tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53507367828572878902024-03-05T13:18:52.785-08:00MemoirMemoir Madness: driven to involuntary commitmentUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-28207006956291812912023-06-18T19:55:00.005-07:002023-06-18T19:55:56.197-07:00Caged (Prologue)<div align="center"><strong><span style="color: white; font-size: 130%;">-</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: black; font-size: 130%;">(February 19, 1969)</span></strong></div><strong><span style="color: white; font-size: 130%;">-</span></strong>
<br /><span style="color: #cc0000;"><strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">I was driven to Cherokee</span></strong>.</span>
<br />
<br />A hazy memory of riding caged in the back of a police car. Two shadows in the front seat, the county sheriff and a female escort, jabbering. I, cargo, to be delivered from the Woodbury County courthouse to the Cherokee Mental Institution.
<br />
<br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/caged-prologue.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-78226752411048276512023-06-18T19:51:00.000-07:002023-06-18T19:51:00.681-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 1): The Crystal Ship<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyaWs0Eqow3tKBUXKy1zWuUr6Rp4bPUIwesuJ_obwKnIqmm7P-LU8lri2V39AAohYTqA_C5wiBAuyJgoIp1VXNJJwJAwlr8guSvteuBMmER4c-FE4oQeuA2Gz5jfonZ_j1yn8JGJXu5ve/s1600-h/Apollo+8.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218624002296822594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyaWs0Eqow3tKBUXKy1zWuUr6Rp4bPUIwesuJ_obwKnIqmm7P-LU8lri2V39AAohYTqA_C5wiBAuyJgoIp1VXNJJwJAwlr8guSvteuBMmER4c-FE4oQeuA2Gz5jfonZ_j1yn8JGJXu5ve/s400/Apollo+8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-size: 78%;">Taken 24 December, 1968<br />Apollo 8 mission<br />Courtesy: NASA</span><br />____________________________________________________</span></center><br /><div align="center"><strong>Christmas Eve, 1968</strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong>(Ninth revolution around the Moon)</strong></div><br /><em>85 hours, 44 minutes, and 58 seconds into the Apollo 8 mission, astronauts James Lovell, William Anders, and Frank Borman broadcast photographs of Earth from lunar orbit.</em><br /><br /><em>"The vast loneliness up here on the moon is awe-inspiring...makes you realize just what you have back there on Earth," says Lovell. "The Earth from here is a grand oasis in the big vastness of space." </em><br /><br /><div align="left"><em>"We are now approaching lunar sunrise," Anders says. "For all the people back on Earth, the crew of Apollo 8 has a message..."</em></div><br /><div align="right"><em>"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth..." </em></div><div align="center"><strong></strong></div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAGD_i41apfaYRs6Vd63QkjcSD6kwIZ4dFLx67pkPNG2DPmp_q7-bDBxFdPLTXu6dtP7uI5AdvHRgocgReMVCdnNha2F7rXpj5JWAjOA58H8nFsU4usKYGDyC_YF9txmbOR3gShCdevCO/s1600-h/Apollo8+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218630656868175218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGAGD_i41apfaYRs6Vd63QkjcSD6kwIZ4dFLx67pkPNG2DPmp_q7-bDBxFdPLTXu6dtP7uI5AdvHRgocgReMVCdnNha2F7rXpj5JWAjOA58H8nFsU4usKYGDyC_YF9txmbOR3gShCdevCO/s400/Apollo8+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Taken 24 December, 1968<br />Apollo 8 mission<br />Courtesy: NASA</span><br />____________________________________________________<br /><br /><br /></span><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size: 100%;">(Santa Monica, California)</span></strong></div><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><div align="left"><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">I’m sprawled out in the work room with Levi, a some-time clerk at The Crystal Ship and a drug dealer on the Strip.</span><br /><br /></span></div></center><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><center><div align="left"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-1-crystal-ship.