Memoir Monday, July 20, 1968

 Another one-post week. So very little seemed to be happening, really. I was not bored, per se, but just plugging along on auto-pilot much of the time and existing rather than living. What is there to write about in that? Why did everything becaome so meaningless, hard but also too easy?

July 14, 1968  Sunday

The weeks slide by like boxcars on a fast moving freight. I manage to keep reasonably busy and fairly out of trouble. I did write to Jim M and he did not answer. I also wrote to Dusty but then did not  mail it, thinking maybe I'd go over there instead but could not make up my mind, much less do it.

Today I fixed myself a big old fashioned breakfast and hiked out to mile 34 (ATSF track  mile) and took some picture . Came back and got the boxes stacked in the storage room and cleaned up the living room.  I fixed tuna salad for dinner and have spent the evening writing letters to three NM colleges--just out of curiosity, also studying Busienss Law and even got a bath and washed my hair this afternoon. I am proud of myself for all those accomplishments LOL. I decided to buy The Boss a hat at Goodwill since his are all gone. I have to break my $20 tomorrow.  No sweat.. What is money for except spending?  

No news or thrills or anything like that. Life, in fact, plods on rather dully. Only one more week of school for awhile. I've got to take a break.  I guess I will go back to California but not right away...

As the saying goes, that's all she wrote. I apparently got through the last week of SS #1 and had already decided I needed to take some time off and be sure what way I wanted to go as the fall term came around. I was not quite flat broke but getting close. I probably should have seriously looked for a job but I was really rather fried after two intense years of  'higher education' entertwined with family drama and a bit of rumspringa or heel-kicking  when I realized I actuallyy was totally alone and on my own. That wore off rather quickly but I did hang onto Dale for awhile since there were no other ready options. I would often consider trying to find and reach Dusty but was not sure how to actually do that and in some ways not wanting to have the final 'bad news' ending set in cement. My second year's grades were not as good as I felt they should be but my average was still well above a "2" and  I was in no danger of losing my scholarship, much less the grant--which was not linked to performance other than not failing out. I was basically okay for two more years. What would happen then?  I pulled a Scarlet O'Hara and decided I would think about it later. I mean look how much had changed in just half of that potential total four years?

The photo--Until the end of the current classes,  I had only been to a few in this building, Liberal Arts, then and still.. For the next two years it was one of my 'homes away from home' as almost all the history classes were held here as were some of the humanities and other peripheal sdisciplines  that were part of my second two years of studies that eventually included my graduate courses. WIW, this building still stands very little changed although the landscaping is not as austere with more shrubbery and such. Where did I misplace that photo?  Ok, well, not the one I had in mind but lifted off the internet--not today but probably 2000 or so. Street was closed recently and now onlywalk or bike there,

Memoir Monday, July 13, 1968

 Somehow life seemed to go on. I was often on auto-pilot and fighting my way out of what felt like a nearly bottomless pit. The summer seemed very long, often almost blank yet in a few ways it flew by and finally morphed into a new semester and some new patterns.The trick was surviving to get there.

July 7, 1968, Sunday

It is the last evening of my little holiday already. I did quite a bit in the last twenty four hours. I finished my brown/gold/calico square dance outfit--it consists of a tiered skirt, a peasant blouse, a wing-collared pull over top and a pair of bloomers. I baked a cake-mix cake and this afternoon took up a couple of hems and did a large batch of ironing. And now since dunner I read three chapters of Business Law and feel pretty self-righteous. 

I am shaking off the black depression that has been dragging me down again. The virus of self-destruction is stil in me but it is gradualy losing out, I think--hope. One of these days I'll be one of the living again rather than a zombie, and a better and more real person becasue of all I've gone through. You aren't real until you've truly suffered, not just the puppy love growing pains but a white hot soul-searing anguish that melts you down to the very edge of nothingness. It is a long slow process to build back but if  you survive, you're somebody. You may not be good or great but you are somebody. Sympathy is more than a concept, love is more than a word or tangled limbs on a bed. Not that sex doesn't have its place but sex disguised as "luv" has become a pacifier for a generation of overgrown children.  Yes, me too. 

I light up a longhorn (Marlboro) and say you have to have some crutches to lean on during that long phase of regrowth. It is recognizing them and learning to stand without them that is the hard part. This particular coffin nail happens to be the last in a sixth pack of my first and only carton and it's been sitting around for some while. People are mostly kind of shocked to find I smoke at all..Mabye that is why I do it!

