" 52 "Right. Hell, maybe you could manage me sometime."
"Or we could team up..."
"There ain't no tellin', Curt."
Following another of those strangely gentle handshakes (which I resolved to ask Breeze about the next time we met), we parted. I drove over to my brother Scott's to drink a few beers, tell him about my rasslin' adventures, and watch "real" wrestling on TV. I was beginning to gain a new perspective-noticing when the bumps were a little clumsy, and when they were extra good. Some of what I saw seemed within my potential abilities, but I still kept seeing things I didn't think I could learn to do in a million years. At least not without incarnating into a new and better body...
My brother, a small, slim, quietly intense man who had once studied Gung Fu in Hawaii with the internationally famous Master Arthur Lee, asked how I was feeling. I was able to tell him that my wind seemed to be improving, and that I'd worked out some of the soreness from my first session. "It's gonna take a long damn time to get perfect at those bumps, though," I complained. "I guess it just takes a hell of a lot of practice."
Scott took a sip of beer. "One time, I asked Master Lee how long I'd have to practice to get as perfect as him."
"What did he say?"
My brother gave me one of his inscrutable Celtic half-smiles, and simulating a Chinese accent, replied: "'Practice make bettah'"
The next day, I had a whole new set of aches and pains, but it wasn't intolerable, and I looked forward to the next session. Maybe, I thought, this wrestling stuff wasn't going to be so hard after all... 53Lesson 3: And The Birth of Luscious Leslie Love When next I appeared at the Training Shed, it was starting to sleet. I waited a while, but Gypsy didn't show. Finally, despite his stern injunction to never use the ring when he wasn't there, I decided to make use of the time, and climbed on in.
I did some token bumps, forward and backward, and practiced hurling myself into the turnbuckles. It was too damned cold to get really loosened up, though. After landing on the back of my neck a couple of times, I became chilled and discour-
aged, heading home to one of my more memorable hot showers. After changing to party threads for a poet's gathering in nearby Hendersonville (home town of Jeff
"Double J" Jarrett), I decided to give Dr. Squash a call before I took off.
"Hi, Doc-I went to the ring today, but Gypsy didn't show up..."
"Probably too cold for him. Hey, brother, I'm glad you called-I got an idea for your gimmick."
In wrestling, "gimmick" is king, especially these days. Your gimmick is the total package of your persona, alleged background, costuming, music, speech pattern, and wrestling style. Gimmicks used to be sort of one-note: Evil Foreigner, Heroic Cowboy, Noble Injun Chief, Masked Sadist, etc. Nowadays, with the breakdown of the rigid old school "Good vs. Evil" approach, the average wrestler is probably more of an "anti-hero" than a straight Heel or Face, and his gimmick could be anything from Anti-Authoritarian Beer-Drinking Redneck Brawler to Fan-Friendly
Suicidal Maniac With Multiple Personalities.
"Lay it on me."
"Look, Curt...I'll understand if you turn it down. Three workers already have."

54 "Hell, Doc, I'm the new guy. Any gimmick's a good one at this point."
"Okay. Look, Curt, it's like this. We need a fag. I want you to wear pink tights, and be "Luscious Leslie Love' from San Francisco."
I had to laugh. "All right, brother. I guess I'm man enough for the job. I kinda wanted to be a sadistic maniac type, but I think I could pull it off."
"It's automatic hate, Curt. You'd be a heel, of course."
"Fine with me, boss." At the time, I hadn't even begun to consider the political/
ethical/psycho-sociological ramifications of portaying a negative stereotype; I saw the role as high camp. "So, how long before you need me? A month or two?"
"Oh, no, Curt. We gotta have you at the next show in Nolensville. That's in a week or so-you better get with it."
"Damn, man. Are you sure?"
"Don't worry-you'll be working with Willie the Clown, and you guys can get together to practice. Just work something out-make it funny."
"Well, I guess we could come up with something..."
"By the way, don't tell Gypsy Joe that you're gonna have a gay gimmick. He ain't exactly Mr. Politically Correct."
"Uh...okay, brother."
"Just tell him we need you, you're gonna work out a match with Willie, and that there won't be much to it."
"I'll do it, Doc."
"And look-you need to come by the office tomorrow, so we can get our photographer to take some pictures for your 8 by 10. Go ahead and get some pink tights at K-Mart, get some gimmicks, make it look good..."55 "Are these pictures gonna cost me anything?"
"You're gettin' off cheap, Curt. Dan's only gonna charge you seventy-five bucks."
I felt I was getting in over my head. "Well...I guess I could scrape it together."
"You won't be sorry, brother."
I told the Doc that I'd meet him at the office the following afternoon, and went on to the party, where I entertained my fellow poets with tales of Gypsy Joe's Wrestling School. Late the next day, after going by my ex-wife Patricia's apartment to seek her fashion expertise in coming up with a costume for an offensively Gay Wrestler, I showed up at the IWA office. Well, actually, "I" didn't. It was the very first public appearance of Luscious Leslie Love.
He (or I) entered the Buddy Lee Building wearing an extra-large pink women's leotard, complimentary pink pantyhose, biker-style fingerless leather gloves, a skull-and-bones earring, authentic leather Harley cap, mirror shades, an iron cross on a chain, a black jacket, and pink-and-black legwarmers over hightop black tennis shoes. I was hoping that this last detail would provide the knee-high wrestler's boot effect, without my having to spend a couple hundred bucks for the real thing.
My friendly ex had also done a full makeup job on me; black eyeshadow, rouge, and lipstick. I figured the total effect was the best (or worst) of both worlds-enough
pink to be an obvious flamer, with plenty of leather and studs to represent the "rough trade" aspect. I'd already created some autobiographical "facts" about Luscious Leslie to help me get into character.
"The Luscious One', AKA "The Only Real Man In Professional Wrestling', was, of course, from San Francisco, and formerly president of a bike gang called "The 56Gay Blades'. His mother ("Mama Love') was the owner of a lucrative fictional cosmetics company, and Luscious was born with several silver spoons in his mouth.
He had a pampered childhood with all the usual pretentious and ostentatious perks, but took up pro wrestling because he enjoyed slumming, as well as both inflicting and recieving pain. I could fill in the details as I went along, but as a rich, aggress- ively homosexual criminal biker mama's boy and sadomasochistic snob, Leslie was already everything that a Tennessee rasslin' fan would love to hate.
My ex-wife, though enthusiastically cooperative in helping me nail down my gimmick, was more worried that someone might mistake me for a homophobe than a homosexual. "Won't gay people be pissed when they see you?"
"My poet friend Jamey is as queer as a football bat, and he thinks it's hilarious."
"Jamey doesn't mind you calling him a queer?"
