JACK BERNARD'S TRAVELS

Posted by jdbernard743

· November 3, 2015

Memoir or Memories?

Memoir appears to be the literary genre of our time – Angela’s Ashes, Liar’s Club, and Wild – it’s the happening form. It seems that everyone, including me, finds the form interesting. We use memoir to help us recall and explain our lives to others and, more aptly, to ourselves. We read memoirs voyeuristically to peek into the lives of interesting people seeking insight and the occasional salacious detail.

Creative writing programs are awash with memoir writing classes. They are the cash cows of “creative non-fiction” programs. Memoir writers think their stories are so interesting that others will want to read them. Writers with one short memoir under their belts become experts in the genre and make a living teaching others “the craft.” I’m not disparaging the form or the teachers though I’ve encountered bad examples of both. I’ve learned a lot about myself by looking back – not always flattering – and from writing workshops. I think the process can be therapeutic and even artful if the craft is polished and the content takes us from the specific to the general. When that happens the reader finds resonance with the narrative.

Not every story is compelling and, as writers, we are always in search of good material, for sources, subjects, and memories that feed the narrative. I often find myself struggling and in conflict because while I want to write more I also want to live more. I’m restless if I’m not seeing and experiencing the world in new and different ways. I suppose that’s the reason I’m drawn to travel writing. New travel certainly feeds the beast. I love to write and to talk about where I’ve been, whom I’ve met, and what I learned from the experience. I’m not able to plant myself in one place and write about what happened years ago, even if it’s something that changed the whole trajectory of my life. I’m not a fixed earth person, so I’m left with the memoir vs. memories quandary. I’m still in the collecting memories mode so the memoir is gestating. Here we are on the way to Key West this week with friends, Tom and Linda Reid, collecting a few nice memories.

Sometimes a new experience, like this one, triggers memories of earlier times. Last week at Dinner Key, the original Pan Am seaplane base and now the Miami City Hall, I literally walked on this piece of history and was awash in memories of the Pan Am years and the company’s illustrious history. I’m not as old as the seal (close) but my life is entwined with Pan Am’s. In addition to my tenure as a pilot, my former wife’s great uncle was a co-founder of the company and her great aunt, Mary Alice, probably stepped on this seal on her way to board one of the Clipper inaugural flights. Finding meaning in memories is the basis of memoir, but you need the experiences to build on.

I’m still crankin’ away but the clock is ticking, and I need to get these things down on paper (or whatever) soon. For now it’s Seven Mile Bridge and four days in Key West. Jimmy Buffett’s on the radio and salt spray is in the air. Couldn’t be better.

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Categories : Books, Fashion/Lifestyle, Personal/Family

Posted by jdbernard743

· October 19, 2015

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Ethnicity in Art and Life

White Americans have an odd and interesting relationship to their provenance or ethnicity. When asked the question “Where are you from?” they often launch into convoluted dissertations on geography and genealogy accompanied by fractional references to heritage. “I’m a quarter Irish, a quarter Scottish, and half German,” but when asked how long their families have been in America the answer usually involves several generations and no linguistic inheritance. But, as a nation of immigrants, Americans we seem to need a geographic or ethnic hook to give themselves an anchor in the world. For some reason, simply being an American isn’t a satisfactory answer to the question. My own heritage is lost in America’s distant past. My mother was a Christy (Scottish) on her father’s side and a Murphy (Irish) on her mother’s, but I don’t know much more than that. My father had no idea where his family came from. Bernard could be French, and for a few years I fabricated a French ancestry, but it is also a common name in Germany, Switzerland, and Holland. Add an “h” or a “t” and it might be something else.

When obvious physical attributes are in play the question can have more sinister overtones. Lucie, my 8-year-old granddaughter, whose mother’s family was born in India was asked that question in an aggressive accusatory way by a classmate last year. She answered that she was from Seattle but the other girl said “No you’re not. You’re not American. You’re from India.” It was upsetting to Lucie and the rest of us in the family. Second grade racism or looking for a handle to differentiate because of Lucie’s color? What was really behind the question? Did it originate with a parental comment or did it come from something within the child?