Will I write to Jim or Dusty? I've been feeling thus urge to turn over some old rocks but maybe I can resist. I probably should and yet there's a little doubt that lingers and that builds wondering. I walked out the railyard  this morning and sat by Babbitt's warehouse on the ramp for awhile. I hadn't been there since March or so, just passed by a time or two. I've even thought of going down to the valley and spending a day prowling around but I have to remember I haven't got anything to ride anymore and I wasn't really cut out for the infantry bit so no foot soldiering. I guess I'd best skip that. Maybe Jerome though? If Cottonwood is $5.05, Jerome should be under $6.00. And I have wanted to take some scenics and do a little exploring there.  But I even resisted the temptation to go up to the Powwow and see if Stacy Newton was there. Look how good I am getting (smirk). Maybe I will write Sir James a letter--just out of curiosity and then perhaps I'll go in a week or two and do some photography and sketching and possibly drop by to say hello if the fancy moves me. Though he is not likely even there.

I guess I did not do any of that because the next time I wrote anything was a week later, July 14.. July 8-through 13 must have been very not-notable. You think? That was a good sample or example of the summer of 1968! I was getting philosophical or something, at least.

Pictures? Maybe the two men I was thinking of and wondering about; both had taken themselves out of my life and at that time I did not know why. Well, I did some in one case because for Jim M it was the political poison nowencasing the Morgan Family after their sudden disgrace and destruction. But I was sure Dusty would not feel the same about that.. He never cared much about my folks except for Charlie Mike. So they were part of my "hard time" in the summer of 1968. And how different they were, really, as these portaits show. Yet both from New York at once early point in life...

Memoir Monday, July 6, 1968

Almost ironic to report on my individual  life on what was the 26th anniversary of my parents' marriage.  Well, I owed my existence to the fact, none the less, and their relationship shaped my life in a vast range of ways. I did not have the worst parents ever, by far. Not that there were never any problems...

I pick up the day-to-day routine as July begins. Two years of my expected four in college were now behind me and my amorphous ideas that charted the course of the first two had all but evaporated.. Did I really want or intnd to be an attorney? Did I find any real inspiration or promise in becoming an MBA or any sort of practitioner of accounting, marketing, financial business  or commercial management?  Or somehow being in the selling racket? To me here/now, that future spelled boredom in big dark letters. Even the notion of getting my degree and finding amployment somewhere with the AT&SF was a vague and almost hollow sort of pipe dream. What could or should I then do to make myself a living and also a life?  Teaching was emphatically not it. I was surer than ever of that even though at times I had almost expected to end up in educagtion or academia someway or another. For the time being, I was spinning my wheels, albeit slowly, digging deeper into a morass of  sand--dust-dry quick sand in a  bog of marginal existence.

July 1, 1968  Monday

I sit here on a Monday morning with a toothache. It is not quite time for class--time to leave, that is. Another weekend has passed, At least I got a start on Cindy II. It is barely a start, but it IS a start, anyway. At 12:00 today I wil stop by Dr Holden's and if he cannot fit me in, I shall hunt until I find someone who will. I am in absolute agony with this damned miserable tooth and I cannot endure it any longert. Then I'll go ahead and make an appoitment for have a lot more dental work done. 

Haven't heard from Dale since he walked out of here late Sunday night, He is unreliable and I should not put up with it and him. Yet I wasn't quite kidding when I said I couldn't do better. Is that true or not?  Hell, I am sick of feeling so crummy. I know I must have some horrible incurable disease or soeething. No joke. Planning my possible change to History major etc. all seems futile as if I knew I would not be here to worry about it one way or another. Why have I even worked this hard? I do not have to keep up "the payments" on my freedom now, Liberty has damn near become license and I can sympathize with the crying songs about drowning sorrows. I have so many ugly scenes to forget and I have ended up losing so much that was important and that I can never get back. There cannot ever be another Dusty or Little Dusty or Tina or...and or and or... I wouldn't go back and yet the changes didn't work right. I always dream too big andowild and want too much. 

