Monday Memoir Nov 2, 1968

The calendar turned to a new month and somehow I began to get into a college student mode again, pushing the back story junk into a dark corner, out of sight and mind--at least mostly. I began to get interested in some of my classes and even to look around and see who might be a possible future special person to me. No boys, of course but there were a lot of males around, even some worthy to call men..  The field of possibles was not too vast as I was always a bit choosy but even looking was a step forward. One spoiler--the names I mention in this narrative were not the significant one I alluded to last week. 

I must say that this week created a two page report, written in red ink, a throwback to an early habit in my initial journal efforts. At that time ink colors were to convey meaning on what sort of day it was. Black was dark, dismal and hard; blue was generally okay but not special; red was  like really a red letter day and sometimes purple or turquoise indicated a fine or unique day. No green? Maybe I did not have one. But Lindy ballpoints were in many colors and I had a collection of them.

October 28, 1968  Monday

Well, I have had my store bought teeth (tooth actually) for about 72 hours now. The first twelve I nearly blew my mind. I still cannot talk quite right and it is a little rough to eat but I am making it. Yesterday afternoon Mary and I went for a hike down through campus and out along 1-40 west (?) I guess we went sbout five miles, I enjoyed every minute of it but i guess I wore Mary out. It was a beautiful day and today was too. Winter is not here yet. 

I really can't quite beleive it myself and am sure I have blown what is left of my mind. He isn't my type at all, even if he doesoften wear cowboy boots and wesern shirts. Beegee or Benjy as I call him mentally, is Dr Guy Bensusan, currently teaching Latin America to 1810 (History) . I guess it is just to liven up the dullness. It hit me suddenly; I must have dreamed or forgotten it. To the best I can acertain, he is happily married. My 'crush' will  pass, doubtless. I recall the time he looked at my earrings which startled me half out of my skin. That was several weeks ago. He teases me some but not as familiarly as some who he's obviously known in the past. It's really weird--definitely not the bloke's looks. He's almost really yech biut I guess the personality comes through. All the kids seem to love him. Acording to Lila Kunkle, he makes fabulous drinks. How one gets into that 'in crowd' I don't know. I didn't even realize he had a PhD--from UCLA yet. By reckoning, he is 36, only ten years my senior, well almost eleven. I guess it was really last Monday after he';'d been sick for a week. He'd grown these new style sideburns and looked a bit pale.  At first I did not think I'd like the class at all but I do now and even agree that it always passes too fast.

The "Golden Boy" (Erickson, teaching anthropology) is a lot better looking and probably five to eight years younger. Not a doctor yet, but somehow he does not quite come across though I'll admit the first time I saw him  I did look and think "Not bad." He's from Colorado. Then there is John-John, the bonny Scot, a fellow student. I'm undecided about him but he is rather interesting and has a good face to draw with semi-hollow cheeks etc. He looks like a  Scot. Benjy is apparently Jewish with perhaps some English and German.. And one could draw him totally with circles!. He needs to lose about 25-50 pounds (minimum!)  

Note: I later learned he was related to the Jewish Hispanic settlers in northern New Mexcio and has a natural affinity for Mexico and Latin America, frequently weaving cultural aspects into the history. That left him almost split between history and humanities, more about that aspect later. I looked into the history of those people a bit; very interesting.

*****

Slighty relevent photos-I mentioned coloring my hair red in a recent post and then spoke of an upcoming visit to the folks in San Lorenzo, NM. This pic was at that time --I did have somewhat red hair and that old Chevy came from Sacramento in the move.  The other is Charlie Mik,e at one of the adobe shed on the place they lived, with one of the puppies he adopted. This may have been Dingo who stayed with them for many years and eventually died in Duncan, AZ as a very old dog.

Memoir Monday, Oct 26, 1968

A week with two entries? That was almost unuusal but then both were short and not very upbeat. I was beginning to fall back into a student routine but it was still a struggle. The breaks to go to California and move with the family had put me on a mixture of the 'old track' and the newer one. which left me in a kind of limbo. I was mostly glad I had changed my major styudy area but otherwise I was  still feeling stuck. This fall was an awkward rerun of the prior year  and very little seemed to be resolved or renewed in a positive way. Until decades later, I really did not know the whys and wherefors  that kept me teetering almost lifelong on the edge of depression. I didn't call it 'clinical' but I guess it was. I was always bi-polar, which runs in part of the family.