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></span></div></center></blockquote><center><span style="font-size: 85%;"></span></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-19899401084286253812023-06-18T19:47:00.005-07:002023-06-18T19:47:38.391-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 1): Blue Moons<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-49VSZrCRLHFaLO90aeJmj4b2Gj_-IISRGNwdosXa3dZS6ye5P61kDd7vUe4lRlkQGN6012dDpOCDprcmU2-kqCp04oA3yb9OSEcG5LxkPCsnTk-8vCTSeXLyZBUiBA1VrsIfCDHM7N98/s1600-h/Blue+Moon+3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218914667328877762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-49VSZrCRLHFaLO90aeJmj4b2Gj_-IISRGNwdosXa3dZS6ye5P61kDd7vUe4lRlkQGN6012dDpOCDprcmU2-kqCp04oA3yb9OSEcG5LxkPCsnTk-8vCTSeXLyZBUiBA1VrsIfCDHM7N98/s400/Blue+Moon+3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-size: 85%;">From Apollo 8: December 24, 1968<br />Photo courtesy of NASA (Blue tint added by webmaster)</span><br />___________________________________________________<br /><br /></center><div align="center"><strong>Christmas Eve, 1968</strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: white;">-</span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><strong>(2001 Ivar Street, Hollywood, California)</strong></div><br />Blue Moons.<br /><br />Black dots from the linoleum rise up and float, planets bursting into blue, red, yellow, green, purple, orange.<br /><br />Birthing galaxies...<br /><br /><em>Does God feel the same awe?</em><br /><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-1-blue-moons.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></blockquote><div align="left"><span style="font-size: 85%;"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-83905960400200815922023-06-18T19:43:00.006-07:002023-06-18T19:43:57.569-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 2): Dark Side<span style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd74xGfbYlzoq8DN4q0eP3z2-I3O6IZh7HQkg_Cgi_R9DZSgJGw2Mfwe8V_f0ixiYpKYfPdnvyoB2SWgBHxWue0p0KJdE9aPCXQaOVaf1R-cOFRBukkkISYSVVhwJG9CN9QzG4rxRqEVH8/s1600-h/Moon+2+cropped.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220423658209866098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd74xGfbYlzoq8DN4q0eP3z2-I3O6IZh7HQkg_Cgi_R9DZSgJGw2Mfwe8V_f0ixiYpKYfPdnvyoB2SWgBHxWue0p0KJdE9aPCXQaOVaf1R-cOFRBukkkISYSVVhwJG9CN9QzG4rxRqEVH8/s400/Moon+2+cropped.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong>December 25, 1968</strong></div><br /><div align="center"><br />(Tenth revolution around the Moon)</div><br /><em>Christmas Day, 89:22:34. On the far side of the Moon and out of radio contact with Houston, Apollo 8's Service Propulsion System (SPS) has been ignited to accelerate it out of lunar orbit.</em><br /><br /><em>At 89:34:16, radio contact has been re-established with the crew. </em><br /><br /><em>89:34:25. Astronaut Lovell: "Please be informed there is a Santa Claus."</em><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><strong>(Hollywood)</strong></div><strong></strong><br /><div align="left">Far out Blue Moons.<br /><br />Stoney and I don’t come down until after three–we crash for a few hours. Then, about seven, we go to Cecil’s Stand for cheeseburgers and fries.<br /><br />Later we exchange presents–he gives me a jade ring and a petrified wood ashtray in psychedelic colors; I give him a blue rock. Both from The Crystal Ship. I’m not sure what he likes.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div align="left"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-dark-side.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-27949849643951335532023-06-18T19:40:00.002-07:002023-06-18T19:40:50.024-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 2): Flying Solo<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4Cl2GWxT-Vfj75oYYczoa7A-tnnSEFeWzxC41QeRVqgR2TxfSXBPPHtTprHBw09zoCBDv7jx4IkwmS8sRrwW2qcwk_6qkl7DeM-zsiZbI2_XicCatJXO_HPtCfaVATbekDtu82jSHMIL/s1600-h/messy+place+4+solar+Lens.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220444493274295922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4Cl2GWxT-Vfj75oYYczoa7A-tnnSEFeWzxC41QeRVqgR2TxfSXBPPHtTprHBw09zoCBDv7jx4IkwmS8sRrwW2qcwk_6qkl7DeM-zsiZbI2_XicCatJXO_HPtCfaVATbekDtu82jSHMIL/s400/messy+place+4+solar+Lens.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><span style="color: white;">-</span> <div align="center"><strong>December 1968</strong></div><span style="color: white;">-</span><br />Stoney left 45 minutes ago for San Francisco, to score some acid. We decided it would be best if I stayed behind–save money to buy a van.<br /><br />It’s so cold in here, no heat, no one to keep me warm. I wish I could have gone with Stoney. He says he’ll be back, at the latest, by tomorrow evening.<div align="left"></div><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-flying-solo.