\July 2, 1968 Tuesday

Was it only yesterday? My tooth is long gone. It was ugly. The roots broke off and I sweated through an hour of blasting them out, came home and cried for an hour and then felt ten years younger and pounds lighter. Right then I fell asleep last night, dizzy from two rum and cokes shared with Hobby who came down just after Carolyn and Les left for Mormon Lake. He is the boyfriend of Carolyn's best friend Karen who lives with him upstairs part of the time. He talked to me for at least an hour. Were he about five years older than the twenty three he claims, I'd give Karen a run for her money. 

I had a visitor earlier this evening. Dale came by about 1:00 on his way back to Phoenix from attneding his grandmother's funeral in Albuquerque. (valid reason for vanishing). He may have me come down over the next weekend but isn't sure yet. Carolyn walked on on us but luckily we were up and  getting ready to walk up to the busstop. She and I walked with him up to Anderson's corner and then went to Foodtown for groceries.

Got a 1 on my first Business Law test, barely but that is okay. I have 37/40 of the quiz points and 46/50 on the first test. Should clear a 1 with any luck from here on out. If I get a 2 from Derifield (Biogenetics) It wouldn't really hurt. I iike h Dr D. and he makes it interesting--it is a personal subject with him on account of a child with issues, not Downs but genetic..I am really  not studying seriously in either class. Hard to care.. 

What else? Nothing really. I'd better hustle my little bustle out of here directly . No classes tomorrow--viva el cuatro de Julio! I'm really eager to start wroiting on Cindy.II. Last evening while writing to Jjudy, a bunch of ideas fell into place and I think I've got a good start via a flashback . They may not be good per most writing coaches and agents, but this one will be natural and easy. 

July 5, 1968 Friday

The glorious fourth has come and gone. I did go to the powwow parade but that was the extent of my celebration. The day before I took my test in Biogenetics. Were it not to find out how I did, I'd not even go to class this morning but I really have no excuse not to go. Dale has not notified me to scoot down to Phoenix to join him. I'm not sure I'd go anyway, but three idle dayshere are liable to blow my mind.  It's chilly this morning because it rained yesterday and there is an extra high humidity content in the air, It is also breezy. 

Somehow I've got to shake off the plaguing blues that have been hanging around my neck like an albatross. Guess it is becasue I haven't been accomplishing much of anything. But then I have not felt physicaly well since, well, since when? I really can't recall.. Maybe part of last year.

I want Dusty. I haven't seen him or heard his voice for nearly a year, touched him for way over a year. But I want him anyway. I'm really half a mind to take The Grand Canyon to Kingman and take a room in a motel for a  night...not that it would accomplish anything! I have no idea where to look or who to ask. Somehow Dale doesn't truly seem real to me; he doesn't reach my inner self  at all.

I don't know. In a way I am as bent on self destruction now as I was when I tried to drown myself etc.  back several  years ago.   I'm not wallowing in anguish and misery now but I just don't care. I need someone real and vital and compelling to take me up and drive me, to give me a purpose and a sense of reality and meaning again. So much for ports in the storms.It has not worked.

Once upon a time pictures. The wedding picture and then each parent in the summer of 1943 in Kansas City with the odd little creature theyhad produced. 

Memoir Monday, June 29, 1968

 Somehow this was almost a week that wasn't as far as recording anything went. I know I spent a a lot of time with Dale who was briefly driving locally out of Flagstaff. What I said about those interludes belongs not here but in my "Addicted to Romance" tales, Memoir book 2, in a section labeled "Ports in the Storms."  I do not censor erotica here but it just does not fit smoothly at this point. 

I whined about a severe case of monthly miseries; but made it through them and managed to have some 'good times' of sorts. And paid little notice to school other than I think I went to classes and  maybe got my assignments done. C'est la Vie. So I will just pull a bit of introduction from that Addicted missive  as it does explain part of of what I was going  through for most  of 1968. I was still missing Dusty keenly and the special closeness we had shared and also trying to find new ways to be myself and maybe a better and happier self than I had been for much too long. Perhaps I had to have some crutches and passifiers. At least I did not turn to alcohol or actual drugs, 

Ports in the Storms--in the spirit of 1968

         The necessity for seeking Ports in the Storms on my rocky life road is a symptom of my addiction. I might add before I go on that my addiction was to Romance. It was more about the sense of feeling special to someone, the rush of “being in love”, the security of not being alone and lonely for awjile, feeling pretty or attractive and desirable. It really was never about sex by itself at all. That was incidental and almost simply a way to pay for the ‘fix’ I craved so badly. I was not the first to trade sex for a “fix” but my need was not the normal drug type of addiction.