October 23, 1969, Wednesday

I've been terribly depressed lately. The last two days I felt frumpy and it seemed like everything went wrong.  Nothing really bad happened but it was just blah. I am getting lonelier and lonelier for masculine company. It is a physical hunger but even more emotional. A little later than this last year it hit me and I finally found Bud and Dale or maybe they found me. So I suppose someone will turn up. Just lately I don't have much faith in anything, though. I'm just in a sluimp and I will pull out of it but it is pretty discouraging. I can't find any enthusiasm for study. I probably blew my Sociology test because I really didn't study at all. I almost don't care and yet I panic when the moment of truth comes and  I am supposed to perform. I need a man, I really do. Not a boy but a man, a real one. I suppose the folks would tell me "Wait and grow up" just as they did for a good decade while they never tried to help me get from twelve to twenty in a social sense. Now I am slightly used courtesy of three transportation men and my teeth are rotting out and I'm tired and sick and digusted and discouraged and lonely. 

October 26, 1969, Friday

For some weird reason I'm in a good mood today after having been in the throes of the glooms all week. Don't ask me why because I swear I haven't got the slightest idea. Maybe 'cause it is the last day of my "youth" since at sunset I will be wearing store bought teeth. It is only one, a middle one that had to be filled in, but the ideaof it was huge.  I got 87% on the Sociology test and I was no end of surprised, believe you me. That's a good high two anyway, so maybe I can bring it up to a one later.  We got out early so I'm sitting here on a planter in the sunshine and sort of daydreaming, Here it is Friday again already. The time just flies. The pre-law meeting yesterday with the dean of the Albuquerque (UofNM) law school got me all enthused about the idea. I would no doubt meet all sorts of fellows, anyway. Probably lots more than I would as a teaching assistant, especially at NAU!  I also saw a notice about graduate study at UNM (Las Cruces) too. I am sure I'll have to write and inveestigate that as well. Too close to the folks, though...Hmmmm. No, I am NOT going back to that trap. Regardless!!

****************

 Since this is short, here is a verse from a later time that almost fits. Reading it, I realize how often I walked the edge of depression for so much of my life. Only in the last decade  have I begun to understand the whys and wherefors of what I had to overcome and heal from to make life go better. Better now, yet? I am not sure.

                Self-Pity (c1980)

Depression is my comrade who walks a step behind

Holding a shadow over me to darken and make blind.

Melpomene* is my sister, with her downcast face,

And as her understudy, I could easily fill her place.

Do I fear to be happy or strive to mourn and grieve

That when joy wants to find me I flee and won’t believe?

And why do I love unwisely, (unwisely but oh, so well)

So it must stay a secret that I should never tell?

Tragedy is my homestead where I have staked my claim.

I dwell there growing thistle for the beast I cannot tame. 

      *Melpomene is the muse of tragedy 

 

Picture: I borrowed this image from a forgotten source long ago. I called her The Goddess of Depression and so often felt myself under that dark cloud, soaked with the torrent of struggles and strife. I see the selfishness of that now but dark moods can be an addiction, even a shelter. Such are  hard to ween one's self away from.

Memoir Monday, October 19, 1968

I will have to wing it here, since my old journal had no more entries unil Ocrober 21, Then there were a couple, at least, for the next week. March in place until October 26? Kinda sorta. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I slipped back into a state of depression. The anomie sign of lacking purpose had its claws in me to the bone.   

I suppose I was fortunate to have Mary. She was very juvenile in a lot of ways but basically good hearted and trying to make sense out of life as she was living it and seemed sympathetic but unable to help me with my complex and knotty problems. I know I did not complain about them or even mention them much because I was still somewhat ashamed and regretful about what had gone wrong with my family and prior life and whether or not I deserved any blame or should feel any guilt. And I was still angry and bitter, as well. I was thankful to have escaped and managed  as well as I had but the rosy glow was long gone --college was not paradise and the future was not clear or really promising.There were key aspects  I missed with a keen pain. I became fully aware I had given up or turned forever away from much that had mattered deeply to me. There was no going back and never would be. 

So I will fill the space this time with a couple more stories. The first one was written in 1957. At that time I had become a huge fan of Casey Tibbs, world chmpion of the RCA. I still did not know everythng about the sport but I had fun with this little story! 