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-42884809707668976972023-06-18T19:37:00.007-07:002023-06-18T19:37:58.241-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 2): Weed and Seeds<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDzf1c5OOj_E7wuchUb9lYadaaAZmAys1YGs2BfWcmqDd5-oxWdD4wZ4eAIJy5zxSLyzVtpMmuUk2PtnLnnlfSwcTl3I9VsosVgo1AnKY3syUjIazEg79XZlKhkWTvFt2HKNOYMhdR2l6/s1600-h/Marijuana+Glowing.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220448455372372626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDzf1c5OOj_E7wuchUb9lYadaaAZmAys1YGs2BfWcmqDd5-oxWdD4wZ4eAIJy5zxSLyzVtpMmuUk2PtnLnnlfSwcTl3I9VsosVgo1AnKY3syUjIazEg79XZlKhkWTvFt2HKNOYMhdR2l6/s400/Marijuana+Glowing.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <div align="center"><strong></strong><span style="color: white;">-</span></div><div align="center"><strong>(December 1968)</strong></div><span style="color: white;">-</span><br />Still waiting for Stoney, but it’s early yet. I just got up–I slept 14 hours straight. So tired...I just crashed in the middle of writing a letter to Jeff.<br /><br />I’m going to cut back the dope–wish Stoney would too. He can be difficult, especially when he’s high.<div align="left"></div><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-weed-and-seeds.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-29469019650599552172023-06-18T19:34:00.003-07:002023-06-18T19:34:28.884-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 2): Funny Little Naked Clowns<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8FCmKoXw3BUjI6YvEwgJrUKtjJMQz027oE9u6y8-KVYRmGPQ-iuRqApsGXssgr58U7XOSZTcjLU3cJy4d1gTkYIPcp-hBtWjvfK3jy_hP-gqpQJORyZ8yuW2tOilxsEm-V1o1OLnTCoh/s1600-h/Clown+3+Poster+Lens.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220465416923425698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8FCmKoXw3BUjI6YvEwgJrUKtjJMQz027oE9u6y8-KVYRmGPQ-iuRqApsGXssgr58U7XOSZTcjLU3cJy4d1gTkYIPcp-hBtWjvfK3jy_hP-gqpQJORyZ8yuW2tOilxsEm-V1o1OLnTCoh/s400/Clown+3+Poster+Lens.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="color: white;">-</span></em></div><div align="center"><strong>December 1968</strong></div><div align="center"><em><span style="color: white;">-</span></em></div><div align="left"><em>147:00:42. On December 27, Apollo 8 splashes down in the Pacific Ocean. The U.S.S. Yorktown is on scene for the rescue: the astronauts on board by 12:20 p.m. (EST), the Apollo capsule by 1:20 p.m. (EST).</em> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><span style="color: white;">-</span></div><div align="center"><strong>(Hollywood, California)<br /></strong><span style="color: white;">-<br /></span></div><div align="left">Stoney’s back. He shows me 500 tabs of STP bought from his San Francisco source. I’ve never seen so much acid at one time.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div align="left"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-funny-little-naked-clowns.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-25293971820033770062023-06-18T19:32:00.000-07:002023-06-18T19:32:02.316-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 2): Decision Time<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8bDpjW0pBG1-0yEaRa_MbR5Rcg47uPVsJBaSjSrgYvadJlHWOgXfdKL33IaU_EbB2tl7qTVhNMHjLhcgTAK563qqFCMK1VuRyLLNNcG9E4VmwGWgfoLINvQYbagLavBfn_Wq5BC4deBl/s1600-h/VW+van+Glowing+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220492685864605986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8bDpjW0pBG1-0yEaRa_MbR5Rcg47uPVsJBaSjSrgYvadJlHWOgXfdKL33IaU_EbB2tl7qTVhNMHjLhcgTAK563qqFCMK1VuRyLLNNcG9E4VmwGWgfoLINvQYbagLavBfn_Wq5BC4deBl/s400/VW+van+Glowing+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: white;">-</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong>(December 1968)</strong></div><br />Stoney and I look at a VW van. I found my old savings passbook from Sioux City: cool! I still have $136.14 left. We need two or three hundred yet. If we don’t get the van, then maybe I’ll use the money to visit Big Brother in Pennsylvania.<br /><br />I love Stoney, but I’m sick of being stoned all the time. <div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-decision-time.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></span></b></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-14135833674137252392023-06-18T19:29:00.004-07:002023-06-18T19:29:34.714-07:00Excerpt (Chapter 2): Thirteen Tabs<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vw7P67pYExSjQUxLtexBus8_G6Kc5F2BuFofxn4z5rWMYf7s43lWsregyZnSLeb1KCeGizKHoSdumOBNMja0y2AuGGD8aQ8vOt8V688qz9EcqyyT7Dul2PvuSO_4Tcle6bWgCOVdSaZb/s1600-h/Hippie+Male+Lens+SolarBlur.