These questions floated to the surface recently because of Lucie’s upset and two current plays that have ethnicity at their core. Bad Jews is a bitingly funny tragi-comic four-character play about three Jewish cousins and a WASPish girlfriend arguing about Jewishness in the aftermath of their grandfather’s death. The other play, A View From The Bridge, is Arthur Miller’s drama about an Italian-American intergenerational snake pit with gender, incest, homophobia, xenophobia, and distorted family values at its core.

Both plays ask us to examine how we find our identities? How important is ethnic or national heritage? Are we our ethnicity? How much should it define persona or character? Interestingly, it is Jonah, the quiet cousin in Bad Jews, who makes the defining statement about ethnicity not Dafna (Diana) the motor-mouthed, religiously superior, would-be Israeli gladiator. And, in A View From The Bridge it is Katie, the innocent niece not her bellicose uncle, Eddie Carbone, who is the moral center of the play. Ethnicity is a character in both plays just as it was with Lucie on the playground. Why can’t we see the humanity in each other rather than holding so tightly to race and origin for our identities? Both plays and Lucie’s playground confrontation ask us to look at our own ideas about assimilation. I love my granddaughter and I’m certain that she learned a lesson that will help her confront similar situations in the future. I wish that weren’t true, but this is not the first or the last race-based comment she and her brother, Ben, will have to deal with. Sad but true.

I believe art can help us see, understand, and cope with differences. America has a dirty past. We are forever tarnished by slavery. Race is the most obvious, visible, and divisive attribute we put forward but ethnicity has also been a factor in America’s checkered past. Italian, Irish, Polish, and other nationalities were discriminated against as they settled into American communities – New York, Boston, Chicago are cases in point. Today, it’s Hispanics and Muslims that are profiled, victimized and prejudged by their looks or dress. Art can help us overcome our racial and ethnic insecurities and prejudices. It can give us the insight and tools to help us examine our opinions and attitudes. Art is a gift. Bad Jews and A View From The Bridge are both quality productions – well acted, entertaining, and instructive. In a few years I hope to take Lucie and her brother, Ben, to see plays with similar themes that deal with real world issues. They’re smart kids. They’ll get the message.

Does Ben look threatening to you?

Categories : Personal/Family, Theater, Uncategorized

Posted by jdbernard743

· October 8, 2015

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Cuba Si!

This photo’s is static; it doesn’t begin to capture the dynamism of last Friday evening with the Buena Vista Social Club Orchestra. Capturing the moment is particularly poignant when it comes to the BVSC, because its members are almost all in their 70’s and 80’s. With a few exceptions they are the remaining members of a group of Cuban musicians brought together in 1997 by Ry Cooder, “the American Eric Clapton.” Cooder went to Havana in search of these legendary players and their music and came away with a Grammy award-winning album and an Oscar-nominated documentary.

The Buena Vista Social Club was originally a members’ club in Havana where musicians met to talk and play. It closed in the 1940’s but when Cooder went there in 1997 he was looking for the authentic local music of the earlier period and found it by combing the neighborhoods and asking older Cubans about the place and the players. He found the musicians, many of whom had not performed in years, and brought them together to make the 1997 album. It was a surprise hit, and a year later he arranged to have them perform in concert in Amsterdam and eventually at Carnegie Hall in New York. Wim Wenders, the great German director, loved the album and asked to film the two concerts.

These five musicians are part of the original group. Omara Portuondo, the woman in the center, is 84 now. She is the daughter of an aristocratic family whose mother was disowned when she married a baseball player. Omara has slowed a bit since 1997, but last Friday her voice was still shaking the rafters and her dancing brought the crowd to its feet.

BVSC is now a brand, in the best way, but it is ephemeral. The orchestra still tours a little and is pleased to share the music of its country. The dude with the trombone is the orchestra’s leader and the groups’ sound comes off as a mix of Afro-Caribbean brass, strings, and percussion – New Orleans with an Afro-Latin twist. It’s truly an odd mix of instruments, from the laud (the 12 stringed instrument on the left above), to congas, bongos, and timbale, a small snare drum kit, plus piano, to the brassy sound of the horns. The combination makes a lot of music and the beat is infectious.