"As an honorary faggot, I get to use the Q-word with impunity."
As it later turned out, not everyone in the gay community found Luscious to be an appropriate persona, but it was never my intention to be mean-spirited-I've always felt that what people do in their own bedrooms with consenting partners is their own business. I saw portraying LLL as a chance to run a classic gimmick:
The Flamboyantly Androgynous Rulebreaker. Though currently perfected by Dustin "Goldust" Rhodes, and used in recent times by the late Adrian Adonis and the still-grappling "Exotic" Adrian Street, this bit was originated in the 50s by a guy who even most non-wrestling fans have heard of, "Gorgeous" George.
George, with his blonde curly locks and colorful robes, made a huge name for himself by appearing to be a bit light in the loafers, despite his macho brutality in the ring. He was accompanied by a series of beautiful female valets, who would spray the ring with perfume prior to his matches. George was an above-average
57wrestler, a master showman, and the king of trash talkers. He infuriated the fans, who came to see him get his arrogant sissy ass kicked, but George got over more often than not. The only thing that enrages an unsophisticated rasslin' fan more than a "queer" is a vicious, competent queer who can't easily be put in his place.
Gorgeous George's microphone style influenced a lot of wrestlers, and even one boxer, Muhammed Ali, who credits George for inspiring his cheerfully arrogant
ring persona.
I'm a Leo, a performer at heart, and comfortable with my sexual identity, so, as a gimmick, the Flamboyant Androgynous Rulebreaker persona was right up my alley. The fact that I looked more like a bushy-bearded, beer-drinking, barrel- chested, bandy-legged Irish redneck than an effeminate, champagne-sipping, willowy, limp-wristed interior decorator only added to the fun. If I could run this gimmick, I could get over with damn near anything.
Chuckling at the thought of what the Doc's reaction to my costume would be, I approached the door to the IWA office.
And found it locked, with no Squash in sight.
I waited around for fifteen or twenty rather self-concious minutes, beginning to feel embarassed, and trying not to show it. Originally, I'd planned to slip into the office, get some laughs from the Doc, and go to the photo session from there. Instead, I found myself standing in a hallway of the Buddy Lee Building in all my Luscious glory.
Finally, Diane, a friendly and understanding music-biz secretary in an office across the hall, asked if I'd like to come in and sit down. I was more than grateful for the refuge. We talked for a while about the music industry and how much it 58sucked these days. Some months later, I ran into her at the Windows while hosting our monthly open mic poetry reading, and we shared several laughs over Luscious Leslie's first public appearance.
After waiting and talking with Diane a while longer, I decided that the Doc wasn't coming, and slunk out to the parking lot to head for home. I was more than slightly pissed off, feeling it was a hell of a thing to leave a man with his makeup hanging out like that. Still, no one had ordered me to show up wearing my gimmick, and I have to admit I was amused by some of the looks I got in traffic...
That evening, I got through to the Doc; he told me that his secretary was supposed to have put a note on the door to tell me he had gotten hung up else-
where. It was the best excuse he could give, and I accepted it as part of the initiation. Still, this was an early warning of things to come; Dr. Squash was a nice guy at heart, but that didn't make him businesslike or reliable.
We rescheduled the photo shoot for the next day, and the IWA's official photographer, an affable sort named Dan, took a pile of pictures of me in my Luscious getup, standing in front of a screen he'd spray-painted pink just for the occasion. I posed and preened to the best of my newly discovered androgynous ability.
"This is great," enthused Dan, clicking away. "You look like a natural."
I couldn't help wondering: a natural what?59Lesson 4: The Wall Of Pain The afternoon after the photo session, I returned to the practice ring, and continued my bumps and dance lessons with Gypsy Joe. We went on a little longer than we had previously, and for me, it was a volatile mixture of frustration and
encouragement. Ironically, I had learned just enough to know how badly I was actually doing, and could easily imagine Joe rolling his eyes at the thought of my ever becoming a wrestler. I decided to postpone telling him about the Doc want-
ing me to work in Nolensville in less than two weeks-I didn't feel confident enough to sell "Daddy' on the idea.
"Let's work some holds!" barked Gypsy. We locked up collar-and-elbow, and danced around the ring for a few seconds. I tried to remember to look mean, but was distracted by a slow, creeping, throbbing pain in the muscles of my lower back that seemed to have a life of its own. This pain was unlike anything I had ever felt before. It wasn't a vague ache, nor a sharp glassy stab such as I was used to from my injured L-5 disk. This was a brand new kind of pain, resulting from my back muscles being tenderized by constant pounding on the unyielding plywood. In addition, I had developed a bitch of a headcold, which stopped up my ears and threw off my equilibrium.
Gypsy gave my upper arm a light squeeze. "Take the armdrag!"
The armdrag is a flashy but essentially simple maneuver. All you have to do is come across with your left arm, hook your opponent under his left bicep, and fall straight back. Your dance partner does the rest, giving up a nice crisp foward flip to the mat. It's a hard move to screw up, but somehow I managed...60 Through a combination of bad timing and clumsiness, I stumbled sideways and accidentally came down with a knee to Joe's gut. He shook it off and rolled to his feet. "Whaddaya waitin' for? Lock up!"
Back to the collar-and-elbow dance. I went for a top wristlock, and in my dizzy state, leaned far too heavily on my partner. "Goddamn, brother! If I was that stiff with you, you'd be tellin' everybody that Joe was mistreatin' you!"
"Sorry, Joe," I said sheepishly.
"Don't be sorry! Just do it right!"
Suddenly Gypsy hooked my arm and fell back. I wasn't looking for the armdrag, and failed to execute the bump. I landed right on top of him. It must have hurt, but he didn't say a word.
"Lock up!"
We waltzed across the sagging plywood and into the ropes. "Take the headlock, brother!"
I captured Gypsy in a loose headlock and spent a few seconds pretending to grind and crush his skull. "Okay, enough of that boring crap! Take me down!"
The headlock-and-throw looks brutal, but is no more so than any other basic maneuver, assuming the thrower doesn't come down too hard on the throwee. I started Joe over my hip, he took the bump perfectly, and then I crashed down on his ribs like 200 pounds of clumsy bricks.
I was mortified, and fully expected Gypsy to curse me out thoroughly. Instead, he got up and walked away to the ropes, standing there with his back to me, rubbing his forehead in silent exasperation. I was grateful for his patience, but it would have been less embarassing if he had screamed at me.

