Memoir Monday, Sept 30, 66

When you read today's entry, it is soon clear a lot had happened. That is almost an understatement!! In some ways I guess it could be termed the beginning of the end but the finale was still long in coming--a year and some, actually. Instead of explaining I will pick up and cover bits of a few intervening days to give this day a context. right after this journal page. 

Sept 30, 1966

I managed to keep busy.  To Accounting at 9:00 and then caught up on my homework so I’d have nothing to take home. Lunch and off to History. It began to rain. When I got back to the dorm I checked my message box and found a note from Dad. I guess I am psychic because something told me to check. I got my photos back  but they gave me credit for bad ones instead of film as it was most of the roll. I was a little peeved. At 3:00 I got restless and left with my purse, little blue overnight case and little blue umbrella. It had really rained and hailed uptown and it was a mess. I slogged along. We missed but the Boss finally came back to the courthouse and found me so we left.  Went to the bank to sign an affidavit (more of those damn things) and I saw another “Dusty look alike” but this guy wore engineer boots, a non-western shirt, and had a roman nose and a beer belly. But he sure looked at me strangely. We went home via the Montezuma Stable to see the animals and I got all the details of the past two weeks. It is really something. It had rained and rained and rained. But I was glad to be home for a bit anyway.

 I  mentioned the storm on the 19th and clearly it went on for some time. Must have been one of those tropical storms that came inland. As I said in last entry, the folks went out and struggled to get the pasture fences back up but that was a futile and wasted effort. Midweek, I think the 27th, I got letters from Mom and Charlie Mike and learned that all the pasture stock have been rounded up, loaded into a big stock or cattle type truck and hauled away to be impounded about Thursday the 22nd   Only Prez and Peachy were not found, probably off somewhere on the river. This becomes significant before long, like next time.  The only animals left in our control were those kept in Clarkdale, seven equines and one donkey.

I was really not shocked because we'd had conflicts over trespass issues and such for so long and the lease payments on the pasture had not been made for several months. It was inevitable. The odd thing really was it had not happened sooner. I felt guilty and sorry about it for awhile but came to realize my presence or absence would have made no difference.  It might have actually been worse if I were there and did something stupid. 

In some ways I was very mad; the Old Man should have seen this coming and taken some action like disposing of some of the animals, relocating them or ??? But he was too blind, stubborn and/or defiant, and too wrapped up in the effing lawsuits! I was glad at that point Tina was gone and Little Dusty although I was sad for Rico and Bravo and some of the mares and favorite mules but I knew in my heart they would be better off. From my departure on, they would not have gotten the care they deserved and needed. Charlie Mike could not do it on his own and had to go to school. Still that was several thousand dollars basically pissed down the drain. Even at slaughter rates. those 25-30 head were worth a significant amount. I have no accurate count but estimate that number. So very foolish and so  damned typical. . 

On to a few other things. I spent the weekend of 24-25 in Flag, walked a lot, and saw Maureen (Jewell--old Mingus friend) at the depot. She was going to Albuquerque and promised to write but it seems she never did; she just vanished. I think I have found her on FB but no response. I skipped the rodeo club picnic/barbecue as it was raining.  Sunday I actually got dressed and went to church, to the pretty one up Beaver. It was Methodist so not unfamiliar but everyone was 60 or more it seemed and I knew I would not go back although they were very nice. I think that was the last time I stepped into a church except for a few required funerals and weddings. What I was needing or trying to find did not seem to be there. I knew little about Pagan beliefs then but eventually found them and knew it was right for me. 

 Monday the 26th I saw Jerry Airth, another old Mingus alum.  He had been part of my Mingus Spirit staff in 1962.  He was now doing graduate work and a TA in the English Department. We went and had coffee and visited a few times. So much of the day-to-day was now even more routine than it had been as a cowboy girl. Nearly a month into my coed life, I said I cannot regret it. It was a choice I had to make, a fork to be taken. I will miss some things for the rest of my life but everything has to be bought in some way or another. 

The first weekend of October at home will keep until next week but I will mention I soon finally heard from Dusty after I was back at Flag! More on that next time. No, I an not trying to create cliff hangers! 

A few more scattered photos, looking back in the dusty vaults. First two of the family working on the flooded fence. Mom and the boys and then Charlie Mike--maybe posed as he cannot recall dad letting him use the chain saw. Next looking down on a familiar scene really never to be visited again. And two more from NAU. First at Homecoming with some of the guys pulling the old Lumberjack Wheels in the parade. (football players or foresters? Not sure!) and a view from the NE corner of the North Quad toward the SF Peaks. There are many more buildings around there now.