Rough Going

by Gaye Morgan

 “The purse for the best saddle bronc rider will be presented by Marti  Stuart, our pretty rodeo queen.” Those words rang in Marti’s ears. The nickname still felt new at times but she liked it.  The past week had been a dream. She had come to town for the big rodeo a week ago and through the backing of the loyal  Bar Lazy S hands, been elected rodeo queen. Now dressed in a cream colored riders, a green, copper and white striped shirt, black boots and a cream colored Stetson, she was handing out prizes to the winning cowpokes.

The winner, a by twenty one points, was Jon Iverson. “Let’s give him a big hand, you all.” The announcer’s words brought her back to earth. She looked over the young cowboy who stepped Up to get the prize buckle and saddle. He was slim and not too tall, topping her by perhaps three inches. He wore a white straw hat, set back on his dark head. His brown eyes had a triumphant sparkle and his generous mouth curved in a wide grin. He dusted off his Levis, . smiled at her, took the prize buckle and stepped up to the mike to say “well, thank y’all for the nice applause but I reckon I earned the prize being a Jack In The Box on one rough old horse.” The crowd laughed at his wisecracks. He smiled at  again before he walked away. That was the beginning of a friendship and the making of a new performer.

Marti had always been a skillful rider and now decided to take up trick riding.  By the next summer she was following the circuit, her childhood dream come true. On this day, she happened to be in Pinedale, Wyoming for the annual Pinedale Rodeo. Her act was now over and she sat watching the saddle bron finals. Jon came out on a big black named “Rough Going.” And that name was not in fun. He lasted the eight seconds with no problem and without waiting for the pickup m, swung easily to the ground, but the arena was slick. He slipped and went down.

Rough Going plunged past him. Jon started to get up just at the wrong time. One flying stirrup caught him across the left side of his forehead. He slumped back to the ground, blood streaming from the huge gash above his left eye where the stirrup’s metal edge had hit . A few  minutes later he was carried off the arena, still apparently unconscious. Someone called for a doctor who showed up quickly.

 Marti followed the doctor in the hospital truck where the injured cowboy was cared for. “That cut will need stitching but except for that, he will be okay,” the doctor said. Jon was restless as  sat by him and held his hand while Dr Bailey sewed up the gash.  Jon had probably had a concussion but seemed to come out of it.

“Thanks for your help, honey,. Keep him quiet and he will be all right in a day or two,” the doctor said.  Marti was a bit embarrassed. The doctor must have taken her for Jon’s wife!

The next day at Sheridan, Jon insisted on riding. “You can’t Jon,  Marti protested. “You could break that cut right open. It hasn’t nearly healed yet.” “I can and I will,” Jon said. Leave me alone. You don’t own me.” He spoke very harshly. Hurt,  Marti snapped back. “All right, just go ahead. Kill yourself if you want to and see if I care.” An hour later, Jon came out on Superman. His cut broke open the first jump but he rode the regulation eight seconds with blood steaming down his face. He collapsed as soon as he was out of the arena. This time the doctor, a different one, told him plainly that he must not ride until the gash was healed.  saw this hurt Jon. Now unless he could make every other ride count, he’d lose out on the championship.

During the weary weeks that followed, Marti put all her spare time with Jon. When he rode he had to wear a special protective helmet and it interfered with his balance.  He ended up driving the truck for two friends to take them around, missing several rides. While they were adding up championship points, he watched. Yet he showed no bitterness. He accepted what had happened. Marti admired his courage and tried to be patient and supporting.  During that time, she really got to know him. They had many long talks and shared about their prior lives before rodeo took over. Their friendship grew stronger.

At last Jon was pronounced well and able to ride again without the helmet. Marti finished her act which she’d continued as much as she could and was in the stands to cheer him on. But luck was not with him. Look Out Below reared too high. He came over backwards and Jon barely managed to roll free.  Shaken and pale, he climbed up to where  Marti sat as they watched his buddy Curt Ebson win first place. Jon would get a reride the next day but there were no guarantees.  He made the ride but did not score too well.

A week later in Ellensburg, Jon drew the notorious Quick Trip and was put down in seven seconds. Three more rodeos, three more near-misses. He became discouraged. “I can’t do it,. I just can’t ride good no more.”  Marti did her best to to cheer him but with only five more rodeos in the season, he had a slim chance.  Cheyenne was next. Jon drew a good horse. “I think you’ll do it this time,”  Marti whispered as he walked to the chutes. He came out, spurs high. All was going well. Five seconds, six, seven. Eight! High points and a first prize at last.

“I knew you could, I just knew it,” Marti exclaimed as she gave him a hug. He soon added two more firsts and got in a few bareback rides, to boost his totals. He had to do at least second in the final one and he’d have it made.