Philosophy Monthly, in parts

1690 Locke Civil Government
(in chapters)Chapter VII
Of Political or Civil Society 77. GOD, having made man such a creature that, in His own judgment, it was not good for him to be alone, put him under strong obligations of necessity, convenience, and inclination, to drive him into society, as well as fitted him with understanding and language to continue and enjoy it. The first society was between man and wife, which gave beginning to that between parents and children, to which, in time, that between master and servant came to be added. And though all these might, and commonly did, meet together, and make up but one family, wherein the master or mistress of it had some sort of rule proper to a family, each of these, or all together, came short of "political society," as we shall see if we consider the different ends, ties, and bounds of each of these.
78. Conjugal society is made by a voluntary compact between man and woman, and though it consist chiefly in such a communion and right in one another's bodies as is necessary to its chief end, procreation, yet it draws with it mutual support and assistance, and a communion of interests too, as necessary not only to unite their care and affection, but also necessary to their common offspring, who have a right to be nourished and maintained by them till they are able to provide for themselves.
79. For the end of conjunction between male and female being not barely procreation, but the continuation of the species, this conjunction betwixt male and female ought to last, even after procreation, so long as is necessary to the nourishment and support of the young ones, who are to be sustained by those that got them till they are able to shift and provide for themselves. This rule, which the infinite wise Maker hath set to the works of His hands, we find the inferior creatures steadily obey. In those vivaporous animals which feed on grass the conjunction between male and female lasts no longer than the very act of copulation, because the teat of the dam being sufficient to nourish the young till it be able to feed on grass. the male only begets, but concerns not himself for the female or young, to whose sustenance he can contribute nothing. But in beasts of prey the conjunction lasts longer because the dam, not being able well to subsist herself and nourish her numerous offspring by her own prey alone (a more laborious as well as more dangerous way of living than by feeding on grass), the assistance of the male is necessary to the maintenance of their common family, which cannot subsist till they are able to prey for themselves, but by the joint care of male and female. The same is observed in all birds (except some domestic ones, where plenty of food excuses the cock from feeding and taking care of the young brood), whose young, needing food in the nest, the cock and hen continue mates till the young are able to use their wings and provide for themselves.
80. And herein, I think, lies the chief, if not the only reason, why the male and female in mankind are tied to a longer conjunction than other creatures- viz., because the female is capable of conceiving, and, de facto, is commonly with child again, and brings forth too a new birth, long before the former is out of a dependency for support on his parents' help and able to shift for himself and has all the assistance due to him from his parents, whereby the father, who is bound to take care for those he hath begot, is under an obligation to continue in conjugal society with the same woman longer than other creatures, whose young, being able to subsist of themselves before the time of procreation returns again, the conjugal bond dissolves of itself, and they are at liberty till Hymen, at his usual anniversary season, summons them again to choose new mates. Wherein one cannot but admire the wisdom of the great Creator, who, having given to man an ability to lay up for the future as well as supply the present necessity, hath made it necessary that society of man and wife should be more lasting than of male and female amongst other creatures, that so their industry might be encouraged, and their interest better united, to make provision and lay up goods for their common issue, which uncertain mixture, or easy and frequent solutions of conjugal society, would mightily disturb.
81. But though these are ties upon mankind which make the conjugal bonds more firm and lasting in a man than the other species of animals, yet it would give one reason to inquire why this compact, where procreation and education are secured and inheritance taken care for, may not be made determinable, either by consent, or at a certain time, or upon certain conditions, as well as any other voluntary compacts, there being no necessity, in the nature of the thing, nor to the ends of it, that it should always be for life- I mean, to such as are under no restraint of any positive law which ordains all such contracts to be perpetual.
82. But the husband and wife, though they have but one common concern, yet having different understandings, will unavoidably sometimes have different wills too. It therefore being necessary that the last determination (i.e., the rule) should be placed somewhere, it naturally falls to the man's share as the abler and the stronger. But this, reaching but to the things of their common interest and property, leaves the wife in the full and true possession of what by contract is her peculiar right, and at least gives the husband no more power over her than she has over his life; the power of the husband being so far from that of an absolute monarch that the wife has, in many cases, a liberty to separate from him where natural right or their contract allows it, whether that contract be made by themselves in the state of Nature or by the customs or laws of the country they live in, and the children, upon such separation, fall to the father or mother's lot as such contract does determine.
83. For all the ends of marriage being to be obtained under politic government, as well as in the state of Nature, the civil magistrate doth not abridge the right or power of either, naturally necessary to those ends- viz., procreation and mutual support and assistance whilst they are together, but only decides any controversy that may arise between man and wife about them. If it were otherwise, and that absolute sovereignty and power of life and death naturally belonged to the husband, and were necessary to the society between man and wife, there could be no matrimony in any of these countries where the husband is allowed no such absolute authority. But the ends of matrimony requiring no such power in the husband, it was not at all necessary to it. The condition of conjugal society put it not in him; but whatsoever might consist with procreation and support of the children till they could shift for themselves- mutual assistance, comfort, and maintenance- might be varied and regulated by that contract which first united them in that society, nothing being necessary to any society that is not necessary to the ends for which it is made.
84. The society betwixt parents and children, and the distinct rights and powers belonging respectively to them, I have treated of so largely in the foregoing chapter that I shall not here need to say anything of it; and I think it is plain that it is far different from a politic society.
85. Master and servant are names as old as history, but given to those of far different condition; for a free man makes himself a servant to another by selling him for a certain time the service he undertakes to do in exchange for wages he is to receive; and though this commonly puts him into the family of his master, and under the ordinary discipline thereof, yet it gives the master but a temporary power over him, and no greater than what is contained in the contract between them. But there is another sort of servant which by a peculiar name we call slaves, who being captives taken in a just war are, by the right of Nature, subjected to the absolute dominion and arbitrary power of their masters. These men having, as I say, forfeited their lives and, with it, their liberties, and lost their estates, and being in the state of slavery, not capable of any property, cannot in that state be considered as any part of civil society, the chief end whereof is the preservation of property.
86. Let us therefore consider a master of a family with all these subordinate relations of wife, children, servants and slaves, united under the domestic rule of a family, with what resemblance soever it may have in its order, offices, and number too, with a little commonwealth, yet is very far from it both in its constitution, power, and end; or if it must be thought a monarchy, and the paterfamilias the absolute monarch in it, absolute monarchy will have but a very shattered and short power, when it is plain by what has been said before, that the master of the family has a very distinct and differently limited power both as to time and extent over those several persons that are in it; for excepting the slave (and the family is as much a family, and his power as paterfamilias as great, whether there be any slaves in his family or no) he has no legislative power of life and death over any of them, and none too but what a mistress of a family may have as well as he. And he certainly can have no absolute power over the whole family who has but a very limited one over every individual in it. But how a family, or any other society of men, differ from that which is properly political society, we shall best see by considering wherein political society itself consists.
87. Man being born, as has been proved, with a title to perfect freedom and an uncontrolled enjoyment of all the rights and privileges of the law of Nature, equally with any other man, or number of men in the world, hath by nature a power not only to preserve his property- that is, his life, liberty, and estate, against the injuries and attempts of other men, but to judge of and punish the breaches of that law in others, as he is persuaded the offence deserves, even with death itself, in crimes where the heinousness of the fact, in his opinion, requires it. But because no political society can be, nor subsist, without having in itself the power to preserve the property, and in order thereunto punish the offences of all those of that society, there, and there only, is political society where every one of the members hath quitted this natural power, resigned it up into the hands of the community in all cases that exclude him not from appealing for protection to the law established by it. And thus all private judgment of every particular member being excluded, the community comes to be umpire, and by understanding indifferent rules and men authorised by the community for their execution, decides all the differences that may happen between any members of that society concerning any matter of right, and punishes those offences which any member hath committed against the society with such penalties as the law has established; whereby it is easy to discern who are, and are not, in political society together. Those who are united into one body, and have a common established law and judicature to appeal to, with authority to decide controversies between them and punish offenders, are in civil society one with another; but those who have no such common appeal, I mean on earth, are still in the state of Nature, each being where there is no other, judge for himself and executioner; which is, as I have before showed it, the perfect state of Nature.
88. And thus the commonwealth comes by a power to set down what punishment shall belong to the several transgressions they think worthy of it, committed amongst the members of that society (which is the power of making laws), as well as it has the power to punish any injury done unto any of its members by any one that is not of it (which is the power of war and peace); and all this for the preservation of the property of all the members of that society, as far as is possible. But though every man entered into society has quitted his power to punish offences against the law of Nature in prosecution of his own private judgment, yet with the judgment of offences which he has given up to the legislative, in all cases where he can appeal to the magistrate, he has given up a right to the commonwealth to employ his force for the execution of the judgments of the commonwealth whenever he shall be called to it, which, indeed, are his own judgements, they being made by himself or his representative. And herein we have the original of the legislative and executive power of civil society, which is to judge by standing laws how far offences are to be punished when committed within the commonwealth; and also by occasional judgments founded on the present circumstances of the fact, how far injuries from without are to be vindicated, and in both these to employ all the force of all the members when there shall be need.
