हे जुड़े!

Judy Weisgarver and I dated for a couple of wonderful months in 1968. We were in the Madrigal Singers together, and Jim Wagner would give us both a ride home every night. She lived on Station Street while I lived on Grove Avenue.

I can't even remember how it happened, but somehow or another, I got up the courage to ask her to go out with me. We went to The Graduate together, and I wore a sports jacket and tie, trying to look like 18 and not get carded, ROFLMAO!

We also went to Chicago, I think to see Camelot. I remember some guy saing to another guy, "suck my crank," which Judy just LOVED.

We were both cigarette smokers, which gave us something in common to share. She was a senior, and I was a junior. We probably got together because of the musical from the previous fall, Guys and Dolls.

She spent a lot of time over here, and I spent a lot of time at her place. We made out a bunch, and she was a great kisser. She also loved my family, especially my youngest sister, Marianne, who would have been 8-9 years old during the months Judy and I dated.

One night, while we were making out downstairs on the couch, mom called down to say that Judy had to leave. There was a golf tournament for me to get up early for in the morning. I was embarrassed, but she left with no animosity. She really liked kissing me, this I know, because we were doing it forever. I even got bold and she did not resist some of my more experimental advances. It was a lovely time, and I was a very lucky guy.

At one of the golf tournaments, Steve Wagner, also a senior, let it slip that Judy was having a party at her parents' house (they were out of town). I hadn't been invited. I played 9 extra holes of golf. I couldn't fall asleep that night. I caddied on Sunday, deciding to refuse mom's offer for a ride out to Barrington Hills country club, I walked the 3 miles to the course. Ended up caddying 36 holes, doubles. Then I walked over to Judy's best friend Sarah Canby's house. I put poor Sarah on the spot: Why doesn't Judy like me?

It's not that she doesn't like you, she just wants to be with friends from her own class now that it's getting so close to graduation. We smoked some cigarettes (SOME paretns were very tolerant on this issue, back in the day) and listened to Allan Ginsberg's dramatic reading of HOWL.

I went home, exhausted. Remember, it was 3 miles back home also. Judy went to prom with some guy, Rod something-or-another.

My favorite thing we ever did together, was to go fly a kite in early April or late March of '68. It was so cold, and she took my arm and cuddled up close to stay warmer, while we chain-smoked our cigarettes and I valiantly (and eventually) got the damn kite to fly. It is absolutely amazing what being motivated to please a young lady (or any lady) can do for your creativity!

I sat down to the piano that night, and wrote one of my first songs: Where's the Magic? Pure blues:

Where's the magic
Where did it go
I thought I saw it takin; a walk
Outside out the back door

When you hold me in your arms
It is just so plain
That you don't love me any more.

Where's the magic
Where did it go?
Only our shadows are makin' love,
And love left by the back door.

When you hold me in your arms
It's so very plain to feel
That you don't love me any more.

Quite frankly, it was as good as anything I've ever written and put to music. Guess I done been singin' me duh Blooze for mostly all my adult-brained conscience life.

Judy wrote us this letter from Summer Camp, where she was a counselor. It was very thoughtful, and just way cool of her to write.

Thanks, Judy Weisgarver, where ever you may be!



Dear Mark,

I thought that since I had a couple extra minutes I'd write you a little note! I've been meaning to thank you for the birthday card but I really haven't had any time at all. This job that I've got is something else – it's an 18-hr-a-day job- and I'm always totally pooped. I'm in the middle of the second session now – the first session turned out really well but this group isn't quite as enthusiastic as the last. Maybe my hopes were a little too high … but this has turned out to be the most rewarding job I think I'll ever have. When the kids do something right (finally!) then the counselors all feel so good about it! And the scenery up here is another thing – we have a beautiful lake right outside our tent and trees all around. I think this camping life is really getting to me! You wouldn't believe how much I've been smoking. I've had at least a carton since I got here ('cause Sarah and I each bought one carton & they're all gone!) Gene and Carelin aren't going to be too happy about that when I get home but that's the way it goes! A lot of things have changed about me and ever since I left home & have been away from my parents! Hat to see what's gonna happen when I go to school!!

So how's golf been going? I'm sure you've been out a lot and are getting black as a –! I want to hear all about it, OK? Well, I said this was just going to be a “little note” so I guess I'll close now. Say hello to John & MaryAnn & Gay & your mom & dad and anyone else I missed! Write me if you ever get a chance 'cause I really enjoy getting mail while up here in the wilderness!

As Always,
Jude

- - - - - - -

AT THE MOVIES: THE HELP

If you see only one movie in the next 12 months, please, let it be this movie, the stories of black, female, domestics around Jackson, Mississippi during the early 1960's.

The story if driven by Skeeter, a young white lady and recent college graduate, returning home to Jackson, MS, single (never having even had a date - much to her mother's consternation), and ambitious - interviewing (successfully) for a job with the local newspaper. She ends up working for $8 / week, ghost writing a column on house cleaning. Knowing nothing about the topic (a boat she shares with all the white women of the Jackson), she asks Aibiliene, a third-generation housemaid, who at 53 years old has raised 17 children in her care. if she can help her with the house cleaning advice column.