 Whenever I ended up actually or at least emotionally alone, I habitually wandered, falling or drifting into one of those sheltering spots. I’d linger there until I found my balance and the ability to move on again. None of them were ever anywhere near, much less “The " love of my life. In a couple of cases I have to admit infatuation or enchantment for a time, but it was not the depth of connection, sense of true belonging and being not alone that the real ‘loves of my life’ brought to me.

These particular relationships, if one can even call them that much, were certainly anomalies. Each was for a season and a reason. In every instance, I clutched at straws to some degree and found for a time what I at least believed I needed. That they each cared for me in many ways, I cannot deny for it was obvious from their treatment. None were ever abusive or deliberately cruel to me. And I certainly cared for them and was as giving and supportive as possible.  They were not meant to be long-lasting, much less permanent and although generally very emotional for awhile, they ended with no real regrets or acrimony. There were clean breaks when that time came.

I never looked back to ask myself “what if”. I could never envision or even imagine a lifetime shared with any one of them. Still, I always tried to give back as much as I got or took. Whether I truly did so, I really cannot say but I do credit myself with an “E” for effort.  Even today, decades later, I do not feel deep regret or remorse and certainly am not ashamed or abashed at what I did. They were part and parcel of my addiction and perhaps inevitable in view of its influence.

In the first instance, I had been left utterly alone with the family’s dispersal and Dusty’s disappearance. At that point, I was struggling with PTSD and depression while trying to cope with a level of solitude I had never known before. That was the proximate cause for the next case as well, which even slightly overlapped the first. In the third,much later,  the proverbial seven year itch had hit and my marriage went through the rockiest period of its duration. It and I were tested to near the breaking point. This one was strictly an “office spouse” sort of relationship, essentially platonic, and never remotely physical. In retrospect, it was a large part imagined or illusionary for me. If not totally one-sided, at least something like 75-25. And in each case, I learned and grew as well as finding an energy-entity to sustain me. 

I think that is about as coherent and truthful explanation as I can offer for what went on in my life in the final  years of my college expereince and ecen extending somewhat into my abrupt morphing into a  nine-to-five type "working girl."  Certainly Dale and to a much less degree the other bus drivers or Highway Cassanovas as I termed them in the book length memoir were the first. The second will be met in the 1969 era and came very close to stearing my life into an absolutely new and unexpected direction. Maybe it is good that it ultimately did not happen. I now am sure it would not have ended well and was probably not ever meant to be. 

Next week we will get back to the not-routine summer of 1968, part school, part trips and a lot of minor but significant changes in the rough map I was creating for my future and adult life. Did I ever really "grow up"? I often wonder. I was always both the oldest young person and the youngest old person in my shifting circle of companions from late childhood on. 

No Pictures?? Not much fits And I won't even apologize. So--My journals--the source for much of these reports. A sample cover sheet of one. They are all in three ring binders, the old school style, more or less.And a nearly typical motel bed, the type with which I became rather familiar for awhile!! Sometimes even alone.

Memoir Monday, June 22, 1968

 For awhile I was not writing very much. Was it that dull or that busy or had I just tired of the exercise of recording my daily life? Perhaps all of the above. At least I did write once and then more on the actual day, between the two kind of a summary of who, what and where for the duration. This whole summer was a block out of time in some odd ways. The move had chosen a fork in my life; there were inevitable results and once you take a route, there is no rewind or undo.  So it was another period of adjustment, maybe finally really breaking free of a big block of the past? I did need to!!

June 19, 1968, Wednesday 

SS #1 is going. I'm registered, paid and have attended classes twice. I ended up taking Biogenetics and Business Law. Not quite sure how that happened but here I am. Still no sign of Dale. Maybe hs is ticked at me for not letting him know I would be gone. Tuff-tish.  Carolyn is in the process of moving and we'll both save money,  I think I can make it through SS#2 taking only Stats now. I'm not keen on it but should get it out of the way. I may have to work then, but that is okay.

Don't feel too good today. I woke up with a headache after fighting new versions of old problems in my dreams all night. I wish I'd quit that. I guess it just proves my resentments and worries of old are just submerged into the subconscious level. 