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220498079640775986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vw7P67pYExSjQUxLtexBus8_G6Kc5F2BuFofxn4z5rWMYf7s43lWsregyZnSLeb1KCeGizKHoSdumOBNMja0y2AuGGD8aQ8vOt8V688qz9EcqyyT7Dul2PvuSO_4Tcle6bWgCOVdSaZb/s400/Hippie+Male+Lens+SolarBlur.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <div align="center"><strong><span style="color: white;">-</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong>(December 1968)</strong></div><br />Stoney didn’t come home last night. I worry that he’s been busted, so I hunt all over Hollywood and Santa Monica for him. I even check with the fuzz down at L.A. County.<br /><br />I find him hanging out at The Crystal Ship, flirting with his ex old lady Syndi, she hanging all over him. She’s a skinny chick with short red hair, in a pixie style popular about three years ago, all doe-eyed, and looks about 15. But there’s nothing innocent about her<span style="color: #000099;">...</span><div><span style="color: #000099;"><br /></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-thirteen-tabs.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-76343621273020134442023-06-18T19:26:00.006-07:002023-06-18T19:26:55.509-07:00Excerpt--October 5, 1968: "Wallich's Music City and Eleanor's Radio"<span style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1f_817HtvG1OdyRGRm4gMgxbJy_WybObqvCGpnpsscNWCnexyXV-D0qmFUhHSAlJQv_tPtTweuUEEyWpNhyphenhyphenAGpjOdg0jCxStGt6_cfdQOGO59ewS3wvf4F6aXY2CBLVJUmPP0uEoL4irQ/s1600-h/iWallich's+Music+CitySolarBlue.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226262761001197346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1f_817HtvG1OdyRGRm4gMgxbJy_WybObqvCGpnpsscNWCnexyXV-D0qmFUhHSAlJQv_tPtTweuUEEyWpNhyphenhyphenAGpjOdg0jCxStGt6_cfdQOGO59ewS3wvf4F6aXY2CBLVJUmPP0uEoL4irQ/s400/iWallich's+Music+CitySolarBlue.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><center><strong><a href="http://www.users.qwest.net/~oldiesloon/wg100568.htm"><span style="color: #000099;">WGDY Top Ten</span></a></strong></center><br /><strong><span style="color: #006600;">1. </span></strong><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXG83p2nkHw"><strong><span style="color: #000099;">Hey Jude</span></strong></a><strong><span style="color: #006600;">/Revolution, Beatles (1)<br /><br />2. Harper Valley P.T.A., Jeannie C. Riley (2)<br /><br />3. Fire, Crazy World of Arthur Brown (5)<br /><br />4. Midnight Confessions, Grass Roots (9)<br /><br />5. I've Got to Get a Message to You, Bee Gees (6)<br /><br />6. Time Has Come Today, Chambers Bros. (13)<br /><br />7. Indian Reservation, Don Fardon (7)<br /><br />8. Girl Watcher, O’Kaysions (11)<br /><br />9. Little Green Apples, O.C. Smith (8)<br /><br />10. On the Road Again, Canned Heat (4)<br /></span></strong><br /><div style="text-align: center;">*</div><br />It was after eight, a crisp evening, and Rick was still missing.<br /><br /><em>Damn him </em>. A total jerk.<br /><br />I kicked at the ground, scuffing my shoes on the pavement. If he weren’t so cute...<br /><br />“Hey, Eleanor, would you turn up your radio?” From my left, a male voice, not too deep, with a funny accent I’ve never heard before. I turned; a strange dude sat next to me, tapping his right foot, left foot on the wall, knee tucked under his chin.<div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-3-wallichs-music-city-and.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-88792136966514070152023-06-18T19:20:00.003-07:002023-06-18T19:20:32.564-07:00Excerpt: Rudy<span style="color: white;">* </span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdFgPRvdWLZ4swyJw1dLfnADnQAi_LWKZ-PUjCG_l6VfAR18gUB7r1p3awiOhHuGBW40oK5B1lTTOOweN4dRDcWm82CmVHR39PWMCZgLVwXQ5gzYyO7swRm2qKOxrvf35thSVDxxXzEZv/s1600-h/Bearded+old+man+4--poster.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215132843187150258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdFgPRvdWLZ4swyJw1dLfnADnQAi_LWKZ-PUjCG_l6VfAR18gUB7r1p3awiOhHuGBW40oK5B1lTTOOweN4dRDcWm82CmVHR39PWMCZgLVwXQ5gzYyO7swRm2qKOxrvf35thSVDxxXzEZv/s400/Bearded+old+man+4--poster.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: #990000; font-size: 130%;">January 1969</span><br /><br />(Hollywood</strong>)</div><p>Stoney pulls himself together and announces he’s hitchhiking to New York City to sell 500 tabs of acid–minus the 13 he dropped on New Year’s Eve.<br /><br />I beg him not to go–hitching cross country is too dangerous. Cops, rednecks, thieves, killers, all just waiting to arrest, beat up, roll, or even kill someone careless like Stoney.