Thursday, November 4,1971
That’s Beside The Point
or mishmash from the bottom of my drawer
by Samantha Bower
I was cleaning out my
written stuff the other day and
found some things I thought
were worth sharing. The first
thing I wrote about 1967 or
1968. I think you’ll recognize
some of it.
BEER FATIGUE
Maybe you walk up the
stairs and knock because the bell
doesn’t work, or down the alley
and in the back door, tripping
over trash and cats. The cats
might follow you in, or the dog
announce your arrival, but once
inside the only animals that
cause interest are the figures
sitting, standing, smoking,
drinking, playing guitar, or
records, occasionally
accentuating the rhythm by
moving in time to the basic beat.
Always the same only different.
Maybe different drinks, or a
slight variation in therange of
music, or perhaps you’re holding
a mixed drink tonight instead of
the beer of last night, and the
noise might seem a little louder.
But no matter what the place or
time, several things are bound to
be. The couple in the corner will
either break up or not,
depending on his sobriety;
several younger people will walk
in, play the role, and walk out to
meet their 12:30 curfew. Some
guy will fall asleep sitting up
after two shifts at the steel mill.
And over all the shifting
forms drifts the same talk, saved
from last night, or last week’s
party and dragged from among
the litter and dusted off for
another try to find the answer.
Maybe that’s why you keep
going, hoping that somewhere at
the bottom of a glass, in the
words of a song, in the haze
created by your cigarette, you
might find whatever and know
yourself.
The next thing is a poem
that someone wrote when in
love. His name is Ed Hershberger
and whereever he is, I hope he is
well and doing fine.
For years I’ve searched for
you
Never knowing who you
really were
Or where Fd find you—or
when.
Now Fve found you
I still don’t know who you
Give me the chance to learn,
You’re unhappy now-I’m
sorry
Fve known unhappiness
too-
Another thing in common
I saw you happy once—with
It was a nice thing to see
You wear a smile well.
Here are some short things
that were hidden deep in the
drawer.
The sweetness of waking
from that last deep sleep
to the sound of your
voice-singing.
Coffee smells send greetings
from the kitchen.
You send me greetings
from the foot of the bed
on your way to the shower.
I join you.
It’s another
beautiful morning.
Chris - age three
Golden boy,
brushed by the sun,
Sits in the doorway
chasing butterflies in his
mind.
My time of darkness
has ended. Even in rain
my love shines on me.
Happy little midge!
Don’t you know? The death
of day
brings your death with it.
There was no blood
for nature’s tears
to wash away.
Only my fears
on realizing
that my life, too,
could end that fast.
What could I do
for the rabbit
that my car killed?
There was no plan.
Nothing was willed
to happen this way.
The rain was cold,
so I drove away
feeling too old.
The last piece was written by
a friend of mine, A 1 Rader. I
hope if he sees this here, that he
won’t get mad. It was written in
the fall, and this is fall and so
here it is ...
The - dying
October
leaves in late
Make me glad that I am
sober
I don’t know why, it must
The colors that look like rust
to me.
Red, brown, yellow, amber,
gold
Fold up your collar, ‘tis very
cold
Sky is blue, sun beats down
Cold, red cheeked windy,
still a clown
Home
crackling
to you,
October,
Late
cackling
Children of
door-to-door
Late October,
more
and many more
many more
more
New York Trip
Tickets are still available for
the field trip to New York. Over
twenty-five students from Mr.
Klain’s “The City” course have
already signed up. Students,
Faculty, and Staff are welcome.
The bus will leave from the
rear parking lot of the Main
Building at 7:30 a.m. on
Saturday, November 20. The
return trip is scheduled for 6:00
p.m. of the same day.
For reservations, phone
787-7953. The cost is $7.50 per
person.
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Words From The Other Side
or A Soft Autumn Breeze
Cool autumn breezes,
bringing to the mind the same
mysterious rushes of adjusting to
a shorter day; working together
bringing memories of our past to
a vivid stream of emotion. We
are a generation gone through
hell, sowing seeds we hope
would take root, bloom to a
warmness, thrive in a spirit of
community. Yet only so short a
time in our journey to now, we
were so very much younger and
we lived for weekends.
During the week a young
woman stops for no conscious
reason as the phone began to
ring, ‘is it him calling’ the dance
on Saturday night meant so
much more than ending a young
war; as the heart pulsed faster,
now running down the stairs, ‘it
is him, he called—a Tale of Two
Cities will now sound much
better. Then calling friends and
sharing the news of such burning
elation, sleep that night was so
much better.
As the click was heard at the
other end, another pulsing heart
began to slow its pace, ‘Jesus!
she said yes, she said she’d go
out with me’ and deep within a
sea began to calm; it was a
beginning, a modern puberty rite
performed, a sigh was released,
followed by a lightheadedness
equal to the calming sea.
Sounds corny and words
such as, ‘gee wiz’ are used to
mirror the thought, but can it be
so very far away in such a small
space of time that we, once a
generation of high school folk,
found overselves in similar states
of being. The Friday nights
spent hanging on a corner,
talking sports, sex and girls;
maybe shooting some pool,
drinking some beer or cheap
wine, and for some of us, we
chipped in to buy a nickle or
dime. Drunk or stoned or both,
we waded through weekends,
and marveled the speed and
discussed it to length of, Vhy
Sunday night always came to
quick.’ And the girls we grew
with, what about you, hair in
rollers all day Saturday, on the
phone checking ‘what are you
going to wear tonight
Mary’—yeah, I think I will to’
were you really as cool as we
saw you to be—were you really
always looking the other way.
At the Friday night parties,
have those girls who were so shy
and beautiful, who sat in one
spot throughout the whole night
and smiled at the right time; are
you still frail and gentle or has
time changed you also. The
Sunday football games and the
walks back, when we tried so
very much to impress you, and
the air was crisp.
firelight
witches
happiness
and many
Autumn is such a wonderful
strange time of year, filled with
memories that are too young to
be called memories, and walking
alone you might just smell the
same breeze or hear a familiar
sound from the past, that will
crack the damn and, a flood of a
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smile might cross your face -
‘Yeah I remember her name was
Elaine, gee I wonder what she’s
doing now.’
We’ve gone through so much
together in just five years, are we
to hardened by what we’ve seen
or caught up so much in our
pride, to remember a time of our
life where we weren’t so
innocent, yet still not so tangled
in a world gone crazy. Can we
remember sweaty palms and first
kisses on autumn nights; “Will
he kiss me good night” and
“Should I kiss her” anxiety. The
Saturdays in the gym playing
half-court games and sharing our
night before with each other.
While the girls did the same,
only they might have been stuck
at home cleaning, so they were
forced to use the phone and it
took them twice as long to finish
their work.
Here we are now from what
we were then, and what we will
be can never be found.
OFFER EXPIRES JUNE I, 1972
Page 3
r MIT!
THE NAVY OFFICER
INFORMATION TEAM
WILL BE ON CAMPUS
AT THE MAIN ADMIN.
BUILDING ON
NOVEMBER Bth TO
DISCUSS WITH ANY
INTERESTED STUDENT,
MALE OR FEMALE. ALL
OFFICER PROGRAMS.
(ACTIVE AND
RESERVE; AVIATION,
SU R FACE.
SURFACE, AND OTHER
| PROGRAMS)
DOUBLE CHEESEBURGER
• Two 100% Beef Hamburgers
• Two slices of melty Cheddar cheese
• Slice of crisp dill pickle
• Ketchup and mustard
• Served on a fresh lightly toasted bun