 

  

Memoir Monday, Sept 23, 1966

 Okay, then. I got a few votes or mild "please" to go on, so you asked for it! Learn about college life at a smaller conservative school in the mid 60s,  what happened next with Dusty and some other relationships and adventures I got into my first semester. There was a tragedy or two back down in the valley as well.  

Sept 23, 1966

Got up about the usual, ate etc. Went to Accounting and feeling rather ill, I stopped and checked on the grant--shoot, they’re not in yet. Maybe Monday. So I came back and rested until lunch. I had a letter from Judy; they are moving to Murrieta area. I helped Carol lug her stuff out to her car (it’s a white Chevy) and ran down to History. At 2:00 I was free, but it was raining. So I stayed to sprinkle some clothes and then I was called to the phone. I nearly panicked but it was Carol Ordiway. She said she had meant to call and would again next week. Then I went up town to watch trains--saw the express through. JoAnn and others went home on it. And I saw a westbound freight with a small outfit moving. I did not get the numbers which drastically upset me. Charlie Mike will flip but maybe I’ll see another. I bought some grub for the weekend. Guess I’ll skip the ride tomorrow but try to make the barbecue. $4.00 is too steep.

I’m really going to get my driver’s license next week. Then I’ll be able to rent a car. If I don’t turn up Dusty pretty soon I’m going to go find him. Drake is 66 miles from Flag. I could drive it and back in three hours, I’m sure. Say 4:00 to 10:00? Yeah! I spent the evening putting up hems and ironing. Gee it is lonely as hell! I miss Carol’s presence even if she is quiet. I will make it home next weekend. But that is just too good an idea--this bit of renting a car. I know; I’ll have Carol let me drive hers a time or two to get the feel of an automatic shift and then about Thursday I’ll go take the test. Then I’ll have to check out the cost of a rental and then… Damn if that isn’t an idea though. It grows on me. Why be chicken?  I’d better go take a shower. It is 10:30 and I’m kind of tired all of a sudden. I feel a little sick like this morning. My stomach is rebelling again. Hell.

'Splains: The 'express' I mention was probably similar to The Grand Canyon, a  below-top-of-the line passenger and mail train. Carol Ordiway was the wife of my old crush Buster Ordiway with whom I had become Pen Pals back in--was it '63 or '64? Anyway, my new roommate was also Carol, so I'll try to keep that from being confusing. The license and rental car idea never quite worked out; not sure why really but it sounded good then!. 

 To summarize the week, I had spent Sep 17 and 18 in Clarkdale. Saturday I rode with Charlie Mike, riding Chief and leading Leo  while he rode Buzzie and led Lyno. We went to the depot--seems I drove--to pick up some packages and saw Earl and watched the local in. It seemed so small after the big main line trains! I caught the bus in Cottonwood Sunday evening and rode up the first time with Louie, an older guy who became my regular driver and an “honorary grandpa" of sorts. By 9:30 I was back in the dorm.

It was cool and damp for a few days with a larger storm on Monday. I hoped it was not too bad down in the valley. I also laid away a winter coat at one of the lower level stores, Price's (?)  knowing it would soon be cold and my old chore jackets would not work.  It was black vinyl with pile lining and cost $15. It was cute and I said would be $40 at Babbitt's. The next day I picked out a pair of tall winter boots, black also with pile lining and got them at Penney’s for $5.00.

Wednesday I got a letter from Jim (McLarney that is). I’d written to thank him for his help in getting there and we started a correspondence. I noticed a guy in the student union who caught my eye; he was a forestry student and in the rodeo club but I decided he was too young.  Most the guys seemed so immature after Dusty.  I learned the rodeo club met weekly and that they planned a barbecue/picnic and a four hour ride on Saturday; most had horses but some could be rented. What, me rent a horse for $4:00 and *pay* to ride?

 I was wishing Dusty would call but hardly dared to hope. I was not real sure how things were going to be. I still miss him so. There is a big hollow inside me left by the absence of his love and closeness. I had really not heard anything from him since the brief note from the hospital. So much had changed in my life since then yet my heart remained the same… 

By the next weekend--end of September--when I went down to Clarkdale some major changes had happened in my absence.  Things I'd never expected  when I made my last visit much less earlier, before I left. Almost like a big eraser rubbed across parts the past life... 

Photos:  Here is a sample of my curtains--I was not sure I still had them but found them in some of my hoarded memory stuff.  I drew those little horses a lot for years. Then it turns out the storm on the 19th was a bad one. A flood came down across the pasture and the folks struggled to get the fences back up. In the end that was an exercise in futility. I was lucky not to be there. Those pix were not processed until years later when Alex was taking a photography class and did a bunch of old rolls in darkroom practice. Digital was still very new in the early 90s! He was using one of the family's later-acquired Nikons then. Last, two shots from campus, Lumberjack football in the very old open stadium! 