<br /><br />Devil-may-care Stoney. I’ve never met anyone who was so slapdash with dope.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-8-rudy.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></p></blockquote><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-53099143913105747772023-06-18T19:17:00.002-07:002023-06-18T19:17:28.505-07:00Excerpt: Cops<span style="color: white;">* </span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmPrk2Cs20_zruO-L7w2X4jCCtFbAAtP8px9RqKLZNH1WxGAFhX2gAI8B5Sw99BrMmdxb5z-oXHk6sAcYnn0r5OPtUGzJzRAeUnBatAV7C8YuKW4ozp3mtIsdpCyR58dXzSb8PpkTwbpW/s1600-h/cops+silhouette+Blue+Lens.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215188071886800930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmPrk2Cs20_zruO-L7w2X4jCCtFbAAtP8px9RqKLZNH1WxGAFhX2gAI8B5Sw99BrMmdxb5z-oXHk6sAcYnn0r5OPtUGzJzRAeUnBatAV7C8YuKW4ozp3mtIsdpCyR58dXzSb8PpkTwbpW/s400/cops+silhouette+Blue+Lens.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <div align="center"><br /><strong>January 1969<br /><br />(Hollywood)</strong> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><br />I hear from Levi that Stoney might not come back, after all, at least any time soon.<br /><br />Evidently, New York, cop wise, is super cool right now. L.A.’s too hot.<br /><br />Levi’s right. When I get home from Cecil’s, two cops wait outside the pad.<br /><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div align="left"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-10-cops.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-65699644209214641052023-06-18T19:14:00.006-07:002023-06-18T19:14:52.602-07:00Excerpt: The Luckiest Hand<span style="color: white;">*<br /></span><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f1/Delta_B763_N1201P.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f1/Delta_B763_N1201P.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> <center><span style="font-size: 85%;"><em>Photo Courtesy of </em></span><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Main_Page"><span style="color: #000099; font-size: 85%;"><em>Wikimedia Commons</em></span></a><br />_______________________________________________<br /><br /><strong>August 18, 2004</strong><br /><br /><strong>(Delta Flight #5883 to Omaha, Nebraska)</strong><br /><br /></center>I would never see Stoney again.<br /><br />I have no pictures of him, and yet his image remains grooved in my mind–my first real love, however ill-conceived.<br /><br />Shortly after we parted, I drew a picture of him from memory. <span style="color: white;"><br /></span><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-11-luckiest-hand.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-68107503065718897442023-06-18T19:11:00.002-07:002023-06-18T19:11:23.992-07:00Excerpt: Downers<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">*</span><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGOKC7pt22qmzG2QIJXjnxv1X32kFzXN77dUwcULn6SsQBhjIIcakwypuucHQ4IKzxOCF5rnJ_gv7UiZFwZXz7UqjtT4B9ErNWpcw6yka-CNf6iFJpLqM-nVFoSmwzYzEzh7mms61ftkD/s1600-h/Jennifer_1970_Glowing+bright+cropped.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215236095427475362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGOKC7pt22qmzG2QIJXjnxv1X32kFzXN77dUwcULn6SsQBhjIIcakwypuucHQ4IKzxOCF5rnJ_gv7UiZFwZXz7UqjtT4B9ErNWpcw6yka-CNf6iFJpLqM-nVFoSmwzYzEzh7mms61ftkD/s400/Jennifer_1970_Glowing+bright+cropped.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><strong>January 1969<br /><br />(Hollywood)</strong></div><br />Just my luck, having the cops show up like they did, looking for Stoney.<br /><br />What has he done, anyway? Must be bad.<br /><br />I stumble downstairs to Rudy’s pad and pound on the door.<br /><br />Rudy, his usual sloppy self, opens the door. Several girls sit around smoking dope, munching chips and pretzels.<br /><br />Words won’t come. Instead, I bawl.<div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-12-downers.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a> </span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-34730160899954659412023-06-18T19:04:00.006-07:002023-06-18T19:04:39.374-07:00Excerpt--January 15, 1969: "Sioux City Blues"<span style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSk1xzAdSYwxApDQT4tkqCVs4auNRiheclHD40IaFMl1YBrUtSXSmGauBfJniGwhIr2j0-oRk2noH9EWjSt4I0hsk_6CR-j-UI2ffyYU8Cs1BAjuDNIEPsI9p7R9-gk5ZF_-xJ9h1eClIH/s1600-h/DeeDeePoster.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240092727909190034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSk1xzAdSYwxApDQT4tkqCVs4auNRiheclHD40IaFMl1YBrUtSXSmGauBfJniGwhIr2j0-oRk2noH9EWjSt4I0hsk_6CR-j-UI2ffyYU8Cs1BAjuDNIEPsI9p7R9-gk5ZF_-xJ9h1eClIH/s400/DeeDeePoster.