89. Wherever, therefore, any number of men so unite into one society as to quit every one his executive power of the law of Nature, and to resign it to the public, there and there only is a political or civil society. And this is done wherever any number of men, in the state of Nature, enter into society to make one people one body politic under one supreme government: or else when any one joins himself to, and incorporates with any government already made. For hereby he authorises the society, or which is all one, the legislative thereof, to make laws for him as the public good of the society shall require, to the execution whereof his own assistance (as to his own decrees) is due. And this puts men out of a state of Nature into that of a commonwealth, by setting up a judge on earth with authority to determine all the controversies and redress the injuries that may happen to any member of the commonwealth, which judge is the legislative or magistrates appointed by it. And wherever there are any number of men, however associated, that have no such decisive power to appeal to, there they are still in the state of Nature.
90. And hence it is evident that absolute monarchy, which by some men is counted for the only government in the world, is indeed inconsistent with civil society, and so can be not form of civil government at all. For the end of civil society being to avoid and remedy those inconveniences of the state of Nature which necessarily follow from every man's being judge in his own case, by setting up a known authority to which every one of that society may appeal upon any injury received, or controversy that may arise, and which every one of the society ought to obey.* Wherever any persons are who have not such an authority to appeal to, and decide any difference between them there, those persons are still in the state of Nature. And so is every absolute prince in respect of those who are under his dominion.
* "The public power of all society is above every soul contained in the same society, and the principal use of that power is to give laws unto all that are under it, which laws in such cases we must obey, unless there be reason showed which may necessarily enforce that the law of reason or of God doth enjoin the contrary." Hooker, Eccl. Pol., i. 16.
91. For he being supposed to have all, both legislative and executive, power in himself alone, there is no judge to be found, no appeal lies open to any one, who may fairly and indifferently, and with authority decide, and from whence relief and redress may be expected of any injury or inconveniency that may be suffered from him, or by his order. So that such a man, however entitled, Czar, or Grand Signior, or how you please, is as much in the state of Nature, with all under his dominion, as he is with the rest of mankind. For wherever any two men are, who have no standing rule and common judge to appeal to on earth, for the determination of controversies of right betwixt them, there they are still in the state of Nature, and under all the inconveniencies of it, with only this woeful difference to the subject, or rather slave of an absolute prince.* That whereas, in the ordinary state of Nature, he has a liberty to judge of his right, according to the best of his power to maintain it; but whenever his property is invaded by the will and order of his monarch, he has not only no appeal, as those in society ought to have, but, as if he were degraded from the common state of rational creatures, is denied a liberty to judge of, or defend his right, and so is exposed to all the misery and inconveniencies that a man can fear from one, who being in the unrestrained state of Nature, is yet corrupted with flattery and armed with power.
* "To take away all such mutual grievances, injuries, and wrongs- i.e., such as attend men in the state of Nature, there was no way but only by growing into composition and agreement amongst themselves by ordaining some kind of government public, and by yielding themselves subject thereunto, that unto whom they granted authority to rule and govern, by them the peace, tranquillity, and happy estate of the rest might be procured. Men always knew that where force and injury was offered, they might be defenders of themselves. They knew that, however men may seek their own commodity, yet if this were done with injury unto others, it was not to be suffered, but by all men and all good means to be withstood. Finally, they knew that no man might, in reason, take upon him to determine his own right, and according to his own determination proceed in maintenance thereof, in as much as every man is towards himself, and them whom he greatly affects, partial; and therefore, that strifes and troubles would be endless, except they gave their common consent, all to be ordered by some whom they should agree upon, without which consent there would be no reason that one man should take upon him to be lord or judge over another." Hooker, ibid. 10.
92. For he that thinks absolute power purifies men's blood, and corrects the baseness of human nature, need read but the history of this, or any other age, to be convinced to the contrary. He that would have been insolent and injurious in the woods of America would not probably be much better on a throne, where perhaps learning and religion shall be found out to justify all that he shall do to his subjects, and the sword presently silence all those that dare question it. For what the protection of absolute monarchy is, what kind of fathers of their countries it makes princes to be, and to what a degree of happiness and security it carries civil society, where this sort of government is grown to perfection, he that will look into the late relation of Ceylon may easily see.
93. In absolute monarchies, indeed, as well as other governments of the world, the subjects have an appeal to the law, and judges to decide any controversies, and restrain any violence that may happen betwixt the subjects themselves, one amongst another. This every one thinks necessary, and believes; he deserves to be thought a declared enemy to society and mankind who should go about to take it away. But whether this be from a true love of mankind and society, and such a charity as we owe all one to another, there is reason to doubt. For this is no more than what every man, who loves his own power, profit, or greatness, may, and naturally must do, keep those animals from hurting or destroying one another who labour and drudge only for his pleasure and advantage; and so are taken care of, not out of any love the master has for them, but love of himself, and the profit they bring him. For if it be asked what security, what fence is there in such a state against the violence and oppression of this absolute ruler, the very question can scarce be borne. They are ready to tell you that it deserves death only to ask after safety. Betwixt subject and subject, they will grant, there must be measures, laws, and judges for their mutual peace and security. But as for the ruler, he ought to be absolute, and is above all such circumstances; because he has a power to do more hurt and wrong, it is right when he does it. To ask how you may be guarded from or injury on that side, where the strongest hand is to do it, is presently the voice of faction and rebellion. As if when men, quitting the state of Nature, entered into society, they agreed that all of them but one should be under the restraint of laws; but that he should still retain all the liberty of the state of Nature, increased with power, and made licentious by impunity. This is to think that men are so foolish that they take care to avoid what mischiefs may be done them by polecats or foxes, but are content, nay, think it safety, to be devoured by lions.
94. But, whatever flatterers may talk to amuse people's understandings, it never hinders men from feeling; and when they perceive that any man, in what station soever, is out of the bounds of the civil society they are of, and that they have no appeal, on earth, against any harm they may receive from him, they are apt to think themselves in the state of Nature, in respect of him whom they find to be so; and to take care, as soon as they can, to have that safety and security, in civil society, for which it was first instituted, and for which only they entered into it. And therefore, though perhaps at first, as shall be showed more at large hereafter, in the following part of this discourse, some one good and excellent man having got a pre-eminency amongst the rest, had this deference paid to his goodness and virtue, as to a kind of natural authority, that the chief rule, with arbitration of their differences, by a tacit consent devolved into his hands, without any other caution but the assurance they had of his uprightness and wisdom; yet when time giving authority, and, as some men would persuade us, sacredness to customs, which the negligent and unforeseeing innocence of the first ages began, had brought in successors of another stamp, the people finding their properties not secure under the government as then it was* (whereas government has no other end but the preservation of property), could never be safe, nor at rest, nor think themselves in civil society, till the legislative was so placed in collective bodies of men, call them senate, parliament, or what you please, by which means every single person became subject equally with other the meanest men, to those laws, which he himself, as part of the legislative, had established; nor could any one, by his own authority, avoid the force of the law, when once made, nor by any pretence of superiority plead exemption, thereby to license his own, or the miscarriages of any of his dependants. No man in civil society can be exempted from the laws of it. For if any man may do what he thinks fit and there be no appeal on earth for redress or security against any harm he shall do, I ask whether he be not perfectly still in the state of Nature, and so can be no part or member of that civil society, unless any one will say the state of Nature and civil society are one and the same thing, which I have never yet found any one so great a patron of anarchy as to affirm.*(2)
* "At the first, when some certain kind of regimen was once appointed, it may be that nothing was then further thought upon for the manner of governing, but all permitted unto their wisdom and discretion which were to rule till, by experience, they found this for all parts very inconvenient, so as the thing which they had devised for a remedy did indeed but increase the sore which it should have cured. They saw that to live by one man's will became the cause of all men's misery. This constrained them to come unto laws wherein all men might see their duty beforehand, and know the penalties of transgressing them." Hooker, Eccl. Pol. i. 10.
*(2) "Civil law, being the act of the whole body politic, doth therefore overrule each several part of the same body." Hooker, ibid.
Chapter VIII
Of the Beginning of Political Societies 95. MEN being, as has been said, by nature all free, equal, and independent, no one can be put out of this estate and subjected to the political power of another without his own consent, which is done by agreeing with other men, to join and unite into a community for their comfortable, safe, and peaceable living, one amongst another, in a secure enjoyment of their properties, and a greater security against any that are not of it. This any number of men may do, because it injures not the freedom of the rest; they are left, as they were, in the liberty of the state of Nature. When any number of men have so consented to make one community or government, they are thereby presently incorporated, and make one body politic, wherein the majority have a right to act and conclude the rest.
96. For, when any number of men have, by the consent of every individual, made a community, they have thereby made that community one body, with a power to act as one body, which is only by the will and determination of the majority. For that which acts any community, being only the consent of the individuals of it, and it being one body, must move one way, it is necessary the body should move that way whither the greater force carries it, which is the consent of the majority, or else it is impossible it should act or continue one body, one community, which the consent of every individual that united into it agreed that it should; and so every one is bound by that consent to be concluded by the majority. And therefore we see that in assemblies empowered to act by positive laws where no number is set by that positive law which empowers them, the act of the majority passes for the act of the whole, and of course determines as having, by the law of Nature and reason, the power of the whole.
97. And thus every man, by consenting with others to make one body politic under one government, puts himself under an obligation to every one of that society to submit to the determination of the majority, and to be concluded by it; or else this original compact, whereby he with others incorporates into one society, would signify nothing, and be no compact if he be left free and under no other ties than he was in before in the state of Nature. For what appearance would there be of any compact? What new engagement if he were no farther tied by any decrees of the society than he himself thought fit and did actually consent to? This would be still as great a liberty as he himself had before his compact, or any one else in the state of Nature, who may submit himself and consent to any acts of it if he thinks fit.