  

Memoir Monday, Sept 16, 1966

 Sept 16, 1966 Fri

Before I go on, I want to ask a question. I know many of my readers have been to college, maybe mostly later than my time there but it is not new or alien territory to the degree my cowboy girl life was. Might it get boring? There are still a number of plot threads that have not been resolved but do you really want to follow them for more installments? A warning, it is going to get a bit more choppy and not match up neatly day to day from here on out for many reasons and I am not sure how I will deal with that aspect.  So does anyone want to continue to follow this saga with those caveats? I surely will not be offended if you say no! I will make a decision probably before the next regular entry which would be September 23, but would appreciate any feedback.

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The week of Sept 9-16 had seen me through my first week of  ‘college’, which included both some things I had expected and a lot of new experiences and challenges.  I had passed the first weekend on campus --well, there and walking all over town! The sudden lack of physical activity and work  for long hours to burn up lots of energy was a difficult adjustment. That first semester I did a lot of walking.

On that weekend, I also wrote letters--including one to Dusty to let him know about my sudden amazing change and where I was now including my campus mailbox and the closest dorm pay phone (old dorm only had a few scattered around)  I had communicated with him very little since his visit in June and his time in the hospital. I was not sure if his mail might still get intercepted or that such contact might put his job if not more at risk, so I had waited. I knew he was back at work now so took the chance and hoped this one would reach him. It did but I did not know that for awhile. 

I met a few girls in the hall and made a couple of tentative friends. I bought some light pink fabric and drew my little horses on it with crayon which 'set' with a warm iron to make curtains.  They did make the room less stark and institutional. After a couple of days, Kim moved out; I heard she was expelled after being caught in a men’s dorm long after curfew. I soon got a new roommate, Carol Nichols, who was close to my age and doing her student teaching. She had roomed for two years with Lila Bentley, a former Mingus grad who had been in my class. Small world. It took longer to get my first check than I had expected and that threw me into a brief panic but I managed to postpone various payments. It finally came midweek and went quickly but all the necessary things were covered.  I went to every class at least twice, attended a meeting of the rodeo club and  began to try to do homework most evenings. I was not too confident I could keep my grades where I felt they needed to be. That four year break…

I usually wrote up the day in my journal shortly before bedtime. Thus, Friday, Sept 16 got skipped because I want back to Clarkdale for the weekend and left soon after my last class. The Boss came up and got me that afternoon. Generally he seemed cordial and mildly curious about my experiences so far. I went along to the pasture and actually took part in a lot of talking, not really “talks” as such. It was a brief repeat of my return from California back in January--all nice and light for a time.  That evening Buzzie seemed to have a mild colic so I rode her around until dark. I felt like a visitor sleeping on the cot in the living room as Charlie Mike now had the double bed, formerly mine,  and that night shared with Alex. who had taken over the cot.

 Three photos from campus, fall 1966. The Forestry Building. The rodeo club met here and I knew several who had classes there.  Then the east face of North Quad and the main door. Morton Hall was around the corner to the right side. Finally, just south of campus on one of my many walks.

Memoir Monday, September 9, 1966

 

September 9 1966

What a difference a mere week could make. Even today it almost makes me dizzy. Space travel? Time Travel? Reincarnation? Magic? None of the above yet all of them. Bear with me for I need to take it day by day leading up to September 9, 1966. That ending entry will be the grande finale or climax of this long and often very hard summer. Even of my 23 year long life in some ways.

Sept 3, 1966 

At times I could cheerfully say “Aw, hell with the whole damn mess. Go cram it up your ears.” I’m tired of this buck passing deal, ready to say to hell with the whole thing. Who is supposed to be doing what?? But one doesn’t. I have to give it a good rodeo try. The fight isn’t over, is it?  

Then I wrote nothing for the 4^th and 5^th, which was the Labor Day weekend. I assume I had labor aplenty and probably quite a few discouraging words at my ‘home on the range.’

Sept 6, 1966

Things have really been spinning today. I got a $100 check from Glenn Wright (Dollars for Scholars), four times as much as I had expected. I could’ve cheered. And I have a letter for Dr McDonald from Dr Joe Pecharich. That should help. I am almost hopeful. The past two days have really been hectic. We caught the whole herd in Tavasci’s on Sunday, then took Cinder to Nichols’ and brought home Baltazar (a mule we had already given that name) and a red horse. This was some kind of trade as I recall. One that took a lot of running…

Then it was up at 4:30 a.m. on Monday to help the herd “disappear” and after that we mended fences, branded Balt etc. So wonder why I am tired?  Today I cleaned all the pens and did some repairs. Then I packed my stuff. I have no way of being sure I can stay but I’d say it is better than 50-50. I will be living in North Hall by the way.