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <center><em><span style="font-size: 85%;">Harley Semple</span></em><br />______________________________________________________________<br /><br /><b>(Hollywood)</b></center><br /><br />Dee Dee’s bugging me in the worst way--says I have three choices: go to my mom’s, Auntie’s (no way), or go back to Sioux City. He’s really acting scary, and Auntie’s turning up the heat.<br /><br />I’ll pass on Auntie’s and Iowa, thank you.<br /><br />I’m going stir crazy in this joint. I want to go out for a walk, but Auntie says no.<div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-23-sioux-city-blues.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></span></b> </div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-22880903562992986962023-06-18T18:50:00.001-07:002023-06-18T18:50:40.895-07:00Memoir Madness: driven to involuntary commitment (Blurb)<strong><span style="color: white;">*</span></strong>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg98dAHVxflNiUJ1y2GvKQ-6iS_SxXIDagT1mjBb_29XmW6B0lxoagG7gnFIirNG6yvGKTetxuejV1h5wpaZQqaM8S8rwEbYanQk0M5enCEyMWqS2b7AZXQQUypg-D4Dz6Uw-VZlsD_-OJ/s1600-h/Blue+Moon+3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240109580724670194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg98dAHVxflNiUJ1y2GvKQ-6iS_SxXIDagT1mjBb_29XmW6B0lxoagG7gnFIirNG6yvGKTetxuejV1h5wpaZQqaM8S8rwEbYanQk0M5enCEyMWqS2b7AZXQQUypg-D4Dz6Uw-VZlsD_-OJ/s400/Blue+Moon+3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Blurb revised and moved to <a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_8190.html" target="_blank">MemoirMadness.com</a></span></b></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-60501212606810687382023-06-18T18:47:00.002-07:002023-06-18T18:47:21.798-07:00Memoir Madness: driven to involuntary commitment (Summary)<span style="color: white;">*</span>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLUOb0lZPuo_F7T4mCcCmZEPkDnMI0xm1Wm4sl9AvueH-NxdFLxcy8e2Ae9IdHZYmq-6z05TKJvncBiDNFD1DimZ3NKYG_U-cCP3k8UR3E4yoiNbBVMCoxKrrmEPMirniTIuA_ZKLXPSh/s1600-h/Jennifer+1969--Solar.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237450872860024178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLUOb0lZPuo_F7T4mCcCmZEPkDnMI0xm1Wm4sl9AvueH-NxdFLxcy8e2Ae9IdHZYmq-6z05TKJvncBiDNFD1DimZ3NKYG_U-cCP3k8UR3E4yoiNbBVMCoxKrrmEPMirniTIuA_ZKLXPSh/s400/Jennifer+1969--Solar.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Summary moved to <a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_26.html" target="_blank">MemoirMadness.com</a></span></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-51468084270534130632023-06-18T18:35:00.006-07:002023-06-18T18:35:43.984-07:00Memoir Madness: driven to involuntary commitment (Synopsis)<span style="color: white;">* </span>
<br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240121229042296066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYyuLQu60U0CpoDsgBT8GI9B5Xz140vtfmHsRtgVa21QCj9SBIJDNd9T0s9EVYYNw9mefDBpevqPSEZ_ONnK9NBG5DlWRYaji_GMZv4H2pTOq2dIhkkg40a8s9H2Tfogw9BzK6pquktKD/s400/CherokeeGroundsBuildingWaterLensDark+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Memoir Madness Synopsis</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Moved to <a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_3567.html" target="_blank"><b>MemoirMadness.com</b></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.52); font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div></span><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-11871590574937158542023-06-18T18:29:00.003-07:002023-06-18T18:37:56.914-07:00Memoir Madness: driven to involuntary commitment (Notes on Narrative Threads: Flashbacks, Other Voices, and Dramatization)<span style="color: white;">*</span>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZYN4pMaab8PtYCS5L_T28HCSwn-qZN4CLhbe41TP02nzdalxVlCB2DdFTa9n_QPTzvwgXoBmed3soNjd5l9gCNa4TsptuzL_CJtcrXfKIldV2kafOWoFIJZ9CbTsPHq3Tu0X9OubG0KS/s1600-h/Cherokee+Darken.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240123718070629058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZYN4pMaab8PtYCS5L_T28HCSwn-qZN4CLhbe41TP02nzdalxVlCB2DdFTa9n_QPTzvwgXoBmed3soNjd5l9gCNa4TsptuzL_CJtcrXfKIldV2kafOWoFIJZ9CbTsPHq3Tu0X9OubG0KS/s400/Cherokee+Darken.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Notes on Narrative Threads: Flashbacks, Other
