Laurel & Tom
Being kicked out of a commune by the authorities
(the local law in Sanoma County) is not pleasant. Being hassled by the
law when you know in your heart that you are not a criminal is not the
life I expected. The People at Tolstoy and Morningstar had given my life
a new meaning. They had done everything that they were supposed to do,
helping me to understand about life and love. Putting these words on paper
may thank them a little. I do not have much money, but I do have words.
If you helped someone in the sixties, good. You should become a little
misty eyed. We know in our hearts, you did well. I never organized anything
in my life. The one thing that I could do efficiently was work. You have
to understand that I am now looking back at the things I was doing. Back
then mentally I was grabbing at straws.
When did I decide to work?
It was somewhere between New York and Chicago.
It may have been in Pennsylvania when the farmer asked me to be a bodyguard,
all I had to do was clean up and stand around in front of someone. Or in
Detroit when the three young black hoods/brothers picked me up and started
flashing their knives and stuff, I said "Far out and Peace brother, we
are family". They said, "Man you're O.K." and drove me back three miles
to where they picked me up. They said "Keep the Faith, keep up the
good work". What they were up to I did not know? I saw them as human beings,
that was how I treated everyone.
I caught another ride to Chicago. In downtown
Chicago, I headed for the bus depot, bus depots have maps. And a map was
what I needed. At the bus depot I found the map on the wall. I took out
the letter from Kathy. In the corner of the letter was an address for Laurel.
I read the map, found the street address and started walking. While walking
I found a place where they print the Bibles that are in hotels everywhere.
If you look you see. I found Laurel's address and rang the doorbell. I
was buzzed up. I greeted everyone. It was the weekend, we had time to do
fun things and feast, I learned that Laurel was a dancer. I learned that
she had worked at CBS in New York. I learned that she was now working for
a PR firm. I learned that Laurel was extremely intense and tense. I learned
that she was the type of person that would not back away from a fight.
She would fight man or women and kick their ass. We were completely opposite.
I was laid back, a go with the flow type guy. Ambo and I saw that the city
was going to kill her. The muscles in her shoulders were like steel, tense.
She loved us because we were relaxed and pleasant. I never knew the relationship
between Ambo and Laurel. I knew they were friends.
Here is a story about working on this planet.
I was in my mind heading in the direction of going back to work. I knew that I could live in peace and still work. I knew that we were a civilization of men. I could live in peace and work. I did not have to work, I found it convenient to have some way to barter. Everyone was surprised when I said I was going back to work. Mentally I was not going to take any more abuse from the law in California. I could do my thing on my own. After Kathy and Ambo left, Laurel said I could not find work dressed like that. She took charged, organize things is what Laurel does know what to do. She trashed everything that I had. I kept the belt from Sylvia, I laid a little oil on it. Laurel put a bowl over my head and did a little trimming. Monday morning I went out to find work. I soon learned that if you have not worked in over a year people are a little puzzled? They want questions answered. I gave them answers, they smiled and wished me luck. I soon found that if I went over to ManPower that they had jobs that no one wanted, with one exception, Tomas. Tomas wanted to work. Spiritually, working was where it was at. There is no explanation for this, it is just being with God or I am a being just with God. The jobs I did were not pleasant and they lasted only six or seven hours. These jobs were to help people get caught up. They were menial, hard and filthy. I finally landed a job that I got to keep. I did the job so well that my department manager brought people over to see how efficiently I was doing the job. I created quite a stir with my desire to do the job right at a minimum wage. They could not believe that I could make a shit job into a work of art. I was taking up space and time, I was being. My head was in it's proper place. I had been taught well at Tolstoy and Morningstar.
***
More
on Work
***
Laurel had a beautiful stereo system, while I
was in the service, I had built my own system. I knew nice stuff when I
saw it. I found out that Laurel had a great love of music. This has become
one of our greatest bonds.
+
Ambo, Kathy and I were riding with Laurel in
her new blue 67 Mustang on the Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. We were singing
along with the radio. That day I heard someone singing about loving the
one your with. This is good, I thought to my self. I spend all my time
searching, dreaming and pining for love. Love was here, there at my feet,
no need to look for love elsewhere. Where Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
picked that up is beyond my knowledge. They conveyed a message in a beautiful
song. Love the one your with. I lot of people think I was looking in a
mirror when I heard them singing that song.