98. For if the consent of the majority shall not in reason be received as the act of the whole, and conclude every individual, nothing but the consent of every individual can make anything to be the act of the whole, which, considering the infirmities of health and avocations of business, which in a number though much less than that of a commonwealth, will necessarily keep many away from the public assembly; and the variety of opinions and contrariety of interests which unavoidably happen in all collections of men, it is next impossible ever to be had. And, therefore, if coming into society be upon such terms, it will be only like Cato's coming into the theatre, tantum ut exiret. Such a constitution as this would make the mighty leviathan of a shorter duration than the feeblest creatures, and not let it outlast the day it was born in, which cannot be supposed till we can think that rational creatures should desire and constitute societies only to be dissolved. For where the majority cannot conclude the rest, there they cannot act as one body, and consequently will be immediately dissolved again.
99. Whosoever, therefore, out of a state of Nature unite into a community, must be understood to give up all the power necessary to the ends for which they unite into society to the majority of the community, unless they expressly agreed in any number greater than the majority. And this is done by barely agreeing to unite into one political society, which is all the compact that is, or needs be, between the individuals that enter into or make up a commonwealth. And thus, that which begins and actually constitutes any political society is nothing but the consent of any number of freemen capable of majority, to unite and incorporate into such a society. And this is that, and that only, which did or could give beginning to any lawful government in the world.
100. To this I find two objections made: 1. That there are no instances to be found in story of a company of men, independent and equal one amongst another, that met together, and in this way began and set up a government. 2. It is impossible of right that men should do so, because all men, being born under government, they are to submit to that, and are not at liberty to begin a new one.
101. To the first there is this to answer: That it is not at all to be wondered that history gives us but a very little account of men that lived together in the state of Nature. The inconveniencies of that condition, and the love and want of society, no sooner brought any number of them together, but they presently united and in corporated if they designed to continue together. And if we may not suppose men ever to have been in the state of Nature, because we hear not much of them in such a state, we may as well suppose the armies of Salmanasser or Xerxes were never children, because we hear little of them till they were men and embodied in armies. Government is everywhere antecedent to records, and letters seldom come in amongst a people till a long continuation of civil society has, by other more necessary arts, provided for their safety, ease, and plenty. And then they begin to look after the history of their founders, and search into their original when they have outlived the memory of it. For it is with commonwealths as with particular persons, they are commonly ignorant of their own births and infancies; and if they know anything of it, they are beholding for it to the accidental records that others have kept of it. And those that we have of the beginning of any polities in the world, excepting that of the Jews, where God Himself immediately interposed, and which favours not at all paternal dominion, are all either plain instances of such a beginning as I have mentioned, or at least have manifest footsteps of it.
102. He must show a strange inclination to deny evident matter of fact, when it agrees not with his hypothesis, who will not allow that the beginning of Rome and Venice were by the uniting together of several men, free and independent one of another, amongst whom there was no natural superiority or subjection. And if Josephus Acosta's word may be taken, he tells us that in many parts of America there was no government at all. "There are great and apparent conjectures," says he, "that these men [speaking of those of Peru] for a long time had neither kings nor commonwealths, but lived in troops, as they do this day in Florida- the Cheriquanas, those of Brazil, and many other nations, which have no certain kings, but, as occasion is offered in peace or war, they choose their captains as they please" (lib. i. cap. 25). If it be said, that every man there was born subject to his father, or the head of his family. that the subjection due from a child to a father took away not his freedom of uniting into what political society he thought fit, has been already proved; but be that as it will, these men, it is evident, were actually free; and whatever superiority some politicians now would place in any of them, they themselves claimed it not; but, by consent, were all equal, till, by the same consent, they set rulers over themselves. So that their politic societies all began from a voluntary union, and the mutual agreement of men freely acting in the choice of their governors and forms of government.
103. And I hope those who went away from Sparta, with Palantus, mentioned by Justin, will be allowed to have been freemen independent one of another, and to have set up a government over themselves by their own consent. Thus I have given several examples out of history of people, free and in the state of Nature, that, being met together, incorporated and began a commonwealth. And if the want of such instances be an argument to prove that government were not nor could not be so begun, I suppose the contenders for paternal empire were better let it alone than urge it against natural liberty; for if they can give so many instances out of history of governments begun upon paternal right, I think (though at least an argument from what has been to what should of right be of no great force) one might, without any great danger, yield them the cause. But if I might advise them in the case, they would do well not to search too much into the original of governments as they have begun de facto, lest they should find at the foundation of most of them something very little favourable to the design they promote, and such a power as they contend for.
104. But, to conclude: reason being plain on our side that men are naturally free; and the examples of history showing that the governments of the world, that were begun in peace, had their beginning laid on that foundation, and were made by the consent of the people; there can be little room for doubt, either where the right is, or what has been the opinion or practice of mankind about the first erecting of governments.
105. I will not deny that if we look back, as far as history will direct us, towards the original of commonwealths, we shall generally find them under the government and administration of one man. And I am also apt to believe that where a family was numerous enough to subsist by itself, and continued entire together, without mixing with others, as it often happens, where there is much land and few people, the government commonly began in the father. For the father having, by the law of Nature, the same power, with every man else, to punish, as he thought fit, any offences against that law, might thereby punish his transgressing children, even when they were men, and out of their pupilage; and they were very likely to submit to his punishment, and all join with him against the offender in their turns, giving him thereby power to execute his sentence against any transgression, and so, in effect, make him the law-maker and governor over all that remained in conjunction with his family. He was fittest to be trusted; paternal affection secured their property and interest under his care, and the custom of obeying him in their childhood made it easier to submit to him rather than any other. If, therefore, they must have one to rule them, as government is hardly to be avoided amongst men that live together, who so likely to be the man as he that was their common father, unless negligence, cruelty, or any other defect of mind or body, made him unfit for it? But when either the father died. and left his next heir- for want of age, wisdom, courage, or any other qualities- less fit for rule, or where several families met and consented to continue together, there, it is not to be doubted, but they used their natural freedom to set up him whom they judged the ablest and most likely to rule well over them. Conformable hereunto we find the people of America, who- living out of the reach of the conquering swords and spreading domination of the two great empires of Peru and Mexico- enjoyed their own natural freedom, though, caeteris paribus, they commonly prefer the heir of their deceased king; yet, if they find him any way weak or incapable, they pass him by, and set up the stoutest and bravest man for their ruler.
106. Thus, though looking back as far as records give us any account of peopling the world, and the history of nations, we commonly find the government to be in one hand, yet it destroys not that which I affirm- viz., that the beginning of politic society depends upon the consent of the individuals to join into and make one society, who, when they are thus incorporated, might set up what form of government they thought fit. But this having given occasion to men to mistake and think that, by Nature, government was monarchical, and belonged to the father, it may not be amiss here to consider why people, in the beginning, generally pitched upon this form, which, though perhaps the father's pre-eminency might, in the first institution of some commonwealths, give a rise to and place in the beginning the power in one hand, yet it is plain that the reason that continued the form of government in a single person was not any regard or respect to paternal authority, since all petty monarchies- that is, almost all monarchies, near their original, have been commonly, at least upon occasion, elective.
107. First, then, in the beginning of things, the father's government of the childhood of those sprung from him having accustomed them to the rule of one man, and taught them that where it was exercised with care and skill, with affection and love to those under it, it was sufficient to procure and preserve men (all the political happiness they sought for in society), it was no wonder that they should pitch upon and naturally run into that form of government which, from their infancy, they had been all accustomed to, and which, by experience, they had found both easy and safe. To which if we add, that monarchy being simple and most obvious to men, whom neither experience had instructed in forms of government, nor the ambition or insolence of empire had taught to beware of the encroachments of prerogative or the inconveniencies of absolute power, which monarchy, in succession, was apt to lay claim to and bring upon them; it was not at all strange that they should not much trouble themselves to think of methods of restraining any exorbitances of those to whom they had given the authority over them, and of balancing the power of government by placing several parts of it in different hands. They had neither felt the oppression of tyrannical dominion, nor did the fashion of the age, nor their possessions or way of living, which afforded little matter for covetousness or ambition, give them any reason to apprehend or provide against it; and, therefore, it is no wonder they put themselves into such a frame of government as was not only, as I said, most obvious and simple, but also best suited to their present state and condition, which stood more in need of defence against foreign invasions and injuries than of multiplicity of laws where there was but very little property, and wanted not variety of rulers and abundance of officers to direct and look after their execution where there were but few trespassers and few offenders. Since, then, those who liked one another so well as to join into society cannot but be supposed to have some acquaintance and friendship together, and some trust one in another, they could not but have greater apprehensions of others than of one another; and, therefore, their first care and thought cannot but be supposed to be, how to secure themselves against foreign force. It was natural for them to put themselves under a frame of government which might best serve to that end, and choose the wisest and bravest man to conduct them in their wars and lead them out against their enemies, and in this chiefly be their ruler.