Got my grades this morning, three 1s, two 2s and one 7 as I had expected. If I can make it a 1 for Data Processing, I'd be good.I hope to swing two ones this session and a least a 3 in Stats if I do take that,. Got the box for Mom ready.  I bought her two really cute dresses at Goodwill for 40 cents each.  Also bought a desk and chair for $7.50. They were wicked to haul home on foot but I had to have a place to work. This week I have to get organized and get a schedule going to start on some writing projects. And of course. I want to get some more sewing done, too. But I sure feel lazy. It's quite hot for Flag and everyone is complaining. This little place is really quite cool, being on the east side and sheltered from the afternoon sun. Lucky there.

What else is new? Nohing that I know of right now. The walk down to campus may be rather ugly when the snow flies. Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.  I'm collecting lots of RR car numbers for Charlie Mike and maybe I can get some photos over the weekend. Want to cheer him up as much as I can. He is really not happy or even comfortable right now and I feel bad for him.None of the mess is his fault, after all. 

June 22, 1968 Saturday

The longest day of the year has come and gone and I didn't even notice. Once Dusty wrote  me a letter on the first day of summer, about a million years ago, when he had just kissed me once... Yes, I still remember. I always will.

Carolyn got moved in on Thursday and we talked late. In a way its nice to have a roomie again. When we get some of our execess stuff stored in Helen and Carol's (the land ladies or managers) spare room, we won't even be too crowded.  

Guess what--last night or evening when we were cleaning up after dinner there was a knock on the door. Carol answered, thinking it weas Les, and did a double take at the tall figure clad in Confederate--I mean Greyhound--grey. He'd just gotten in from Albuquerque and hoped to finally find me at home. He said he'd come by last Sunday evening. I must have either been asleep or in the tub. I was home by then, I know.  We spent most of the evening snuggling on the little couch while he smoked dozens of cigs and tried to talk me into going over to the hotel. I wouldn't hough, mostly just to see how he'd put up with it.He's kind of sweet and cute and moslty seems younger than me even if he will be 30 on November 13. I could almost like him a lot but I guess I'm nore particular or less driven than when I first met Dusty. They are a lot alike, though. Arrogant and ignorant and defiant and and scared inside.  {An almost cold assesment? Somewhat, but those traits were there Less in Dusty, really.}

I know I pulled Dale out of the skid row chute. It is a bit of an awesome responsibility and now I have to be careful not to hurt him and leave him back where we met. My pride miight be bruised a little but he's got to be the one to quit needing me. I'll just have to be careful not to get PG because that would throw a hitch in the whole situation.  And if he's around a lot it may take some doing to say no sometimes. That's why I had to try it last night. If he will pay for the pills, I'll take them. Not sure the process to get the prescription but could find out. I'll make that proposition if needed. 

Pictures? I never had one of Dale and not sure why looking back. Well I did get one but it was blurred; when we were in tthe motel in Phoenix at the pool and I tossed it. I cannot picture his face today:  brown short hair, blue eyes, and nice teeth  but nothing is clear.  No, he was not one of the "loves of my life". Sad? Not really, just true. So  I drop a shot of the apartment building that became home for two years and saw quite a bit of Dale, actually. It was not an unhappy place for me. I took this in 2013 when I made a trip from Alamo. My place was to the left of that entry alcove. The yard was mostly shaded and fairly nice. It was just a block from the mainline double track then used by Santa Fe. I came to know and even love the train sounds, 24/7/365! 

.

Monday Memoir, June 15, 1968

 By this time I was about over my unplanned 'mini-vacation' in the great Sacramento Valley.  This was my third trip by train since the first one at the end of 1965. The second was the winter holidays of 1967 and now that was six months in the past. There would be one more before this year was over and in time I would be back in that area but a bit farther north to live in another decade. Another one of those strange Celtic knots where life plays Worm Oroboros  (a mythical creature from an early fantasrty novel that bit it's own tail and circles endlessly around). Things do double back, cross over and slip under and the pattern gets more complex as it goes. 

This week I will focus first on the trip to Nevada the whole family made. I am not sure if there was a reason or simply sight-seeing but we spent a long day on it and got to Carson City and Virginia City, a tour on one edge of  Lake Tahoe and of course over the Sierra Range twice. All five in  the little Volvo was a snug fit and Charlie MIke would have  gladly stayed home but we all went. I found it interesting and even got to drive a bit on the no-speed-limit Nevada freeways going maybe 70-80 mph!  I enjoyed the trip at least for the most part. However it was also good to board the east bound San Francisco Chief and head back to Arizona a couile of days later!