+
Laurel has a beautiful speaking voice. She has
the voice that we all like to hear. "It was the Night before Christmas
......" , "What's a Hobbit? Hobbits are little people that live in Middle
Earth............" Why is it that some people have beautiful speaking
voices. I heard Art Bell speaking and he was charming the crickets and
black stealth out of the night sky, what a pleasant voice.
+
I have tried to get Laurel to live on a commune,
living closer to the earth. Laurel's problem is the way she was brought
up. She was taught to wear make-up at an early age. Ambo, Kathy and I said
the people at Morningstar don't care, they understand. Laurel knew it would
be a problem for her. I compromised, bring Morningstar to Laurel, let her
know that the world of Morningstar in within us all. Caring and loving
the one your with is very good.
+
I moved to Kentucky second behind my sister.
Laurel followed me down latter. Laurel and I lived above of my sisters
home in Lexington, Ky. Every Sunday Laurel and I would travel away from
Lexington. Early Sunday morning we would decide on a compass point, Laurel's
Mustang had a compass on the dash. The city of Lexington is shaped like
a wagon wheel and each spoke of the wheel are called Pikes. Since we lived
close to downtown, it was easy to travel away from the city. The farms
in Lexington are clean and neat. Green bluegrass's black or white washed
fences. Mossy green rocks and ferns. Winding roads to disappear into. We
would stop and visit the sides of roads, watching animals and people, thoroughly
enjoying our days together. On one occasion we were traveling in our predestined
direction. We were going slow, Sunday Driving. Laurel and I see a huge
barn at the edge of the road. As we pulled up to the barn, we stopped and
observed maybe twenty-five ewe's and maybe thirty or more young lambs.
Each young lamb had a coat of young warm/rosy/blue wool. The color was
really gray, but the sun and the new wool was clean and pure. The young
lambs would bound into the air together as a group, all fours leaving the
ground together. Laurel and I had emotional warm smiles and laughs, just
looking at the young wild lambs.
We smoked and enjoyed a pleasant Sunday picnic
with the young lamb's.
+
We are traveling in different direction.
Laurel has dropped out to Ky. That is really going backwards for a city
girl. Tomas went up to Ky. Coming up from self imposed poverty. Adjusting
seems to be the biggest problem we both had to adjust too. It was easy
for me with my Christian background to live in Ky. I never thought ( Laurel
seems to understand that very well) that Christianity would be a problem
for me/us. Well it has been the biggest problem, Laurel tried to adjust.
She cannot change the way she was brought up. It was easy for me to change,
I have worn skins like a chameleon. Religion was a task that I went after
early in my teens. I learned about Christianity, I learned about Gandhi
(even though I never knew what he was thinking). I learned about Buddha.
I learned about Jesus, I learned about Confucianism. I read about St. Augustine.
I learned about Martian Luther. I read about the great painters. I read
about Michelangelo Buonarroti. I learned about Leo Tolstoy. All these people
were in pain, the kind of pain that searches for the truth. That is where
my head was at when I left Morningstar. ( I now know that politics will
wash their hands of people like Jesus, they will turn their backs and say
whatever politician say, they'll come back to town after the death............with
sweet logic and political skill). Laurel was trying to understand me. I
knew that I had to learn about what she thought. I had to conform and give
my being to her. We studied the bible together. What we learned was that
the people around us were worshiping good books and idols. We stopped studying,
too many conflicts. I realized that we had to understand life together.
I knew that I could not bring children into this world. Little did I know
the powers of a women's will. What I did learn was that history taught
man to live. Passing down wisdom in all forms of thought/writings.
***
Since moving to Marion people have been trying
to save us. It is true that we dressed different at that time. Vanity was
not to much in demand in our household. Laurel had changed quite a lot
from Chicago. She wore granny dresses here in Marion, she breast fed our
children ( Heaven forbid!! ). She roamed around town without a bra. Her
skirts were to short. She was (or not) living at Morningstar. We turned
are garden by hand. She learned to cook again. Time has tempered us, the
car is easier. Someone felt sorry for us and donated a TV to us. I am sure
that the prayers of one hundred women saved us all from damnation.