Aibileen, along with her dearest maid friend Minny, eventually discover their voices and ultimately come to trust Skeeter enough to tell her of their stories, and of their feelings, exhibiting the courage to defy the conventions of the early 1960s.

The poignance, compassion, humanity of the domestics, as opposed to the lack of same exhibited by many (most assuredly not all) of the white women, both of Skeeter's generation (early 20-somethings) nad of her mother's generation, tells a beautiful story of how these maids raised their employers' children, always there for them, building them up, comforting when saddened, holding, loving, hugging them, things which their own mothers have not the time, the inclination, or the will to do.

An important story, brilliantly and lovingly told, as Skeeter comes to see how much like chattel the maids are treated, and decides she will write their stories (which she does do and her book is scandalously popular, as the good citizens of Jackson attempt to determine about whom each of the separate stories is written).

DO NOT MISS THIS MOVIE! (OR AT LEAST, READ THE BOOK!)

A humbling beginning

Mark Ganzer The pastor emeritus of Trinity Lutheran Church in Ingleside, IL, related the story of the first service he presided over out of seminary school. Since the pastor he was filling in for had retired, Pastor Dave wanted to make it clear to the congregants that he was NOT the replacement pastor, only a temporary pastor, then he looked up, saw a boarded up window, and said , "I'm temporary - just like that window where there is no payne of glass."

a few seconds ago ·

Mark Ganzer As he greets the parishoners leaving the service, one older later shakes his hand, looks him straight in the eye and says, "You're not a replacement - you are a PAIN." Congregation fell out of the pews with laughter. Must simply LOVE ambiguity.2 seconds ago ·

Timeless traditions - explanations are always found in the Bible (and the Koran)

Words-adapted from The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes
Music-Pete Seeger

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late

Intersections of the divine with human kind - part 3

"Wind-Up"

When I was young and they packed me off to school
and taught me how not to play the game,
I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,
or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
with their God tucked underneath my arm --
their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
and by way of firm reply,
He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school
and have all the bishops harmonize these lines --
how do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son
when that was just an accident of Birth.
I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song
`cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong --
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Intersections of the divine with human kind - part 2

Old John Joseph was a man with two first names
They left him in the railroad yard when they took away the trains
Only one run a week comes on roaring down that line
So all he's got to worry 'bout is time.

I come by in the evening to hear 'bout where he's been
He says - Come on sit down Kid, where shall I begin?
He starts telling me the stories of the glories of his past
But he always saves the story of his Corey for the last.

And he says - My Corey's coming. No more sad stories coming
My midnight-moonlight-morning-glory's coming aren't you girl?
And like I told you, when she holds you
She enfolds you in her world.

I was quite surprised to find out all the places that he knew
And so I asked the townfolk if his stories were true
They said - Old John was born here, he's lived here all his life
He's never had a woman, let alone a wife.

And very soon you'll find out as you check around
That no one named Corey's ever lived in this town
So I chided the old man 'bout the truth that I had heard
He smiled and said - Reality is only just a word.

I came by one evening but he did not hear my shout
I looked in the window and saw the fire was out
When he would not wake up I forced in the door
And found that Old John Joseph would tell stories no more.

The scene at the graveyard, three of us were there
Me and the gravedigger heard the parson's prayer
He said - We need not grieve for this man,
For we know that God cares!

They put the cold dirt over him and left me on my own
And when at last I looked up I saw I was not alone
Standing there in silence with a shawl around her face
Stood a beautiful young woman
I remember what she said
"Is that John Joseph there?"
I nodded my head yes.
That brought a soft smile to her.
She said "It's time he, he got some rest"
So I said - If you're a relative, he had a peaceful end.
She said - My name is Corey - you can say I'm just a friend.

Corey's coming, no more sad stories coming
My midnight-moonlight-morning-glory's coming aren't you girl?
And like I told you, when she holds you
She enfolds you in her world.

So that's the old man's story, I'm glad you came tonight
A busted down old railroad yard sure makes a lonely sight
You may wonder why a young man would work out here alone
Well the job pays enough to keep some flesh on my bones.

And I confess I get to missing the old man a bit
And there's one other reason I guess I should admit -

Can't you see my Corey's coming, no more sad stories coming
My midnight-moonlight-morning-glory's coming aren't you girl?
And like he told me, when she holds me
She enfolds me in her world.

Intersections of the divine with human kind

Scarlet Ribbons

Scarlet Ribbons

I peeked in to say good-night
And there I heard my child in prayer
"And for me, some scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for my hair"

All our town was closed and shuttered
All the streets were dark and bare
In our town, no scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

Through the night my heart was aching
Just before the dawn was breaking
In our town, no scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

I peeked in and on her bed
In gay profusion lying there
Lovely ribbons, scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

If I live to be a two hundred
I will never know from where
Came those lovely scarlet ribbons
Scarlet ribbons for her hair

recorded by Harry Belafonte