108. Thus we see that the kings of the Indians, in America, which is still a pattern of the first ages in Asia and Europe, whilst the inhabitants were too few for the country, and want of people and money gave men no temptation to enlarge their possessions of land or contest for wider extent of ground, are little more than generals of their armies; and though they command absolutely in war, yet at home, and in time of peace, they exercise very little dominion, and have but a very moderate sovereignty, the resolutions of peace and war being ordinarily either in the people or in a council, though the war itself, which admits not of pluralities of governors, naturally evolves the command into the king's sole authority.
109. And thus, in Israel itself, the chief business of their judges and first kings seems to have been to be captains in war and leaders of their armies, which (besides what is signified by "going out and in before the people," which was, to march forth to war and home again at the heads of their forces) appears plainly in the story of Jephtha. The Ammonites making war upon Israel, the Gileadites, in fear, send to Jephtha, a bastard of their family, whom they had cast off, and article with him, if he will assist them against the Ammonites, to make him their ruler, which they do in these words: "And the people made him head and captain over them" (Judges 11. 11), which was, as it seems, all one as to be judge. "And he judged Israel" (Judges 12. 7)- that is, was their captain-general- "six years." So when Jotham upbraids the Shechemites with the obligation they had to Gideon, who had been their judge and ruler, he tells them: "He fought for you, and adventured his life for, and delivered you out of the hands of Midian" (Judges 9. 17). Nothing mentioned of him but what he did as a general, and, indeed, that is all is found in his history, or in any of the rest of the judges. And Abimelech particularly is called king, though at most he was but their general. And when, being weary of the ill-conduct of Samuel's sons, the children of Israel desired a king, "like all the nations, to judge them, and to go out before them, and to fight their battles" (1 Sam. 8. 20), God, granting their desire, says to Samuel, "I will send thee a man, and thou shalt anoint him to be captain over my people Israel, that he may save my people out of the hands of the Philistines" (ch. 9. 16). As if the only business of a king had been to lead out their armies and fight in their defence; and, accordingly, at his inauguration, pouring a vial of oil upon him, declares to Saul that "the Lord had anointed him to be captain over his inheritance" (ch. 10. 1). And therefore those who, after Saul being solemnly chosen and saluted king by the tribes at Mispah, were unwilling to have him their king, make no other objection but this, "How shall this man save us?" (ch. 10. 27), as if they should have said: "This man is unfit to be our king, not having skill and conduct enough in war to be able to defend us." And when God resolved to transfer the government to David, it is in these words: "But now thy kingdom shall not continue: the Lord hath sought Him a man after His own heart, and the Lord hath commanded him to be captain over His people" (ch. 13. 14.). As if the whole kingly authority were nothing else but to be their general; and therefore the tribes who had stuck to Saul's family, and opposed David's reign, when they came to Hebron with terms of submission to him, they tell him, amongst other arguments, they had to submit to him as to their king, that he was, in effect, their king in Saul's time, and therefore they had no reason but to receive him as their king now. "Also," say they, "in time past, when Saul was king over us, thou wast he that leddest out and broughtest in Israel, and the Lord said unto thee, Thou shalt feed my people Israel, and thou shalt be a captain over Israel."
110. Thus, whether a family, by degrees, grew up into a commonwealth, and the fatherly authority being continued on to the elder son, every one in his turn growing up under it tacitly submitted to it, and the easiness and equality of it not offending any one, every one acquiesced till time seemed to have confirmed it and settled a right of succession by prescription; or whether several families, or the descendants of several families, whom chance, neighbourhood, or business brought together, united into society; the need of a general whose conduct might defend them against their enemies in war, and the great confidence the innocence and sincerity of that poor but virtuous age, such as are almost all those which begin governments that ever come to last in the world, gave men one of another, made the first beginners of commonwealths generally put the rule into one man's hand, without any other express limitation or restraint but what the nature of the thing and the end of government required. It was given them for the public good and safety, and to those ends, in the infancies of commonwealths, they commonly used it; and unless they had done so, young societies could not have subsisted. Without such nursing fathers, without this care of the governors, all governments would have sunk under the weakness and infirmities of their infancy, the prince and the people had soon perished together.
111. But the golden age (though before vain ambition, and amor sceleratus habendi, evil concupiscence had corrupted men's minds into a mistake of true power and honour) had more virtue, and consequently better governors, as well as less vicious subjects; and there was then no stretching prerogative on the one side to oppress the people, nor, consequently, on the other, any dispute about privilege, to lessen or restrain the power of the magistrate; and so no contest betwixt rulers and people about governors or government.* Yet, when ambition and luxury, in future ages, would retain and increase the power, without doing the business for which it was given, and aided by flattery, taught princes to have distinct and separate interests from their people, men found it necessary to examine more carefully the original and rights of government, and to find out ways to restrain the exorbitances and prevent the abuses of that power, which they having entrusted in another's hands, only for their own good, they found was made use of to hurt them.
* "At the first, when some certain kind of regimen was once approved, it may be that nothing was then further thought upon for the manner of governing, but all permitted unto their wisdom and discretion, which were to rule till, by experience, they found this for all parts very inconvenient, so as the thing which they had devised for a remedy did indeed but increase the sore which it should have cured. They saw that to live by one man's will became the cause of all men's misery. This constrained them to come unto laws wherein all men might see their duty beforehand, and know the penalties of transgressing them." Hooker, Eccl. Pol. 1. 10.
112. Thus we may see how probable it is that people that were naturally free, and, by their own consent, either submitted to the government of their father, or united together, out of different families, to make a government, should generally put the rule into one man's hands, and choose to be under the conduct of a single person, without so much, as by express conditions, limiting or regulating his power, which they thought safe enough in his honesty and prudence; though they never dreamed of monarchy being jure Divino, which we never heard of among mankind till it was revealed to us by the divinity of this last age, nor ever allowed paternal power to have a right to dominion or to be the foundation of all government. And thus much may suffice to show that, as far as we have any light from history, we have reason to conclude that all peaceful beginnings of government have been laid in the consent of the people. I say "peaceful," because I shall have occasion, in another place, to speak of conquest, which some esteem a way of beginning of governments.
The other objection, I find, urged against the beginning of polities, in the way I have mentioned, is this, viz.:
113. "That all men being born under government, some or other, it is impossible any of them should ever be free and at liberty to unite together and begin a new one, or ever be able to erect a lawful government." If this argument be good, I ask, How came so many lawful monarchies into the world? For if anybody, upon this supposition, can show me any one man, in any age of the world, free to begin a lawful monarchy, I will be bound to show him ten other free men at liberty, at the same time, to unite and begin a new government under a regal or any other form. It being demonstration that if any one born under the dominion of another may be so free as to have a right to command others in a new and distinct empire, every one that is born under the dominion of another may be so free too, and may become a ruler or subject of a distinct separate government. And so, by this their own principle, either all men, however born, are free, or else there is but one lawful prince, one lawful government in the world; and then they have nothing to do but barely to show us which that is, which, when they have done, I doubt not but all mankind will easily agree to pay obedience to him.
114. Though it be a sufficient answer to their objection to show that it involves them in the same difficulties that it doth those they use it against, yet I shall endeavour to discover the weakness of this argument a little farther.
"All men," say they, "are born under government, and therefore they cannot be at liberty to begin a new one. Every one is born a subject to his father or his prince, and is therefore under the perpetual tie of subjection and allegiance." It is plain mankind never owned nor considered any such natural subjection that they were born in, to one or to the other, that tied them, without their own consents, to a subjection to them and their heirs.
115. For there are no examples so frequent in history, both sacred and profane, as those of men withdrawing themselves and their obedience from the jurisdiction they were born under, and the family or community they were bred up in, and setting up new governments in other places, from whence sprang all that number of petty commonwealths in the beginning of ages, and which always multiplied as long as there was room enough, till the stronger or more fortunate swallowed the weaker; and those great ones, again breaking to pieces, dissolved into lesser dominions; all which are so many testimonies against paternal sovereignty, and plainly prove that it was not the natural right of the father descending to his heirs that made governments in the beginning; since it was impossible, upon that ground, there should have been so many little kingdoms but only one universal monarchy if men had not been at liberty to separate themselves from their families and their government, be it what it will that was set up in it, and go and make distinct commonwealths and other governments as they thought fit.
116. This has been the practice of the world from its first beginning to this day; nor is it now any more hindrance to the freedom of mankind, that they are born under constituted and ancient polities that have established laws and set forms of government, than if they were born in the woods amongst the unconfined inhabitants that run loose in them. For those who would persuade us that by being born under any government we are naturally subjects to it, and have no more any title or pretence to the freedom of the state of Nature, have no other reason (bating that of paternal power, which we have already answered) to produce for it, but only because our fathers or progenitors passed away their natural liberty, and thereby bound up themselves and their posterity to a perpetual subjection to the government which they themselves submitted to. It is true that whatever engagements or promises any one made for himself, he is under the obligation of them, but cannot by any compact whatsoever bind his children or posterity. For his son, when a man, being altogether as free as the father, any act of the father can no more give away the liberty of the son than it can of anybody else. He may, indeed, annex such conditions to the land he enjoyed, as a subject of any commonwealth, as may oblige his son to be of that community, if he will enjoy those possessions which were his father's, because that estate being his father's property, he may dispose or settle it as he pleases.
117. And this has generally given the occasion to the mistake in this matter; because commonwealths not permitting any part of their dominions to be dismembered, nor to be enjoyed by any but those of their community, the son cannot ordinarily enjoy the possessions of his father but under the same terms his father did, by becoming a member of the society, whereby he puts himself presently under the government he finds there established, as much as any other subject of that commonweal. And thus the consent of free men, born under government, which only makes them members of it, being given separately in their turns, as each comes to be of age, and not in a multitude together, people take no notice of it, and thinking it not done at all, or not necessary, conclude they are naturally subjects as they are men.