Laurel came down from the dry cleaners in Chicago
to the Matag ringer/washer and thirty dirty diapers. I decided that I did
not need to mow the lawn in Ky. I was going to grow me a national park
in our yard, to hell with a damn mower. After two weeks in spring the yard
began to grow. Things grow big in Ky. In two weeks the mosquitoes were
refueling on our bodies. We promptly headed to sears and bought a lawn
mower. Lesson learned about mosquitoes in Ky.
***
August, 2003
An old friend Nancy came by to visit us here
in Marion this week. She had come home for a high school reunion. She told
us that Laurel and I at the time that we met back in 1968-69, “ That we
were an Oasis in the Middle of the Desert,” We had never thought of us
that way at that time. I was running off to work in my boondocks and my
overalls and Laurel was home alone and pregnant. With no heat but a fire
place, (we burned chunks of coal from a coal bin out in the back of the
old house) no phone, no TV, no washing machine, no car and a old home full
of termites. Laurel would walk to town to the library in her mini skirt
and blouse that was liberated from any constraints and Nancy followed Laurel
home, that’s how they/we met.
Nancy works the VA but for a long time she ran
a shelter for veterans of the Vietnam war in Lexington, KY.
***
Nonentity, nonentities
Laurel and I are nonentities, it seems strange
that I would say such a thing about us, but I am always driving a point
home. Driving a point home to people that walk by nonentities.
We both have been ignored for different reasons,
Laurel for her appearance and demanding nature, and then when people finally
adjust to her domineering attitude and appearance she tells them she's
Jewish. That just drives them away politely. In most arguments Laurel is
usually right. So she is needed because of all of her organizing, vocal
and writing skills, but they would rather not deal with her. She has lived
this way for her entire life.
I am brain dead as far as emotions go, my mixed
up thoughts are morally not normal. I demand perfection and live like a
slouch. I do not think of myself as good looking, aware that people see
me as someone to laugh at, this emotion has been with me my entire life.
Living my younger life with a missing tooth and a silver tooth, not to
mention other lost emotions about my parents.
People still tell us subtlety to go away, very
politely. I realize that this is excise baggage that we carry around, it
is hard to teach an old dog new tricks.
Shimmering,
Clear and Not Seen
***
Sometimes words hurt, intentionally and sometimes
not intentionally.
I decided in the sixties not to have children.
I felt that there was no need to populate the earth with more children.
No, I would not help bring up children that would have to live under the
umbrella of nuclear death? What did I know about the power of the body
to reproduce? Not much, I was not too successful in this effort. Man has
no clue what he is up against with women. The world’s woman with all her
charms and beauty, man is no match. So I must say that I do love the children
that have come forward into this life, no matter what I thought. What I
thought has no meaning after the birth of a child.
This brings us to observations that I see today
with young women and young men. I see young women seeing another women
as an object of love, companion and friend. I do understand the logic,
no union with man, no child. This is simple and clear in my mind. This
is what I see with no bias; there are no conclusions, no puzzling logic,
only love without bringing children into this world. People that adopt
children are applying this same logic also.
***
Some people are sadden at my aggressive behavior,
but that is the evolution that happens with sharing compromise. Laurel
is not quite so intense, she will live long and prosper. We have taught
each other.
We have evolved back, we have compromised.
All the guys have long hair now. We have protected
our family.
***
I worked ten years on a maneuver boat like this. It is steam powered.
These men are putting the dam down. You see one wicket falling to the bottom.
These wickets are hinged to the bottom of the river. When they are down
they will lay flat on the river bottom. You can see the water current sweeping
around the edge of the boat. There is a long steel cable attached to the
far bank and a steel drum on the back of the boat.
Walking on the water, little footprints like puffs of smoke trailing
behind. Up to speed and into the air. The little black feathers beat
first at the water and then into the air. I watched as others glide down
and around the boat unaware of any danger, the ride on the water is their
pleasure. They dive down into the boils and pop up somewhere down stream.
When their ride is done, they run on the water and fly upstream to repeat
their joyous ride. We stop and watch amazed, knowing the dangers of so
swift a current. We marvel at the little black ducks as they perform their
dives, glides and flights.
***
In one moment, I walk out the door and look up at the dark sky.
I see the northwestern sky light up. Thunder, lightning is off in the distance,
no sound is heard. I look at the same skyline and see a planet or star
now in the darkness. I look down and see the river still and dark. I hear
a flop and turn around and see a large splash of water. Some great creature
from below the water has surfaced. As I walk away rings, ripple the water
in the still of the morning night. This was only a moment in this life,
not more than ten-seconds in time.