I said I came home with more Beauty Coinselor cosmetics (which was what Ruth and Grace sold, mainly Ruth) and a bit more fabric for some sewing. I quibkly made Mom two blouses and two skirts and a dress. I'll check |Good will and also send her some of my things I no longer wear that will fit. I noted Alex was growing like a weed and Charlie Mike did not look bad, alll considered, but wwas very stern and quiet.

Getting home, I learned Dale was now driving for Greyhound and briefly out of Flagstaff. I ran up and left him a note at the station. I think he was a bit ticked off tofind me not home and to learn I had moved. Oh well. We never had that kind of serious relationship! We ade up and it went on for some time still. 

Picturew. Mostly the Nevada trip. Up in the Sierras, a rest stop I guess.  Then beside Lake Tahoe. It is so big! Then aong the same route. The amount of water there always surprised me.  Finally four of  us in Virginia City. Charlie took this one and I did the one farther below, same place and time.  Charlie does not look happy! He seldom was in those days, And one with a view of the Virginia City area, part of the old mining camp. I wish I had gotten more scenery!!

 

Monday Memoir, June 8, 1968

 This week is reconstructed  from notes I wrote after I was back in Flagstaff o/a June 15 to go to the first summer session. I wrote nothing while I was in Sacramento for that longish week. There was time, I suppose, but my regular notebooks were not there and I did stay farily busy or at least '"occupied."  I spent some time with Charlie Mike and also Alex. Mom and dad were takng classes at Sacramento State and there was some mention  they both planned to teach in the fall.  I suppose this plan met the approval of the rest of the Morgan clan living in the area. Other than Uncle "Doctor Dan, " they were all in education and it had been the life work of the three sisters.

Saturday June 1 

The day actually saw me boarding the San Francisco Chief in the evening, a fast, rather impuslive decision. I was done with school for the moment, and the move was completed, so I  did not have to be back until the start of the first summer session which was roughly two weeks away. I had finally heard that Mary was not going to come up and  Judy had cancelled a bit earlier.  Carolyn was not going to move in until close to the resumption of classes. I was basically free and dutiless for awhile.  Hearing about Charlie Mike's asthma situation I felt I needed to go for him. I knew he was now very unhappy and since Dad had arrived there not too long after the Christmas/New Years Holidays, the pressures and harshness had really kicked into high gear for him. He was being jerked around by Aunt Roxie, Uncle Dan and of course our dear male parent.  He couild not please any of them, much less all,  and was treated like an inconvenient  step child..  The stresss finally broke his usual stern, stoic silence and ability to just shut stuff off. Still remembering how sick Dusty had been back in the summer of 1966, I honestlybecame  worried.  Fortunately he recovered after a fairly brief hospital stay and he was with the parents and Alex when they met my train at Stockton. They were driving the little white Volvo sedan that Uncle Dan had given to them That car stayed with the family for a long time. 

While there I did explore the railroad yards (mostly Southern Pacific and some Union Pacific as I recall) in Roseville and Sacramento with Charlie Mike. That was a favorite escape for him. He also had an old guitar of Cousin Steve's and was playing it some. I watched a lot of TV on the big color set Roxie and the boys had received for Christmas. I found Chuck Connor's latest series--something about a cowboy in Africa and maybe a sci fi series that I cannot recall. I read a lot too, discovering a new-to-me author named Clay Fisher who wrote some great western novels.  It was a horrible shock when Robert Kennedy was killed. Of course that  dominated the news most of the time I was there. Having just seen  him and heard him speak a few short weeks earlier, that was devestating to  me.

Mom andd Dad were going to  classes at Sacramento State, as I said. We did take some "family"  trips but otherwise I was with the boys more.during this visit. School was out but Roxie was still busy as she was in administration--principal? And the cousins were not there much. 

The sequence of what we did when is very vague. To spice up the bare words with some photos, I'll divide up the souvenirs of the trip between this week and next.  So first Charlie at Aunt Roxie's house with the Volvo. He did not look happy!   Then me, the same time and place. Alex at the Port of Sacramento. He was still just a small kid--I think 9. Large ships  could come up the river that far from San Fran. Next me faking the guitar that Charlie had been playing. I could not play a chord! And last, the apartment Larry and Steve had at the university in Davis, Theymay have been mostly there, actually, as it was not campus housing.