118. But it is plain governments themselves understand it otherwise; they claim no power over the son because of that they had over the father; nor look on children as being their subjects, by their fathers being so. If a subject of England have a child by an Englishwoman in France, whose subject is he? Not the King of England's; for he must have leave to be admitted to the privileges of it. Nor the King of France's, for how then has his father a liberty to bring him away, and breed him as he pleases; and whoever was judged as a traitor or deserter, if he left, or warred against a country, for being barely born in it of parents that were aliens there? It is plain, then, by the practice of governments themselves, as well as by the law of right reason, that a child is born a subject of no country nor government. He is under his father's tuition and authority till he come to age of discretion, and then he is a free man, at liberty what government he will put himself under, what body politic he will unite himself to. For if an Englishman's son born in France be at liberty, and may do so, it is evident there is no tie upon him by his father being a subject of that kingdom, nor is he bound up by any compact of his ancestors; and why then hath not his son, by the same reason, the same liberty, though he be born anywhere else? Since the power that a father hath naturally over his children is the same wherever they be born, and the ties of natural obligations are not bounded by the positive limits of kingdoms and commonwealths.
119. Every man being, as has been showed, naturally free, and nothing being able to put him into subjection to any earthly power, but only his own consent, it is to be considered what shall be understood to be a sufficient declaration of a man's consent to make him subject to the laws of any government. There is a common distinction of an express and a tacit consent, which will concern our present case. Nobody doubts but an express consent of any man, entering into any society, makes him a perfect member of that society, a subject of that government. The difficulty is, what ought to be looked upon as a tacit consent, and how far it binds- i.e., how far any one shall be looked on to have consented, and thereby submitted to any government, where he has made no expressions of it at all. And to this I say, that every man that hath any possession or enjoyment of any part of the dominions of any government doth hereby give his tacit consent, and is as far forth obliged to obedience to the laws of that government, during such enjoyment, as any one under it, whether this his possession be of land to him and his heirs for ever, or a lodging only for a week; or whether it be barely travelling freely on the highway; and, in effect, it reaches as far as the very being of any one within the territories of that government.
120. To understand this the better, it is fit to consider that every man when he at first incorporates himself into any commonwealth, he, by his uniting himself thereunto, annexes also, and submits to the community those possessions which he has, or shall acquire, that do not already belong to any other government. For it would be a direct contradiction for any one to enter into society with others for the securing and regulating of property, and yet to suppose his land, whose property is to be regulated by the laws of the society, should be exempt from the jurisdiction of that government to which he himself, and the property of the land, is a subject. By the same act, therefore, whereby any one unites his person, which was before free, to any commonwealth, by the same he unites his possessions, which were before free, to it also; and they become, both of them, person and possession, subject to the government and dominion of that commonwealth as long as it hath a being. Whoever therefore, from thenceforth, by inheritance, purchases permission, or otherwise enjoys any part of the land so annexed to, and under the government of that commonweal, must take it with the condition it is under- that is, of submitting to the government of the commonwealth, under whose jurisdiction it is, as far forth as any subject of it.
121. But since the government has a direct jurisdiction only over the land and reaches the possessor of it (before he has actually incorporated himself in the society) only as he dwells upon and enjoys that, the obligation any one is under by virtue of such enjoyment to submit to the government begins and ends with the enjoyment; so that whenever the owner, who has given nothing but such a tacit consent to the government will, by donation, sale or otherwise, quit the said possession, he is at liberty to go and incorporate himself into any other commonwealth, or agree with others to begin a new one in vacuis locis, in any part of the world they can find free and unpossessed; whereas he that has once, by actual agreement and any express declaration, given his consent to be of any commonweal, is perpetually and indispensably obliged to be, and remain unalterably a subject to it, and can never be again in the liberty of the state of Nature, unless by any calamity the government he was under comes to be dissolved.
122. But submitting to the laws of any country, living quietly and enjoying privileges and protection under them, makes not a man a member of that society; it is only a local protection and homage due to and from all those who, not being in a state of war, come within the territories belonging to any government, to all parts whereof the force of its law extends. But this no more makes a man a member of that society, a perpetual subject of that commonwealth, than it would make a man a subject to another in whose family he found it convenient to abide for some time, though, whilst he continued in it, he were obliged to comply with the laws and submit to the government he found there. And thus we see that foreigners, by living all their lives under another government, and enjoying the privileges and protection of it, though they are bound, even in conscience, to submit to its administration as far forth as any denizen, yet do not thereby come to be subjects or members of that commonwealth. Nothing can make any man so but his actually entering into it by positive engagement and express promise and compact. This is that which, I think, concerning the beginning of political societies, and that consent which makes any one a member of any commonwealth.
Chapter IX
Of the Ends of Political Society and Government 123. IF man in the state of Nature be so free as has been said, if he be absolute lord of his own person and possessions, equal to the greatest and subject to nobody, why will he part with his freedom, this empire, and subject himself to the dominion and control of any other power? To which it is obvious to answer, that though in the state of Nature he hath such a right, yet the enjoyment of it is very uncertain and constantly exposed to the invasion of others; for all being kings as much as he, every man his equal, and the greater part no strict observers of equity and justice, the enjoyment of the property he has in this state is very unsafe, very insecure. This makes him willing to quit this condition which, however free, is full of fears and continual dangers; and it is not without reason that he seeks out and is willing to join in society with others who are already united, or have a mind to unite for the mutual preservation of their lives, liberties and estates, which I call by the general name- property.
124. The great and chief end, therefore, of men uniting into commonwealths, and putting themselves under government, is the preservation of their property; to which in the state of Nature there are many things wanting.
Firstly, there wants an established, settled, known law, received and allowed by common consent to be the standard of right and wrong, and the common measure to decide all controversies between them. For though the law of Nature be plain and intelligible to all rational creatures, yet men, being biased by their interest, as well as ignorant for want of study of it, are not apt to allow of it as a law binding to them in the application of it to their particular cases.
125. Secondly, in the state of Nature there wants a known and indifferent judge, with authority to determine all differences according to the established law. For every one in that state being both judge and executioner of the law of Nature, men being partial to themselves, passion and revenge is very apt to carry them too far, and with too much heat in their own cases, as well as negligence and unconcernedness, make them too remiss in other men's.
126. Thirdly, in the state of Nature there often wants power to back and support the sentence when right, and to give it due execution. They who by any injustice offended will seldom fail where they are able by force to make good their injustice. Such resistance many times makes the punishment dangerous, and frequently destructive to those who attempt it.
127. Thus mankind, notwithstanding all the privileges of the state of Nature, being but in an ill condition while they remain in it are quickly driven into society. Hence it comes to pass, that we seldom find any number of men live any time together in this state. The inconveniencies that they are therein exposed to by the irregular and uncertain exercise of the power every man has of punishing the transgressions of others, make them take sanctuary under the established laws of government, and therein seek the preservation of their property. It is this that makes them so willingly give up every one his single power of punishing to be exercised by such alone as shall be appointed to it amongst them, and by such rules as the community, or those authorised by them to that purpose, shall agree on. And in this we have the original right and rise of both the legislative and executive power as well as of the governments and societies themselves.
128. For in the state of Nature to omit the liberty he has of innocent delights, a man has two powers. The first is to do whatsoever he thinks fit for the preservation of himself and others within the permission of the law of Nature; by which law, common to them all, he and all the rest of mankind are one community, make up one society distinct from all other creatures, and were it not for the corruption and viciousness of degenerate men, there would be no need of any other, no necessity that men should separate from this great and natural community, and associate into lesser combinations. The other power a man has in the state of Nature is the power to punish the crimes committed against that law. Both these he gives up when he joins in a private, if I may so call it, or particular political society, and incorporates into any commonwealth separate from the rest of mankind.
129. The first power- viz., of doing whatsoever he thought fit for the preservation of himself and the rest of mankind, he gives up to be regulated by laws made by the society, so far forth as the preservation of himself and the rest of that society shall require; which laws of the society in many things confine the liberty he had by the law of Nature.
130. Secondly, the power of punishing he wholly gives up, and engages his natural force, which he might before employ in the execution of the law of Nature, by his own single authority, as he thought fit, to assist the executive power of the society as the law thereof shall require. For being now in a new state, wherein he is to enjoy many conveniencies from the labour, assistance, and society of others in the same community, as well as protection from its whole strength, he is to part also with as much of his natural liberty, in providing for himself, as the good, prosperity, and safety of the society shall require, which is not only necessary but just, since the other members of the society do the like.
131. But though men when they enter into society give up the equality, liberty, and executive power they had in the state of Nature into the hands of the society, to be so far disposed of by the legislative as the good of the society shall require, yet it being only with an intention in every one the better to preserve himself, his liberty and property (for no rational creature can be supposed to change his condition with an intention to be worse), the power of the society or legislative constituted by them can never be supposed to extend farther than the common good, but is obliged to secure every one's property by providing against those three defects above mentioned that made the state of Nature so unsafe and uneasy. And so, whoever has the legislative or supreme power of any commonwealth, is bound to govern by established standing laws, promulgated and known to the people, and not by extemporary decrees, by indifferent and upright judges, who are to decide controversies by those laws; and to employ the force of the community at home only in the execution of such laws, or abroad to prevent or redress foreign injuries and secure the community from inroads and invasion. And all this to be directed to no other end but the peace, safety, and public good of the people.

Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on "Children, Churches and Daddies," April 1997) Kuypers is the widely-published poet of particular perspectives and not a little existential rage, but she does not impose her personal or artistic agenda on her magazine. CC+D is a provocative potpourri of news stories, poetry, humor, art and the "dirty underwear" of politics. One piece in this issue is "Crazy," an interview Kuypers conducted with "Madeline," a murderess who was found insane, and is confined to West Virginia's Arronsville Correctional Center. Madeline, whose elevator definitely doesn't go to the top, killed her boyfriend during sex with an ice pick and a chef's knife, far surpassing the butchery of Elena Bobbitt. Madeline, herself covered with blood, sat beside her lover's remains for three days, talking to herself, and that is how the police found her. For effect, Kuypers publishes Madeline's monologue in different-sized type, and the result is something between a sense of Dali's surrealism and Kafka-like craziness.

Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada
I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer's styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.

Ed Hamilton, writer #85 (of children, churches and daddies) turned out well. I really enjoyed the humor section, especially the test score answers. And, the cup-holder story is hilarious. I'm not a big fan of poetry - since much of it is so hard to decipher - but I was impressed by the work here, which tends toward the straightforward and unpretentious. As for the fiction, the piece by Anderson is quite perceptive: I liked the way the self-deluding situation of the character is gradually, subtly revealed. (Kuypers') story is good too: the way it switches narrative perspective via the letter device is a nice touch.

Children, Churches and Daddies.
It speaks for itself.
Write to Scars Publications to submit poetry, prose and artwork to Children, Churches and Daddies literary magazine, or to inquire about having your own chapbook, and maybe a few reviews like these.

Jim Maddocks, GLASGOW, via the Internet I'll be totally honest, of the material in Issue (either 83 or 86 of Children, Churches and Daddies) the only ones I really took to were Kuypers'. TRYING was so simple but most truths are, aren't they?

---

what is veganism?
A vegan (VEE-gun) is someone who does not consume any animal products. While vegetarians avoid flesh foods, vegans don't consume dairy or egg products, as well as animal products in clothing and other sources.

why veganism?
This cruelty-free lifestyle provides many benefits, to animals, the environment and to ourselves. The meat and dairy industry abuses billions of animals. Animal agriculture takes an enormous toll on the land. Consumtion of animal products has been linked to heart disease, colon and breast cancer, osteoporosis, diabetes and a host of other conditions.

so what is vegan action?
We can succeed in shifting agriculture away from factory farming, saving millions, or even billions of chickens, cows, pigs, sheep turkeys and other animals from cruelty.
We can free up land to restore to wilderness, pollute less water and air, reduce topsoil reosion, and prevent desertification.
We can improve the health and happiness of millions by preventing numerous occurrences od breast and prostate cancer, osteoporosis, and heart attacks, among other major health problems.

A vegan, cruelty-free lifestyle may be the most important step a person can take towards creatin a more just and compassionate society. Contact us for membership information, t-shirt sales or donations.

vegan action
po box 4353, berkeley, ca 94707-0353
510/704-4444

---

C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies) CC&D is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist. "I really like ("Writing Your Name"). It's one of those kind of things where your eye isn't exactly pulled along, but falls effortlessly down the poem. I liked "knowledge" for its mix of disgust and acceptance. Janet Kuypers does good little movies, by which I mean her stuff provokes moving imagery for me. Color, no dialogue; the voice of the poem is the narrator over the film.

Children, Churches and Daddies no longer distributes free contributor's copies of issues. In order to receive issues of Children, Churches and Daddies, contact Janet Kuypers at the cc&d e-mail addres. Free electronic subscriptions are available via email. All you need to do is email ccandd@aol.com... and ask to be added to the free cc+d electronic subscription mailing list. And you can still see issues every month at the Children, Churches and Daddies website, located at http://scars.tv

Also, visit our new web sites: the Art Gallery and the Poetry Page.

Mark Blickley, writer The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.

---

MIT Vegetarian Support Group (VSG)

functions:
* To show the MIT Food Service that there is a large community of vegetarians at MIT (and other health-conscious people) whom they are alienating with current menus, and to give positive suggestions for change.
* To exchange recipes and names of Boston area veg restaurants
* To provide a resource to people seeking communal vegetarian cooking
* To provide an option for vegetarian freshmen

We also have a discussion group for all issues related to vegetarianism, which currently has about 150 members, many of whom are outside the Boston area. The group is focusing more toward outreach and evolving from what it has been in years past. We welcome new members, as well as the opportunity to inform people about the benefits of vegetarianism, to our health, the environment, animal welfare, and a variety of other issues.

---

Gary, Editor, The Road Out of Town (on the Children, Churches and Daddies Web Site) I just checked out the site. It looks great.

Dusty Dog Reviews: These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding.

John Sweet, writer (on chapbook designs) Visuals were awesome. They've got a nice enigmatic quality to them. Front cover reminds me of the Roman sculptures of angels from way back when. Loved the staggered tire lettering, too. Way cool. (on "Hope Chest in the Attic") Some excellent writing in "Hope Chest in the Attic." I thought "Children, Churches and Daddies" and "The Room of the Rape" were particularly powerful pieces.

C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review: CC&D is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist.

Cheryl Townsend, Editor, Impetus (on Children, Churches and Daddies) The new CC&D looks absolutely amazing. It's a wonderful lay-out, looks really professional - all you need is the glossy pages. Truly impressive AND the calendar, too. Can't wait to actually start reading all the stuff inside.. Wanted to just say, it looks good so far!!!

Dusty Dog Reviews: She opens with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, "Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment." Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers' very personal layering of her poem across the page.

---

Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA
Indeed, there's a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there's a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.

Mark Blickley, writer
The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.

You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.

Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book or chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers. We're only an e-mail away. Write to us.

---

Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies') obvious dedication along this line admirable.

The Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology
The Solar Energy Research & Education Foundation (SEREF), a non-profit organization based in Washington, D.C., established on Earth Day 1993 the Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology (CREST) as its central project. CREST's three principal projects are to provide:
* on-site training and education workshops on the sustainable development interconnections of energy, economics and environment;
* on-line distance learning/training resources on CREST's SOLSTICE computer, available from 144 countries through email and the Internet;
* on-disc training and educational resources through the use of interactive multimedia applications on CD-ROM computer discs - showcasing current achievements and future opportunities in sustainable energy development.
The CREST staff also does "on the road" presentations, demonstrations, and workshops showcasing its activities and available resources.
For More Information Please Contact: Deborah Anderson
dja@crest.org or (202) 289-0061

Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies') obvious dedication along this line admirable.

---

Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA
"Hope Chest in the Attic" captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family.
"Chain Smoking" depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. "The room of the rape" is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.

want a review like this? contact scars about getting your own book published.

---

Paul Weinman, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) Wonderful new direction (Children, Churches and Daddies has) taken - great articles, etc. (especially those on AIDS). Great stories - all sorts of hot info!

The magazine Children Churches and Daddies is Copyright © through Scars Publications and Design. The rights of the individual pieces remain with the authors. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Okay, nilla wafer. Listen up and listen good. How to save your life. Submit, or I'll have to kill you.
Okay, it's this simple: send me published or unpublished poetry, prose or art work (do not send originals), along with a bio, to us - then sit around and wait... Pretty soon you'll hear from the happy people at cc&d that says (a) Your work sucks, or (b) This is fancy crap, and we're gonna print it. It's that simple!

Okay, butt-munch. Tough guy. This is how to win the editors over.
Hope Chest in the Attic is a 200 page, perfect-bound book of 13 years of poetry, prose and art by Janet Kuypers. It's a really classy thing, if you know what I mean. We also have a few extra sopies of the book "Rinse and Repeat", which has all the 1999 issues of cc&d crammed into one book. And you can have either one of these things at just five bucks a pop if you just contact us. It's an offer you can't refuse...

Carlton Press, New York, NY: HOPE CHEST IN THE ATTIC is a collection of well-fashioned, often elegant poems and short prose that deals in many instances, with the most mysterious and awesome of human experiences: love... Janet Kuypers draws from a vast range of experiences and transforms thoughts into lyrical and succinct verse... Recommended as poetic fare that will titillate the palate in its imagery and imaginative creations.
Mark Blickley, writer: The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing the book.

You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.
Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book and chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers - you can write for yourself or you can write for an audience. It's your call...

Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA: "Hope Chest in the Attic" captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family. "Chain Smoking" depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. "The room of the rape" is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.

Dusty Dog Reviews, CA (on knife): These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding. Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.

Dusty Dog Reviews (on Without You): She open with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, "Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment." Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers' very personal layering of her poem across the page.
Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.

Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada (on Children, Churches and Daddies): I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer's styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.
Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA: Indeed, there's a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there's a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.

Published since 1993 No racist, sexist or homophobic material is appreciated; we do accept work of almost any genre of poetry, prose or artwork, though we shy away from concrete poetry and rhyme for rhyme's sake. Do not send originals. Any work sent to Scars Publications on Macintosh disks, text format, will be given special attention over smail-mail submissions. There is no limit to how much you may submit at a time; previously published work accepted.