Marti went to Denver to see the last rodeo, the big final. Jon was competing against nine other top cowboys. He was the ninth to go out. Out of the first eight only two qualified. The horss were hard. Now it was Jon’s turn in chute nine and he had drawn Rough Going. The old horse was feeling really lively but Jon was ready for him. The past near-tragedy had to nag him but he refused to think on it. He rode his best. A long eight seconds and this time he was picked up. No daring-do this time. The final rider qualified too. At last the judges added up their totals and the announcer said “The winner of the Saddle Bronc is…”  Marti edged up on her seat and the words echoed “it is Jon Iverson.” Thunderous applause burst forth. Most rodeo fans knew of Jon’s struggle and his sportsmanship as he worked through it.

Jon stepped up to get his prize. It was presented by Turk Greenbough, a well respected retired champion. “Congratulations, young feller. That was a fined bit of riding you did tonight. I’m proud to give you the first prize.” John accepted the trophy buckle with quiet thanks.

Then the president of the RCA stepped up. “I have the official final figures for the 1957 world championships. He recited the names with a pause between each of them. Bull Rider: Clay Kelly. Bareback Bronc: Curt Ebson. Saddle Bronc: Jon Iverson.  Bulldogging: Ernest Carlson. And the All Around Champion Cowboy and Good Sport: Jon Iverson. The cavernous stands rocked with the cheers, whistles and applause. “Step up, boys and get your trophies.  Turk presented Jon with two beautiful buckles, a saddle and a handsome trophy.  Jon smiled and thanked the crowd and the RCA president while fifty cameras took his picture.

At last he reached the truck with his prizes.  Marti met him there. He dropped the load and took her in his arms. “You did it, Jon, You won, you won.”   “I won with your help,” he said. “Here is your reward.” he held her close and gave her a real movie level kiss. If you will marry me and keep me in line I’ll try to do it again. What do you think of that?”

“I think that is an outstanding champion level idea,” Marti  said. He kissed her again and opened the truck door boosted her in. “Don’t forget your prizes,”  she reminded him. He stooped to pick them up and then said “What do I care about prizes and trophies when I now have the best and biggest prize of all?”

******   ******   ******

This one was written later, probably early spring 1970. It was decades before 9-11 and the fallout from that, almost a new idea or threat at the time. The characters were created as avatars of real people and the plot was very far fetched but again I had fun with the tale. At that time, I had never flown or been in a large passenger plane.So I really 'winged' it all!! The odd words are real and accurate as I was learning southeast Asian languages at the time. They are Malay.

The Hijacking

by Gaye Morgan

 It seemed like an ordinary afternoon at Oakland International. JAL flight 118 was warming up in the strong July sun. A Tuesday crowd, perhaps slightly smaller than usual, milled and talked or sat morosely silent. There were no celebrities, no newsmen. The crowd was mainly tourists bound for Expo 70 with a sprinkling of ‘orientated’ businessmen.

There was nothing memorable about the pair who sat near the gate through which 118 would load. A man and a child…the child a girl, slight and slender with long hair of almost Asian straight blackness. She sat with the careful dignity of an eleven-year-old almost young lady, one small tan hand resting on the man’s arm. He sat, legs stretched out, still and calm but for the slight tremor of the hand holding a cigarette. The smoke coiled up from it, contrasting with the tawny shade of his skin.

The loudspeaker crackled the awaited message, breaking into their silent private thoughts. The crowd surged, quiet now, yet somehow strangely ordered in their eagerness, seasoned travelers and neophytes alike. The plane loaded quickly. It roared to life and lifted gently off the sun-soaked cement, briefly into the northeast breeze and then veered westward across the vast Pacific.

The two were seated in the tourist cabin, the child by the window and the man beside her with a scuffed attaché case in his lap. The aisle seat was empty. The endless blue vista soon palled and the child fell asleep with her heard pillowed against the man’s shoulder. The man dozed too.

The afternoon slid by, dinner was served and again the passengers slept. It was roughly midnight California time when the man stirred and came suddenly awake, glancing at his watch in the dim light. He turned and whispered the child’s name, touched her arm when she failed to respond.  She opened her eyes and mumbled sleepily.

“It’s all right, Lisa. I’m going up now, like we planned. You’ll be safe here.” She nodded and slid down farther into the shelter of her seat. “Slamat malam,” she murmured. He slipped a bulky and oddly shaped envelope out of the attaché case and put the case back down on the seat as he rose. He walked quietly forward, as if heading for the latrine, stopping in the next cabin to speak to a kimona clad hostess who accompanied him forward.