This river is rich in organic matter, in late summer it turns green.
The water has a smell to it, a green smell, a mossy woods smell, a turned
compost smell.
***
Belta
2-20-2000
Flooding on the Ohio River
The river is moving south, great trees are carried swiftly around the
concrete walkway of
dam. The speed of the chocolate current is mesmerizing and menacing.
I avoid looking in
that direction until I am safely above it on the towering portion of
the dam, where I can
safely look at it in leisure. I keep my eyes focused on the concrete
path, the current is swift
by my side. Sometimes the power of the water is overwhelming.
Mayfly
January 2, 2001, 3:00 – 11:30 P.M. Dam # 78:
Last night when I crossed the bridge into Illinois from Paducah I could
see ice floating in the river below the bridge. It was winding down the
Illinois shore like a white snake. When I got to work I saw the river above
the lock covered with ice as far as I could see. Apparently the Wabash
River overflowed and sent its ice into the Ohio River. The ice looked old
and worn, muddy and broken. It slowed down the locking of towboats and
barges, as we had to clear the ice with air before we could swing the gates
open. If ice is allowed to be pressed to the lock walls or gates it hardens
and becomes impossible to move the gates back flush against the recessed
walls out of the way. We also have to make ice lockings. We ask a towboat
with barges to shove into the chamber as far as he can go without smashing
the ice into the lower gates. As he moves into the lock chamber the ice
compacts in front of his barges. Then we ask him to back up above the lock
chamber and tie up. We close the gates and lock the ice that has been pushed
to the far end of the lock. Last night we lock about five hundreds feet
of compacted ice before we could come back and lock the towboat on the
upper wall.
+
Winter 1977-1978, Dam # 50:
My struggle is no different than any other man. Man has labored from
dusk to dawn to survive.
Some have struggled as slaves and some as wage laborers. They have
all toiled in salt stinging sweat and some have toiled in cold shivering
icy weather.
I have come to work and walked from one end of these lock walls to
the other ends of these walls for eight hours. I have walked up a cold
icy wall to relieve another lockman, turned and faced and icy blizzard
while holding a lock line for a towboat. The deckhand will stand on ice
that has splashed over the front of the barges the towboat is pushing.
The ice looks like chocolate milk that has dropped from a baby's high chair
and flown back up and froze in place. The deckhand works the heavy line
while standing on the cold steel deck of the coal barge. It is slow moving
and cold, I walk and place a line on a mooring pin on the lock wall, and
I walk swiftly away as the line tightens, narrows and sings. Then the line
slacks and I move forward and retrieve the line and walk another fifty
feet and repeat the process. The line tightens, narrows and sings again,
I have moved away swiftly knowing that the line will kill if it breaks
and flies threw the air like a rubber band. The icy blowing snow and air
still stings my face and numbs my feet. The line is taught the cumbersome
mass of cold steel and coal slowly, slowly, very slowly moves closer to
the wall. I stomp my feet and the cold pain move slowly up my legs. We
all wait, we are cold but we all wait for the mass to be aliened with the
wall. The water current tugs toward the middle of the river pulling the
heavy weight away from the wall. There is a constant battle between the
line and the water current. The coal-sooted line is so hot that it smokes
with friction as it moves around the timberheads. We are moving closer
to the lock. Fifty feet at a time we move the line and repeat the process.
We are numb, we are paid to be numb and cold and to catch and walk the
lines. The lock is getting closer and as soon as the front of the barge
is inside the protective walls our numbing chore ends. Once he is inside
I can walk to the center of the lock and log what time he entered the lock.
My hands shake as I remove my gloves and grab a pencil. The log is supposed
to be neat but shaking hands and drops of melting snow make it impossible.
The small guard type shack is small; the floor is covered with wet melting
snow, it is a painted gray wood. The paint is worn white by the constant
movement of heavy boots. I shake my hands and try to warm them in this
confined area. My nose and cheeks are red and wet. In a minute or two I'll
continue on to the other end of the lock and help the deckhand secure the
barges.
And:
Sometimes the weather is balmy and nice, at other times the temperature
is ninety degrees and the humidity is eighty, water and sweat run until
your clothes are wet, sopping wet. The steel barges retain the heat and
cook the bottom of your soles. The salt cakes around your eyes and burns
you.