Voices, and Dramatization</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_8756.html" target="_blank">Moved to MemoirMadness.com</a></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-20561481388274242392023-06-18T18:21:00.001-07:002023-06-18T18:21:19.156-07:00Memoir Madness: driven to involuntary commitment (Research Note)<span style="color: white;">*</span>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8W9uwucd5NlnkA4mu_5LLZ4Lca1vUQ4GlD0cGuqpZdnBOI5U_UXKnRtO99l3tc_0f7CRjBkLz-9MtLmzRlmXoRia5qCp6ZugUzuevF5sNakr4Bz77WFzrX0e9TzxL6zjGTVbzuAoGSZ6/s1600-h/Letter+to+me+Cutout.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240126046646771122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8W9uwucd5NlnkA4mu_5LLZ4Lca1vUQ4GlD0cGuqpZdnBOI5U_UXKnRtO99l3tc_0f7CRjBkLz-9MtLmzRlmXoRia5qCp6ZugUzuevF5sNakr4Bz77WFzrX0e9TzxL6zjGTVbzuAoGSZ6/s400/Letter+to+me+Cutout.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_9651.html" target="_blank">Research Note moved to Memoir Madness</a></b></div><span style="color: white;">*</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-24288290392687570032023-06-18T18:18:00.001-07:002023-06-18T18:18:21.249-07:00Excerpt--January 16, 1969: "...While I Kiss the Sky"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbPvc10RJXiZsNDUk07fXVmPjbYZ0smTw9-wkF0sW_QXIW4XSt5Z01v20oLTwwHtk7aVHuyGYxH61L6BpIyBsLA6fnXr35-Jn8tds_cE5-ynvXLDzwkg0QGGutMcAy0O7PI04NYpMUXoB/s1600-h/Night+Flight+8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242986206160617970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbPvc10RJXiZsNDUk07fXVmPjbYZ0smTw9-wkF0sW_QXIW4XSt5Z01v20oLTwwHtk7aVHuyGYxH61L6BpIyBsLA6fnXr35-Jn8tds_cE5-ynvXLDzwkg0QGGutMcAy0O7PI04NYpMUXoB/s400/Night+Flight+8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-weight: bold;">(United Airlines, Flight #266, on approach to Denver, Colorado)</span><br /><br /><br />Purple haze all in my brain<br /><br />Lately things just don’t seem the same<br /><br />Actin’ funny, but I don’t know why<br /><br />‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky</center><br /><br /><div align="right">–Jimi Hendrix, "Purple Haze"</div><br /><center>____________________________________________________________<br /><br /></center>I hate flying, especially when I’m going somewhere I don’t want to be. Last summer, it wasn’t so bad flying <em>to</em> California–somehow, the prospect of crashing to earth and becoming part of a smoldering heap doesn’t seem so likely when you’re going somewhere fun.<br /><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-24-while-i-kiss-sky.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-54138205189704498242023-06-18T18:14:00.001-07:002023-06-18T18:14:58.970-07:00Excerpt--August 2004: The Miracle of Google<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGx-w024HQ5LIBMMTCqnpCT3d0mP6YIYFhOM8AbzU_cgjvt-1ziruAMcOu4etlDaQJSdXeSJBeEBAYkTxkJd0pA2xxLDn-LZKdRMyKzkKDz5k3_TGDlH86OgCGkm-CrLMcIXVEwtdNOMM/s1600-h/Day+Flight+2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243501349769078866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGx-w024HQ5LIBMMTCqnpCT3d0mP6YIYFhOM8AbzU_cgjvt-1ziruAMcOu4etlDaQJSdXeSJBeEBAYkTxkJd0pA2xxLDn-LZKdRMyKzkKDz5k3_TGDlH86OgCGkm-CrLMcIXVEwtdNOMM/s400/Day+Flight+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br /><br /><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">A</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ugust 2004<br /><br />(Delta Flight #5883 to Omaha, Nebraska, on approach)</span></center><br /><br />I yearn to understand my mother, but I doubt if I ever will.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1p8nT5Kw5F6XNR6PRfoVuPNfCcan_IyQrPUVxj3LlW3PoZ5TY_vWjJW4ELFLuq13tcpdj-vRlSzBWJunpdzkLTXj3raJhNxD2nRgoCIw5RAdv9MUYmVBc5s1pdUVXp8AB22AhDEQC93n/s1600-h/MotherAndBrothers+2-2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264465651673069394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1p8nT5Kw5F6XNR6PRfoVuPNfCcan_IyQrPUVxj3LlW3PoZ5TY_vWjJW4ELFLuq13tcpdj-vRlSzBWJunpdzkLTXj3raJhNxD2nRgoCIw5RAdv9MUYmVBc5s1pdUVXp8AB22AhDEQC93n/s400/MotherAndBrothers+2-2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 395px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> <center><em><span style="font-size: 85%;">Jennifer's Mother (in green), circa 1970 (age 39)</span></em><br />____________________________________________________</center><br /><br />I Googled her as Jan Durrell, her professional name. Mary Lou “Marilyn” Semple Carson Kraft Whalen was a burlesque dancer who performed under the Durrell name.<br /><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-26-miracle-of-google.