The copilot responded promptly to the hostess’s urgent whisper, opening the cabin door. The man stepped quietly forward into the opening, the envelope held carefully in his hand. “I want to go to Kuala Lampur,” he said casually.

The pilot started violently. “Have you blown your mind? Nothing is going into Kuala Lampur since the coup.”

“I am expected.” The man’s voice was gentle but very firm. “I am sure the fuel will hold out; it isn’t actually much farther than Tokyo if we turn south right now. I’m sure you will be allowed to refuel and take off for Tokyo the minute we are safely off the plane.”

“We?” the hostess asked.

“My daughter and I. She is in seat C23. You will look after her for me until we land and see that she is ready to get off.

He did not turn his attention from the pilot and copilot as he spoke but knew without looking that the young woman would obey him.  He balanced the envelope gently. “You really don’t have another choice, you know.”

In the short silence that followed, no one moved. It was broken by the hostess’s slight sigh. The pilot and copilot did not try to argue. They glanced at the brown envelope with measuring care and an unanswered question and turned to draw up a new navigation chart. In the empty sky, the big jet shifted gently to the south.

The man then smiled briefly at the hostess. At his nod, she backed out past the door and shut it silently after her. Back in the tourist cabin, the child still slept in seat C23, crumpled in the upholster with her hand on her father’s attaché case as if to keep him close.

*** *** ***

Summer dawn came gently in Vermont. It crept into the Victorian bedroom and touched the woman who dozed in a chintz covered chair, anguish and anger blended with the weariness in her angular face, one hand outstretched toward the telephone on the corner of the nearby dresser. She stirred and moaned slightly in her sleep.  The sound woke her. She straightened painfully and glared malevolently at the silent phone. “They’ve got to be there by now,” she told herself. She lifted the receiver and dialed, her finger remembering the sequence as if by rote. The voice crossing the continent was still clear, the coolness distinct across the miles.

“No, Laura. There hasn’t been an accident. We’ve been in touch with the CHP since midnight.”

She felt rather than heard the shrillness of her own voice. “But where can they be? Jon may be unpredictable and impulsive but he has never been anything like this late before. He promised me he’d call as soon as they got there.” The distant voice became even chillier. “Then obviously he hasn’t arrived. Really, Laura, you’re being absurd. He probably stopped in Las Vegas or something. I can’t see why you are so concerned anyway. This really is a separation, isn’t it?”

She didn’t reply for a moment, hating the probing voice, hating her own lack of control. She was supposed to be the cool, reserved one. “It’s Lisa I am worried about,” she choked finally.

The other voice laughed, just a short cold chuckle. “And you know perfectly well that Jon won’t permit anything to happen to her. He certainly has as much concern for her as you do. Take something and go to sleep. I’ll call you myself as soon as we find out anything.”

She dropped the phone and turned on the radio, unthinking. The morning news was full of the Asian conflict. Her face tightened. She hated the very word. “Asian.” Coupled with conflict made it worse. The announcers next line caught her attention.

“And now, the closing story. JAL flight from Oakland to Tokyo has been hijacked. The take over occurred about midnight Pacific Daylight time. The pilot reports he has been forced by two men with hand grenades to fly to Kuala Lampur. The hijackers promise the plane will be allowed to continue on to Tokyo as soon as they disembark. At present there seems to be no cause for undue alarm.”

She swore under her breath and switched off the radio. Just the kind of fool stunt Jon might pull--dashing off to rescue his friend and that little girl who worked for the State Department from the reds and their coup.  Then suddenly: Oh my God--could he possibly? 

*** *** ***

The tropical sky and the calm waters echoed each other’s colors. The huge plane began to drift downward and the blue below changed to green, to the white and tan and black of a city, and then to the ivory expanse of a runway, rising swiftly to catch it. The child sat alone with her face pressed tight to the oval glass. The plane taxied to a halt in front of the seemingly deserted terminal. The girl turned from the window as the hostess bent over her. “Are we there?” The woman nodded and unfastened the seat belt as the voice of one of the others came over the loudspeaker.

“Please remain in your seats. We are making an unscheduled stop due to a minor emergency. There is no cause for alarm. I repeat, no cause for alarm. Please remain in your seats.”