So now to bathe and drag my weary bones off to bed. I’m going to wear my ‘butterfly’ kabuki sleeve skimmer. Doubt if there will be a more special occasion for awhile, so why not? It will be early up. We hauled hay today too. Boy, I am bushed. But maybe… I think I can, I think I can.

Dr McDonald was Louis McDonald who was then the president of NAU. Years before he had been the superintendent of Jerome Schools, so of course Dr Pecharich knew him. Dad actually did too and had taken photos of the high school graduation (in the same auditorium in which I graduated  in 1962) way back about 1947 or 48, when we were still new in Jerome.  Earlier I mentioned the “butterfly” fabric used in the dress I planned to wear  I cannot quite recreate the dress to sketch it but at one time I had said I might be married in it--right after Dusty left in March with our promise fresh in my mind. The whole issue with the herd is very vague now and where we ‘hid’ them stirs no memory at all. The trade with Bill Nichols had been made a few weeks earlier and was finally completed. Why the Boss would add more animals with the  looming possibility my daily work was going to cease, I have no idea! I guess he really did not expect that to happen. I guess I didn't either. But it did… September 7, 1966 is a blank page in the red notebook I was using for my journal. I covered it the next day, so here is that:

September 8, 1966

I lie here on my bed in Morton Hall at 4:00 PM and wonder “Wha’ happened?” We came up yesterday and waited until 1:00 to see Dr. McDonald, but it was perfect because he had a scholarship meeting at 2:00.  Meanwhile I moved into the dorm and met my roommate,  a ditzy blonde named Kim Korte from Phoenix. She reminded me a bit of Judy Crawford. The Boss went to town and returned about 5:00. He gave me all the cash he had,, about $15, and I signed the $100 check over to him. I ate in the dining hall the first time, went to the “President’s Reception” (for new students) and finally in bed to sleep.

This morning I woke at 6:30 and got up. Went to breakfast and reported to Dr. McDonald early. He was very jovial and sent me to see Dr. Schroeder, financial aid officer.  I waited a long while but it was worth it. I got a scholarship and grant totaling $600 per semester. I won’t have to work, just study like hell, make good grades, and enjoy myself.  I’m not sure what has happened but it has to have been miraculous! Then I went to see Dr. Downum who is my academic advisor. He is an absolute doll, really. He encouraged me to skip PE: “We hope they won’t catch up with it.” Now isn’t that nifty? So now all I have to do is register tomorrow morning and pick up my scholarship check and pay my fees.  I am so surprised and overwhelmed I hardly know what to say! I’ve been shopping most of the afternoon and now with Eve’s curse, I am exhausted but I think the walking helped. I’m going to relax ‘til dinner time. There is a tea and a movie this evening. I may go to one or both. I say “Why me?” but with a happy incredulity this time!

September 9, 1966

Standing in line all day is a killing deal. I was there from 7:00 until 11:00 Sheesh. But I got registered all right and got all my classes and will be done by 3:00 on Friday afternoons. That is about as good as I could ask, really. I went shopping again this afternoon. You can sure run through money in a hurry. But I get a $300 check Monday. With that I‘ll pay tuition, one period of room and board and buy books. That will about kill it but there is another $300 on the way. I whiled way the evening writing letters and reading and didn’t go to bed until 12:00. Shame, huh? But this fine leisure ends soon, like on Monday. I have four lousy classes on Monday.

Now for some explanations and clarifying and maybe asides. going back to the first few days. My brief high after the dinner with Mr McL faded fast as things were not very pleasant over that long weekend. I am not sure why I got discouraged but I did. There may have been some more papers to fill out and I had trouble getting cooperation on that.  But then September 7 happened. It passed in a blur. We stopped by the pasture on the way to Flagstaff; I am sure.  I guess Mom and Charlie Mike could have gone  but the boys were in school now. I can’t remember if I wore chore clothes and changed--I must have but that is a blank. We got to Flagstaff late morning and arranged the meeting with Dr McDonald. I almost held my breath but Dad pulled out "the charming" (whew)  and it went well. Still, all the rest of the day I was waiting. When was the sudden blow up, the shocking brutal emotional blackmail fit going to happen? I almost knew it would, so I was ready to say, “Just forget it. Take me home.” Somehow that never came. I still wonder at times. It may not have been cricket for me to give that $100 check to my family but no one ever said a word about it. That was not the only time I did such. 

I know today the idea of $600 for a semester’s expenses in collage is really shocking, almost unimaginable. It was not then. Remember, that seemed like riches to me--one who had bought postage by turning in pop bottles and celebrated when my grandma sent  $1.00 with her frequent letters. As the semester went on, she upped that to $5,00 a month and Uncle Dan sent me $100 a time or two. In all, I got by just fine. 