***
Amish Folk
Back in the late seventies people in Crittenden County were
talking that some Amish Folk were buying land up on Cotton Patch. Cotton
Patch was above the lock, high up on a bluff overlooking the Ohio river.
My first sighting of these pleasant folk was at the lock and dam where
I worked. They had come down in their black buggies to visit the lock and
dam, they being new to the area. They, as tourists, marveled at the big
Ohio river and the lock and dam where I worked. Our Lockmaster at the time
decided to build them a hitching post so they could tie their horses in
the shade of some oak and maple trees.
So year after year we would see Amish Folk come down to the dam to
visit. On one occasion I heard a pickup pull up in front of our two story
red castle. I looked out the window in the evening, with the sun setting
across the river, to see three Amish teens come out of the old red pickup
and head up the gentle slope to our phone booth. I saw one boy putting
coins in the phone booth as the other two stood around and giggled. I was
a little confused. Amish boys and pickups? Amish boys and telephones? Amish
boys as teens giggling over a phone conversation? I soon made up my mind
that they had stolen away in the evening, borrowed a farmers truck, and
come down to the lock to use the phone to talk to his girl friend, who
could only be in Pennsylvania.
I think that a couple of years later this same young man came down
in a covered black buggy. Black covered buggies are for married couples
only. Anyway it was about two pm in the afternoon. The working crew and
I were sitting in the basement of the above said building. We were drinking
coffee and telling lies and wild stories. As we looked out of windows we
saw the buggy drive by and head for the hitching post. We made no big deal
of this, as this was a common sight for us. So we kept on talking and carrying
on with our stories. Our coffee break was about over so we all headed for
the sink to wash out our cups. As we headed out of the building steps going
up to the street, we noticed that the buggy was moving and shaking, swinging
and bouncing. The horse was still tied to the rail. A smile broke out on
our faces realizing that young folk are young folk no matter where they
are or whoever they are.
One of the nicest thing that I have seen in my life. It was the spark
and twinkle in the eyes of this old Amish couple that Laurel and I saw
one Sunday afternoon. Their buggy was tied to a light pole. She was heavy
with weight, her cheeks blushed with age in her black bonnet and Sunday
best, he with his gray beard and wiry frame, flat top hat and his black
Sunday best. They were sitting across from Laurel and I . Sunday evening
at the Dairy Queen enjoying one of lives simple pleasures. A dip of ice
cream in a sugar cone.
+
Scattered throughout this community there are men with straw hats,
blue shirts, black pants and boots. They work for hire repairing, removing
and building objects of wood, straw and bricks. This afternoon I saw a
young man of twenty or so riding a bike in a nearby community. I was surprised,
yet I felt that he was doing his part, moving to a job with the only the
help of a bicycle. Our world moves forward, evolving, staying behind and
moving forward at the same time. He was not riding across the U.S. on an
adventure with a pack on his back. He was riding to work with a straw hat,
blue shirt and black shoes and pants.
***
Toy
Planes and Sami Snake
The Green Mower
***
Polovtsian Dances.
This morning as I listened to a tape I made of music that I love. I
heard a familiar sound, the oboe as it danced through my thoughts. I thought
of Allison and her oboe. The black oboe with the silver keys. The long
hours of practice. The lessons with Mr. Woodall. As the day approached
for Mr. Woodall to let Allison go to College and a new teacher. He taught
her how to play Polovtsian Dances. Mr. Woodall also taught Allison the
fine art/craft of oboe reed making. The Polovtsion Dances were to introduce
Allison to the music teachers of MSU in Murray Ky. As Allison practiced,
our home was filled with a beautiful melody. Music that carried love and
dance. Day after day the beautiful melodies were played in our home. I
wonder if Jason Purcell has ever heard the Polovtsian Dances.
+
in·spi·ra·tion (¹n"sp…-r³"sh…n)
n. 1.a. Stimulation of the mind or emotions to a high level of feeling
or activity. b. The condition of being so stimulated. 2. An agency, such
as a person or work of art, that moves the intellect or emotions or prompts
action or invention. 3. Something, such as a sudden creative act or idea,
that is inspired. 4. The quality of inspiring or exalting: a painting full
of inspiration. 5. Theology. Divine guidance or influence exerted directly
on the mind and soul of humankind. 6. The act of drawing in, especially
the inhalation of air into the lungs.