The child followed the hostess down the aisle, her father’s attaché case clutched carefully. He was waiting at the door. Tucking the envelope under his arm, he took the case in one hand and her hand in the other. “We’re here, honey. We made it.” She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing.

People suddenly emerged from the empty looking buildings. The ramp was wheeled out and they descend together. A lone photographer snapped a few quick pictures as a gleaming black Cadillac careened up, skidded to a stop and a short, uniformed man leaped out. He almost sprinted over to greet them. A tall young woman with long auburn hair followed at a more decorous pace.

The man still held his mysterious little brown bag. He set the attaché case down. His hands were quite steady now. Deliberately, he ripped the brown paper, smiling up at the pilot who stood at the plane’s door. “Terima kasih, Tuan Pilot.” he called, mockingly, as the two empty Coors cans clattered to the cement. The torn paper followed. Taking the child’s hand, he reached with the other to meet the hand of the tall young woman. The uniformed man grabbed the attaché case and headed back to the car. The other three followed the Malay officer to the car where he opened the doors for them.

On the other side of the world, a phone finally rang. 

PHOTOS:  a hundred years later in about 1999, all those early efforts finally got my necessary  million words written and a few began to be published. I ended up with a dozen novels and quite a few shorter fiction works in ebook and in print. I really "played author" for a while. That was fun too. Now even that feels long ago!! I ended most of that in 2008 but still wrote and published some until about 2020. Here just to validate!!  Hastings in Sv Mall about 2004, Prescott at Sharlott Hall muserum in 2006 and local again,(at Cochise College or Library) in 2007. I always dressed 'southwestern' and that was my persona.

Monday Memoir, October 12, 1968

 For this week, only a single report, written on Friday.  The prior weekend I had gone down to the Verde Valley by bus and visited my friends Kit and Richie Lewis,. He had been the stable manager at the Verde Valley School before Al Nuanez took over.  I did get a few photos of Lyno.. They lived near Camp Verde. It was a nice place.

October 11, 1968 Friday

I'm writing now until it is time for my 2:00 dental appointment, Thank gosh it is Friday. I had a fun time in the valley last weekend. Lyno is fat and sassy and I rode her twice. The Lewises are really nice; they treated me just like a daughter--or maybe grandaughter. I saw Jean (blank on who she was) but not Nancy. Jean said Leo and Buzzie were still on pasture. 

The week has really gone rather fast, all considered. I had an exam in square dance yesterday and another test today. Time marches inexorably on. Four of the sixteen weeks of the semester are now over. 

I can't help envying the kids who are all excited about the rodeo. But for the breaks, I could be barrel racing Buzzie or Lyno or even Leo.but even if we  still owned them, we wouildn't have the money or I'd have been driven to practice until I hated the sight of a basrrel or something! It would no longer be fun. In short, you can't win for losing, 

I certainly am a victim of anomie. The sociological description fits me too a T. Butshouldn't I have outgrown it by now? Damn, I am getting old and I don't want to. I would like to have stayed twenty one for another twenty years. 

As a kind of footnote here: Definition of a word new to me when I was in the sociology class but it hit like a well plaed shot. 

 Variants or less commonly anomy

Anomie: Social instability resulting from a breakdown in standards and values. 

Also:  a personal unrest, alienation and uncertainty that comes from a lack of  purpose or ideals.   Wow, was this painfully close?

**************

Photos!! I did take some pictures while visiting the Lewis's so they will be featured here though part of the past week. Here is Lyno, far removed from her coltish self I had once trained. Not sure if she remembered me but she behaved very well. I am not sure if she had been ridden much lately or not but she was in foal, not real heavy yet. She showed the good Joe Reed bloodlines! 

 

Memoir Monday, October 5, 1968

 I am not sure why I was writing so little, often only a page a week. Life was not totally dull and pointless and I was often less depressed than I had been for awhile. Never no worries or  what ifs or even second thoughts of course, but I was at least positive about the change of academic focus and getting a bit closer to what was real and interesting to me although at that time, career plans were still dimmer than vague!

September 29, 1968 Sunday

The time goes by and by. Today was a bright open sunny day with a stiff wind. I went out for an afternoon walk and sat for awhile on the little bridge across from the bus depots. I hadn't been up there for a long time. I was reminded for fall 1966 when I was so restless and spent many  hours out and along the trrack. I'm so much older now, even so much older than I was a year ago.  I've been a bit blue today; it is the season of the year, and my season of the month, I guess. I am man hungry but I don't want to get messed up with Dale anymore. He is gone, probably mad at me and I really hope he stays. I have a potential number for Dusty with the mining company; just went to the phone company and looked it up but I am not sure how best to use it. Somehow. I would really like to get a phone here but $50 is an awful price to pay (deposit and installation)  If a great windfall comes up, perhaps I would. Anyway I will try soon on tht reaching out--leave a message or something. Just to talk to him might help some.