Don’t misunderstand "a doll";  Dr Downum was totally not a ‘hunk’ or a hot guy! He was about 60 and looked a perfect professor, slightly dowdy and very bookish. But he was very kind and always treated me like a daughter or granddaughter, gentle suggestions,  supportive,  encouraging and truly one of my rocks as I made this abrupt and almost impossible adjustment to morph from a cowboy girl into a coed! Today I could still drop to my knees and offer a hymn of thanks to those Powers that did this for me. No, it was not all sunshine and roses because real life is not, but it was mostly a huge blessing and I was never ungrateful and certainly had few regrets. My link to the prior life continued, weekends and holidays. It was not really severed  for a bit over a year  (fall 1967) and that roman ride held its share of rough points, but I always had the place in my new life to return to which I could count on. 

Photos.  Morton Hall, part of the North Quad women's dorm which ended up being my home for two years with a brief break down to Wilson Hall the summer between them. I carried my suitcase and a couple of boxes up those stairs that afternoon September 7, 1966. Then the red covered steno notebook that I bought in July 1966 which came to hold the record of this incredible saga! And the 'butterfly' fabric mentioned earlier that came from my California adventure.  I had debated what to make with it and  the special dress finally emerged. Wish I had a picture of it. I really loved it.

     

    

Filosophical Phriday Part II

 Filosophical Phriday or maybe Phucked Up  Filosophy

Note: No pictures or eye candy. This is just the force of my words standing on their own solid feet.

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I am not sure why I seem compelled yet again to discuss, defend, explain or share my political stance in this sadly divided county that is my home. But here I am.

 First, I grew to majority as basically a Liberal Libertarian, which might be called an oxymoron. I have always held for independence, responsibility and basically a patriotic feeling for my homeland and its emblems and classic documents. With age I grew slowly more Conservative but that can clash with Libertarianism also. Second I have not called myself a “Christian” nor now a “Cristyun’ Nationalist” at any point.  I was a rather conservative Pagan, another oxymoron. A Pagan I still am and always will be. In the last two decades or so I have shifted from  quasi-conservative activism (I still believe in property rights, minimalizing government control, ownership and ‘rules’ of anything and most of the ‘nanny state’ policies allegedly  created to take care of everyone) but the nuvo-conservatism has lost me totally.  I cannot go there. Period!

 To elaborate, I was raised by what I would term a flawed prototype for the Orange Man. For one thing he was not born rich to assume that level of entitlement but he was a narcissist and a ‘control freak’, fond of coining nasty nicknames for all but a very small circle of those he admired, and demanded absolute loyalty and obedience with dire consequences if you strayed an iota. He also sired and reared three kids, one girl and two boys.  However, he did not grab kitties; he said he loathed cats, and he was wed only once for life and was very much a prude in many ways.

 That brings me to this day. I simply cannot understand how any sane person could truly support and revere DJT in ANY way. He is foulness personified and as near a total opposite of “Jesus” or any other Divine personage as a human could be. He is a whiny, bratty three year old in his behavior and mentality, with no traits and abilities required to be a leader.  The only rationale for this adulation that I can imagine is these people have hidden--or even obvious --leanings toward bigotry, prejudice, discrimination, and a streak of vicious meanness and bullyism. His absolute personification and example thus validates them.  I see them as equally despicable and cannot get past that even for former friends.

Now I go to those who say they dislike or despise him and yet will vote for him in November because 1) they simply cannot accept ‘Liberalism’ even on a temporary basis,  2) they still see him as strong, a ‘true’ patriot and the only way for the USA to ‘be all it can be’. These folks I feel have become literally poisoned by the ‘Orange Koolaid’ of lies and fictions so widely spread by the new Republicans and the Christian Nationalists that they are blinded to reality.(*list of examples available on request) I can barely accept this but still must try to convince one-time friends and folks I have respected to set aside the blinders briefly and see the light! If there were only a Narcan (Nalaxone) type antidote for this lethal drug!

 What do I then advocate? I go to the analogy I’ve been using: suppose you have a wolf just outside the screen door, clawing and about to break in where your kids or grands are playing, unaware. Meanwhile you also have an infestation of cockroaches in the kitchen. What do you try to nullify first?  My answer is to deal with the most immediate and serious danger at once. That means defeating the MAGA machine, thwarting it in every way I can. Then I’ll deal with any troublesome ‘leftist’ roaches. Operative rule is Lethal vs nuisance!!