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></span></b></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-29184682441918671972023-06-18T17:54:00.002-07:002023-06-18T17:54:40.519-07:00Excerpt--January 17, 1969: There Must be Some Way Outta Here<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3eqcE1mGIIEb8aivhhy09TCSj9kYwCfl8XxqFsGb_2e6xbs0f2mUCMZWZm76JxH4OB-x2BgfcuIl4dLNrMKE58Fr7hAHSClpLiy6yldnCQStmwKweqLUezUGW_pHNxstguqF9CFvtTSaZ/s1600-h/1901+West+3rd+Street_1964.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243729816881430834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3eqcE1mGIIEb8aivhhy09TCSj9kYwCfl8XxqFsGb_2e6xbs0f2mUCMZWZm76JxH4OB-x2BgfcuIl4dLNrMKE58Fr7hAHSClpLiy6yldnCQStmwKweqLUezUGW_pHNxstguqF9CFvtTSaZ/s400/1901+West+3rd+Street_1964.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jennifer's home (West Third Street, Sioux City, Iowa) 1964-1968</span></span><br />_____________________________________________________________<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">(Sioux City)</span></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></center>What a drag--it’s not only literally cold here, but the icy chill coming from Mo is frightening; I <em>definitely</em> want to blow this joint as soon as possible.<br /><br />Yesterday, when we stepped off the plane, I thought she was going to hit me.<div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-38-what-to-do-with-my-life.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-91816005422671096412023-06-18T17:50:00.007-07:002023-06-18T17:50:53.739-07:00Excerpt--January 1969: What to Do With My Life?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxMoyMSzNXKWm1aSgNHdUjWh82jbSTpjA6n3__f-2ZmTFj4zwurXTgiWitehgRh2um5KlOnGOPtc3FdSsjy3F5Q_rvL_PIdON1uls22fLNOgvAc4GNkGwCllZZhlCsnB-fV5m1NirhodhM/s1600-h/Hewlett-Packard+9100A2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244871564403435874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxMoyMSzNXKWm1aSgNHdUjWh82jbSTpjA6n3__f-2ZmTFj4zwurXTgiWitehgRh2um5KlOnGOPtc3FdSsjy3F5Q_rvL_PIdON1uls22fLNOgvAc4GNkGwCllZZhlCsnB-fV5m1NirhodhM/s400/Hewlett-Packard+9100A2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <center>The Hewlett-Packard 9100A<br />_______________________________________________________________<br /><br /><br /><strong>(Sioux City)</strong></center><br /><br />Mo’s been bugging me about finding a job.<br /><br />Is she kidding? I’m not hanging around here long enough to find a regular job. I’ll have to work some day, but the time isn’t right yet.<br /><br />Maybe I’ll hitch to East Berlin, Pennsylvania, and find a job there.<div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-38-what-to-do-with-my-life.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></b></span></div></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350736782857287890.post-57695427911047589782023-06-18T17:48:00.004-07:002023-06-18T17:48:45.938-07:00Excerpt--February 1969: My Country 'Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Tyranny<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">*</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMEWGobXEd0idw6kbvIhIDak6TIo3AHTpjulLbkuR-vhSL_7ppx8W72fwgF263IyGZFx7M_MEpoYQzhP1pqNL8smkbEpWJbHFrSgtQRHlQtAj9IldWpuKDrGERWdyPmA6aysYo_FvmyJ6/s1600-h/Jeff1970DarkFresco.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245336785497937106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMEWGobXEd0idw6kbvIhIDak6TIo3AHTpjulLbkuR-vhSL_7ppx8W72fwgF263IyGZFx7M_MEpoYQzhP1pqNL8smkbEpWJbHFrSgtQRHlQtAj9IldWpuKDrGERWdyPmA6aysYo_FvmyJ6/s400/Jeff1970DarkFresco.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jeff Brown</span></span><br />___________________________________________________________________<br /><br /><strong>(Sioux City)</strong></center><br /><br />Finally! I heard from Jeff; he says he’s been writing me all along. I happened to be home alone when the mail came, and, voila! a large envelope covered with psychedelic drawings, a peace sign, flowers, and a slogan: “My Country Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Tyranny, in Subtle Forms.” Inside, he let me know that he had written me a <em>very important</em> letter on the 20th. Says he’s turning into a nervous wreck waiting for my answer.<br /><br />What answer?<br /><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-41-my-country-tis-of-thee-sweet.html" target="_blank">Excerpt moved to Memoir Madness</a></span></span></b></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0