Mary and I went to see Captain Newman, MD tonight at the CU (campus union)  I saw part of it at Nancy Shellman's last year. I couldn't remember for a bit and it plagued me no end. It is good to have a  roommate although I feel a flash of irritation now and again. Otherwise, I'd probably commit suicide before the year was over. On the way back, coming through the parking lot, I saw a couple in a car--I think it was Betty Leinheiser and her Chuck. Anyway the girl was nestled into the fellow's side with her eyes shut. I've only been with one guy like that. I wish now I had only been with him at all. Bud was real a mistake and really Dale was too. 

Charlie-Dusty-Darlin', have I made you into a superhuman hero in my dreams and longing? Have I overbuilt you until no mortal could fit the image of my fantasy and would I be disappointed to see you now? Have you become old? If you aged at the rate I have--gods forbid. Would you even take me back now truly 'slightly used ' as I am? And would I be sorry in the end if you did? I'm scared to know, I guess, but I must know if I am to settle my mind.

Oct 5, 1968 Saturday

Have a few  minutes before I have to leave so I'll write a bit. Yesterday it rained. It's semi clear now but they predict it will rain more later. Well it is getting on toward high country winter so that's to be expected.

I hope it is nice tomorrow. it is unholy to get up about 5:00 to catch that silly bus, but I'll have to. I might find out some thing useful or I might even have fun. And it will be my only chance for awhile to go down. I am rather lonely and "man hungry" I guess. It's about time I ran into some lecherous macho, the mood I am in. Unless dear Dale returns. I reckon he has buzzed off for good and tanto mejor if so. I really should concentrate on my studies and other useful and virtuois activity until ...well, rather indefinitely really! 

It is almost time to blow--one O'clock will be here soon and then I have an assortment of chores to do afterwards. I am going to iron and Mary and I may hike out to SuperX. I've got to cash a check and get some stamps also. Always things to do--always. And honestly, thank God for that!  Vayase...

To explain or fill in a bit since I did not do that much even later.  I took the bus to the Verde Valley but apparently not to Cottonwood as I had months ago. Maybe to Camp Verde? Anyway I was going to visit Kit and Richie Lewis who had Lyno and Leo for awhile and then bought Lyno permanently. They were a really cool couiple and became good friends, older but not 'old'. 

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Not My Pictures but memory-making: I did not experience 'being courted' and going home for the night alone  many times, really. It was always special and really at the root of my addiction to "romance" which was about the unqiue emotions but not 'sex' very much. Bench seat boogie,  a sweet interlude in an old fashioned swing,and a mystic reunion, as if on the other side?  Apologize that I cannot credit the artists; these were ripped off the internet some time ago as I just liked them.

Memoir Monday, September 28, 1968

 Fall comes early to Flagstaff. There would still be pleasant days but there could also be chill winds, freezing drizzle and even snow. I knew there would be days it was not fun or easy to walk the several blocks from my new home to campus. That was one of the few negative things about my new residence. I got used to it, though and mostly did not find it too onerous. That may come up in the next few weeks.

At least I did write once this week. So here was September 24, a Tuesday

Sep 24, 1968, 12:45 a.m.

A hell of an hour to be up and awake but I am absolutely  turned on and cannot sleep. It has been a sort of groovy wild day. I got up and dressed and went to my 9:00 to 1:00 classes and all that rot. Then I went to Dr. Holden's 'pulley parlour' and had my miserable molar extracted.It popped out like a greased pig, literally no sweat although it bled quite a bit and I can still taste the salt and feel the cobwebby clots in my throat.  Mary and I went to see The Thomas Crown Affair and sat through it twice! Steve McQueen is just too much. He is so much like Dusty that I just fall apart. Faye Dunaway is cool. With the proper makeup etc. I could almost look like her. She is tall and lean and catty. So'm I. Maybe I should study acting and take speech and diction courses. I'd learn a little bit of pressence perhaps.

I've got to to get to Dusty someway. I know he can't help advance my career or any of that crap but I just happen to still be in love with the guy. I wouild give anything I own to have  him here beside me right now. If I really let myself go, he'd have to reciprocate and I'm sure there is plenty of tiger in the tank of the kitty plays her part. I was awfully green, naive  and awfully scared at first but it was getting better every time. 