I see the Republican Regime with Project 2025--which is absolutely NOT a creation and fiction of the Democrats/Leftists--as a very real threat with serious intent to totally erase and recreate this country as a Dictatorship and ultimately a “Christian” Theocracy. Their doctrine and laws will match or exceed those of the Taliban and Imams in abusive restrictions on every aspect of your life. It will also enthrone a system described by Elon Musk where government is absolutely controlled and limited to the “upper strata” of males--the White Uber-Wealthy Oligarchs. People of color and the ‘poor’ uneducated common folks are deemed worthless except to be beasts of burden for the Elite. And of course the inferior female half of humanity are also not ‘real’ humans for they are so stupid, flawed and lacking in skill or ability as to be useless except to bear children and perform menial tasks for the pleasure and comfort of the Elite. Feudalism was called “the Dark Ages’. What would we label this horror??

 I admire Kamala Harris for her determination and her willingness to tackle some of the toughest opposition a politician has ever faced. She has some valid ideas and at least serves to balance this opposite plan. I do NOT agree with many of her long-term plans and ideas nor those of her running mate but I do not fear that or condemn them so strongly that any other alternative is better! Once they are in office, I can do a smooth switch and begin to write letters, even perhaps organize protests or publicize all that I feel is going in the wrong direction but for now, I am going to axe that damn wolf.  Do you, gentle reader, dare to do the same?

 I challenge all who stand in fierce opposition to the ‘horrendous’ Liberal threat. Do you really deep down fear that their policies and programs will endanger and damage you so  badly or are you secretly, maybe not even admitting to yourself, actually appalled and scared shitless that a woman, actually a woman of color could be in charge of your government? 

Ha, I hear so much silence! “Next question, please.” You really do not want to answer that one!

Memoir Monday, Sept 2, 1966

 Sept 2, 1966

It had been a busy and bumpy week from August 26 to September 2.  Every day had a new slant, a new uplift and/or a new let-down. I’ll cover the actual day of September 2 first and then go back and plug in a few events that happened in the interim. Even with having written several lines or paragraphs almost daily, it is hard to reconstruct this complicated epoch. In one more week, it seemed as if I  might  have died and been reborn. Very few events in the whole eight decades of my life were quite so abrupt and complete in bringing a change tome and my life.

Sept 2, 1966

Came and went it did. Just like any other day. I kept busy, of course. Rode Buzz, Lyno and Leo. Made soup for Alex and myself for lunch and then did the washing. I was exhausted when I finished. I did the home chores while Mom and Charlie Mike went out. I got cleaned up when I got finished. Mom drove me up. Now the infamous occasion is over. I ate steak and Jim, being a good Catholic, had fish on Friday. We had a rather pleasant chat and I got a ride in the four-on-the-floor green Merc. No money yet, but I am hopeful. And he has Cindy Walker, chapter one and my resume, which he is to return to me after awhile, with comments. As good as could be expected, probably. The future remains to be seen.

I mentioned last week Mom had started a job on August 15, in a new small factory in Cottonwood that made some kind of garments.  This did not last too long and I am not sure why she was let go. About the 14^th we had gone to the races in Prescott (Quarter Horse track there had races every weekend all summer.) A mare broke her right foreleg right in front of the stands. It was hard to watch; she was a four year old like ours… The track was muddy and she lit wrong, I think. It was right in front of us so we saw and heard the bone snap. A few days later I learned she had been put down and felt so sad. I’d hoped they could save her for a brood mare.  

August 29 I got a telegram from Linda Tellington: if I could get to her place she’d hire me on a trial basis. Oh, that put me in a quandary!! I did consider  trying to do it yet the developing goal of college, knowing a lot of people had worked very hard on that for me made an obligation I had to see through. I though of recommending Maureen and told her but do not think she went. That started a chain of eventful days. 

Charlie Mike and I went out to the pasture twice that day and the folks went to Prescott.. The next day I heard from Mr McLarney (who I soon was calling Jim since we were much closer to equals now I was no longer a student! He was only eight years older than me.) I was invited to dinner on Friday to discuss the college matter.  It also rained and washed my long lost Man ‘O War medal out of the litter in the back yard. I had lost it early in the spring, even before B&B 6 left town. With that, I felt as if I had my luck back. On Aug 31,  I learned I had been accepted for admission to NAU and sent a check to reserve a room in the dorm. I was still concerned about funds but trusted something to come through if it was meant to be.

In case readers have forgotten, Jim McLarney had been my English teacher for two years at Mingus and we got along well then. He helped me with my Valedictorian speech and I guess I was slightly a teacher’s pet. I had  hardly seen him since though and was a bit surprised he remembered me. “Cindy Walker” was my girl-and-horse novel I had been working on for several years by this time  Suddenly it was September, a month that had often been significant for me the last few years. Would it be so this time? The next week could reveal the next chapter of the story...

Pictures are hard to come by. First, here is a car that is about the color (it was dark metallic green) and style of Jim M's  that we later called "The Green Hornet". And  a very imaginary 'fairy godmother" such as I wished for but doubted existed. Might I have one after all? 

The Other Kamala-- Poetic View

The Other Kamala--a poet's view 

Life is so full of Celtic Knots.  It took me awhile because that was long ago but after I began to follow Ms Harris as our candidate for the Presidency of the USA, a small light came on. Where had I heard that name before? Then the phrase "The Lives of Kamala" crossed my mind. A verse. Yes. So long ago. I wrote it in March 1970 as I was moving toward earning my MA at Northern Arizona University (NAU) in Flagstaff, Arizona. 

It was created as a special extra credit effort  for a class I was taking, I think called East Asian History. I had 'gone Asian' late in the last semester of my BA year mostly due to the influence of my Guru at the time, who I met through a Humanities class called Asian Cultures.  I ended up taking every Asian related class I could and working Asian related things into my history classes, be the European, US and even American Western themed (derided by the department head as "Cowboy and Indian" History!) It was not such a stretch as one might think.

Just where this name came from I cannot say. I may have read it in a John Masters' novel or other reading and it felt rather "Hindu/Indian" to  me at the time. Parts of the verse were a not-too-subtle tribute to my personal Guru, (of whom there is also an interesting tale--no room here)  and where the rest  came from I do not know. As with much of my fiction, a character appeared and I wrote what was dictated to me.  I got nice comments from the intended Prof and the piece was passed around through the History and Humanities departments where I knew most of the faculty through classes or my year of working as a clerk in the Humanities office. It was mostly well received.

Yet I find it a strange coincidence that I named the heroine Kamala. I cannot call the modern one a new incarnation of the woman in this tale but then I cannot scoff either. Fate and the Universe move in peculiar ways. II had never put it on the computer and finally found the original among the other papers I had saved from those years. I am not sure now if it is significant or not... When I wrote it, today's Kamala was a small child, perhaps the age she looks in some of the old photos in her campaign resume. For what it is worth, here it is. Long, so wade through if so inclined. Comments or critique are welcome. 

The Lives of Kamala

Speaking through my humble hand

A gentle sage of another land

Is offering her lovely truth

to the rushing world, especially youth.

My only task when she implored:

to pick my open up and record.

 Canto One

In history books you read it, now--

All those stirring tales of how

Brave men, for company and crown

Centuries ago sent down

To the shores of Hindustan

To wrest an empire from our land.

 Clive’s great battle of Plessey;

Hastings came and had his day.

Wellesley, Macauley, and the rest,

Pale conquerors from the west.

Read those stories then with pride,

But there was another side.

 “Those heathens we must civilize;

With books and laws we’ll anglicize

All the poor unlettered wogs,

Lift them out of those bleak bogs

Of their customs, crude and strange.

Long live England, long live change.

 The pale ones did not fight alone.

With treachery amongst our own--

Promise of great gain woke greed--

And in the hour of our need

Divided in our ranks, we fell

Tumbling to the gates of hell.

 Even while others bravely fought

Rather than forsake truths taught

To us as children by the wise

Gurus among us, some told lies,

Betraying us into their hands,

Those foreigners from far-off lands.

 They changed our ways most heedlessly;

So many suffered needlessly.

At last they saw but ‘twas too late.

They had disturbed the wheel of fate.

Lives cannot begin anew

Nor can apologies undo.

 Damage wrought when they denied

A widow’s ritual suicide.

My Love had fallen to their arms;

What cared I then for the charms

Of the sheltered life I’d known,

Having now to live alone?

 The beauty that he’d loved, I cursed.

These Englishmen would have me first

before the flames could set me free.

Release was not the fate for me…

Tarnished, tainted how could I bring

myself to him, my love, my king?

The soldiers seized me from the flame;

In that act began my shame.

The colonel winked, “T’would be absurd

To roast this tender little bird.”

He scratched his ear and rubbed his jaw.

“I think I’d like her better raw.”

 My soul went cold, my mind went dim

I will not remember him…

And the many, many more,

Each one worse than the one before.

Rani once, of ancient name,

I’m  casteless now, too low for shame.

 Any beggar has my price--

I can be bought for a cup of rice.

Harlot of Calcutta’s streets.

Strange it is how fortune treats

Her sons and daughters, cruel fate.

Death will come, but come too late.

 

Canto Two

A Bengal village next I knew.

Memory starts, perhaps at two.

We though not of ourselves as poor;

Did our neighbors not endure

The same privation, the same need?

All paid the price of Empire’s greed.

The fourth of four daughters, I

Knew not that nothing was put by

A dowry for me to serve.

Yet there was one who did observe

That cheerfully I faced each task

The day came when he would ask

 My father for me to be his bride.

I heard it all concealed inside.

But I was young, of stubborn will,

Seeking high adventure still.

Me a lowly farmer’s wife,

Bound to this dull old man for life?

But a father a child cannot naysay;

custom decrees that youth obey.