I think Dale is ticked at me for being gone. I would have sworn it was him coming in from Albuquerque last evening when Mary and I were fooling around up town  but I could be wrong. Anyway. I think I want him gone now.  I've got to get a driver's license so I can rent a car. I'm going to see about a driver training program tomorrow. If I can't do any better, I will for sure get a New Mexcio license when I go over for Thanksgiviing and then I could get an Arizona one from that without having to drive again. Still no car available. It would be so much better to drive over there than to go on the bus or the train because having mobility could be critical. I'd better turn off, tune out and go to sleep. It's after 1:00. Thank god I don't have to do anything until 10:30 tomorrow.

Pictures: I've mentioned and showed it before, but there really was a strong resemblance between Steve McQueen and Dusty. It was not just myimagination! If they were at all related it had to be far back in their ancestry but maybe some Irish there?? Odd blend of toughness and poet in those faces.  The last one, notice the hands, and maybe a better face angle too.

Memoir Monday, September 21, 1968

 September 21 was a Saturday of course, and a week of classes had gone by in a flash.   Yes, it was different but not all that much. I still had a few 'general \eduacation'  tyoe required classes to take care of so it was not all history right away. 

I think that I wrote the following.about the 18th or 19th  The page was undated so I am not sure. Anyway, here goes: 

Undated probably  Wednesday? 

Guess what. I've got red hair. I jsut did it this afternoon and I'm mighty curious how it is going to look. I think the color will be pretty and not too loud. Tomorrow I am sending some boxes to the folks by express. I am sending Charlie Mike's stuff and some odds and ends to Mom--like an iron I got at Goodwill, some extra clothes hangers and such. Tomorrow will be housecleaning day. I ought to be back from class by 1:30 which wiil give me quite a bit of time to work. I think I've really got a pretty good schedule and as soon as I see how it is all going to go, I'll try to get back to writing regularly.  Right now I'm tired to the bone and have a good case of the cramps to boot so I guess I'd better get myself ready to hit the sack PDQ. Mary has gone to do her laundry so perhps I should take my shower now and then iron my dress and a few other chores before I turn in. I'm sleeping on the couch as I am still restless and fidgety and I suspect I am going to make a habit of of it. I wish they had twin or bunk beds here!   I really do not want to share with Mary; it just does not feel comfortable,   

So  I will talk about  my new classes, as well as the profs and a bit about some of them. Few of the business classes were memorable--I barely recall any of the profs except Mr Knox (he was a character and 'real') which I think tells or shows me something.. That was really not what I was supposed to go into or make my life career. Although an introvert, I am in odd ways a "people person" and find srudying human creatures and their past, their efforts, their habits, errors and successes intrigues me more than dollars and deals. MBA are not me!!. 

"Peoples of the World" (Anthropology)  Emerson or Erickson.? He was blond and good                                                                     looking but not my type.  I did really like the class!

Western Civilization to 1660 (World History) Dr. Davis, again not real memorable;;nice                                                                                                        enough but a tad pompous?

English History to 1699  Dr Voegler--I cannot recall his first name but he was excellent,                                                   & became a favorite  I was kind of a pet there; got 100% A's

Latin Amwrica to 1810  Dr Guy Bensusan-- He ws a fun guy and I had a brief crush on                                                                              him  though he was short, chubby and bald!                                                                            You *will* meet him again!

Social Problems (Sociology)  Dr Clyde Smallwood-- I called him the little Bantum Rooster                                                    as he was cocky, stuck on himself and could be a pill!  I had                                                     him for  a variety of courses over time.. He'll reappear too. 

Square Dance (PE finally caught up with me.) I squeeked by with the least painful activities I could find!  This was co-ed and fun,  I actually made a younger male friend here who was a frquent partner

 I will add that there was lots of overlap and intersecting bwtween the History and Humanities Departments. They both came under Liberal Arts, of course, and then next year, through a new connection, I got much more involved with the Humanities Department to the point I had a work-study clerical  job there my final year. This helped cover the costs of getting my Masters,for which I did not have a scholarship. Getting ahead of the tale a bit.

Pictures;; The old Liberal Arts Building whre I was almost a 'resident'! 1 is about 1968. while 2  is closer to late 90s, And good old 17 South Agassiz..It was a dump in many ways but a pretty good dump!