I was frantic for a plan…

And then there came a holy man,

To our village, just passing through.

I looked at him just once and knew.

Quite heedless of my parents’ wrath

I would follow in his path.

So young then, I was yet unsure

Whether my love was profane or pure.

In truth, the thought did not occur

to wonder what my motives were.

 Though under frosted hair, his face

Was young and kind; he moved with grace

And energy, never seemed to tire.

Behind his dark eyes blazed a fire

Re-echoed in each word he spoke.

He sought to lead the common folk

To rise above the tyrants white,

In a strange new sort of fight.

I was puzzled, I confess

By his unfailing gentleness,

And how he said the Buddha’s way

Would surely guide us all someday.

Almost shameless at the first,

Driven by a senseless thirst,

I sought to make him notice me.

Until his teaching set me free

from the bondage of desire.

I came at last then to admire

 More than the man, the things he taught

Until finally I too caught

The strange contagion of his dream.

Like the holy man’s fierce beam,

Hope was falling in a band

Across the darkness of our land.

But then, alas, violence erupted.

My guru’s message was corrupted

In the mouths of his false friends

reshaped to fit their selfish ends.

Bombs and bullets tore apart

that dream, it’s dreamer and my heart.

 

Canto Three

The century was near its close

Ere my soul a new life chose.

The karma of that last crusade

For a wicked past repaid.

And so cleansed now of my shame

Once more I bore a noble name.

 In a hundred years, much changed.

Society was rearranged.

By now all India understood:

The English ways were here for good.

Though we might drive them from our shore,

Their essence lingered evermore.

 With this certainty in mind

My father wisely sought to find

Ways to fit his children best

to the future, to the west.

He sent my brothers and even me

To English schools, across the sea.

 Following my timid feet,

My sari trailed a cobbled street

In this city called London-town

Where the slippery fog creeps down

To wander by the riverside.

Amongst the strangers, one could hide…

Then one day what do I see

Two blue eyes that smile at me.

And down the street of cobblestone,

I walk, no longer so alone.

The strangeness faded until I knew

Englishmen are people too.

Then tossing waves echo in part

The painful turmoil of my heart.

Will my parents understand

This ring of gold upon my hand?

Will it bring them joy or shame,

A grandson with an English name?

 The green line drawing nearer, fast.

India! Bengal! Home at last.

My parents, older, gaze in awe

At the first Englishman they saw

As a person, as a friend,

Not just a bringer of the end.

They love him first because I do,

But later on, for himself too.

I think perhaps I found the way

That we can bridge and fill someday

The aching gaps twixt man and man,

If love cannot, then nothing can.

 Yet I suffer for my son…

I know the task has just begun,

And as yet there is no place

For those connecting race to race.

In the meantime they must pay

And wait for love to find a way.

Once more I had to lose my man

As violence swept through every land.

Once more love was interrupted,

The pattern of two lives disrupted.

I was left alone and knew

It would affect our next lives, too.

 

Canto Four

 Still paying off some karmic debt

That fate will not let me forget…

I cannot even name the wrong,

But I know I do not belong

In the form I wear today

With skin too pale and eyes of gray.

 Untimely death, reborn too soon.

Now I at dawn and he at noon

Cannot span the chasm of years.

Sternly I contain the tears

When memories reflect the cost,

Reminding me of what I lost.

Accepting, humbly I pray

That love and kindness can repay

my debt for good and I can be

Finally, in my next life, free.

Or else united never to part

With the owner of my heart.

 I envy youth its joy and faith.

Now I am haunted by the wraith

Of conflict. I am torn asunder.

In the still taut lulls, I wonder--

Can mankind learn to live with love?

Placing that unity above

Nation’s interests, princely gain,

All that brings the lowly pain?

Seeing all mankind as our brother,

Truly loving one another?

Finally do away with war,

With hate and violence, evermore…

Thus, my dharma in this life

Is to walk amongst the strife,

Repeat my story everywhere,

And try to teach the world to care.

Practice love in all I do,

That my example prove it true.

To leaders, who would act in haste--

Does not my story prove the waste

Of politics and great ambition?

Join then in the demolition

Of barriers that separate

Man from man with walls of hate.

 My simple tale should prove to all

Just how senseless is that wall

Of language, culture, kingdom, race.

Drifting in infinite space

We all are part of one great way

Which will absorb us all one day.

The question is: why must we wait

Entangled here in nets of hate?

Blind selfishness, preventing peace

Can disappear if we just cease

To cling to some identity.

Only the serene are truly free.

First, is there right or wrong,

Good or bad, weak or strong?

Man lacks the judgment to decide

What to praise, what to deride.

He lacks the right to try to change

Others, although he thinks them strange.

 

                        © Gaye M Walton, nee Morgan

                      March 30, 1970