Some of the BVSC’s most Iconic original performers have passed away – most notably Ibrahim Ferrer and Compay Segundo – but they are very much present on the Wim Wenders film/DVD.

Here they are: Ferrer, the lead singer and Segundo, the cigar smoking guitar player. Are these great faces?

The Buena Vista Social Club documentary is an historical record of a period, a place, and a bunch of talented, overlooked, and underappreciated musicians. For 60 years Americans were restricted from visiting Cuba. That didn’t prevent us from visiting; it’s just that we had to start from Mexico, Canada or somewhere to create the fiction that we weren’t breaking the law. With diplomatic relations restored it’s again possible to visit – but without Ry Cooder we would completely have missed these incredible musicians.

Don’t miss them now. If you haven’t seen the documentary, get it and let it transport you to old Havana. You won’t be able to sit still when you hear the music and a smile will never leave your face as you see them wander the streets and visit the observation deck at the Empire State Building on their New York trip to perform at Carnegie Hall.

Enjoy!

Categories : Film/Television, Music

Posted by jdbernard743

· October 3, 2015

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What if… ?

Think of all the times you thought, “What if…?” What if you had called the girl (or guy) you exchanged numbers with but were too busy to follow up on? What if you had gone to that “other” school instead of the UW? What if you had called off the wedding you knew was a mistake instead of going through with it? What if you had taken the flight that crashed? So many “what ifs.”

That’s the premise underlying Steven Dietz’s play Bloomsday now playing at ACT Theater in Seattle. Bloomsday, as it is known in literary circles, occurs every June 16 to mark the day James Joyce first published Ulysses. Leopold Bloom, Joyce’s character, walks the streets of Dublin visiting friends, bars, and a brothel. The play Bloomsday is set in present day Dublin (or is it Dublin 35 years ago?). Time shifts between the two periods as the four actors on stage consider the “what ifs.” The two young actors are an Irish girl who takes visitors around the city celebrating Ulysses and recreating Leopold Bloom’s day and an American student who joins her tour group. The other two actors are their older selves ruminating on what might have happened if they had acted on their feelings 35 years earlier. The premise is clever and the dialogue crisp and funny. One of the advantages of being a writer is the ability to change outcomes and endings. One of my favorite novels, The French Lieutenant’s Woman has more that one ending. The reader can choose the one he likes best. Steven Dietz does something similar in Bloomsday. The young performers have a “what if” opportunity to choose a different ending.

I was thinking about Bloomsday the other day when I learned that jazz saxophonist, Phil Woods, had passed away. There was a “what if” moment in Wood’s life too. If he had chosen differently he would have deprived us of 70 years of great music. His “what if” moment came at age 12 when he inherited a sax from an uncle. He wasn’t much interested but his mother suggested he take at least one lesson “because your uncle went to a great deal of trouble to leave you the saxophone.” Clever woman. Later, Woods acknowledged that dying did indeed qualify as “a great deal of trouble.”

After that first lesson Mr. Woods continued with them in his hometown, then he moved on to Juilliard, and from there to play with all the jazz greats, Monk, Goodman, Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. Later in his career he added color to the songs of Billy Joel (Just The Way You Are) and Paul Simon (Have a Good Time). Woods was 83 when he died of emphysema complications. Despite the emphysema he continued to perform though he needed a wheel chair and an oxygen bottle. Imagine what it was like to blow extended riffs on a sax while suffering from emphysema. The man loved his craft.

Ulysses had its what if moment in 1922. It was banned as obscene in America, but Sylvia Beach, the expatriate Parisian bookseller, running her iconic Shakespeare & Company, borrowed the money to publish her friend’s novel.. Despite the American ban Ulysses became an international literary success, but it wasn’t until 1934 that an American judge ruled it “a sincere and honest book” and cleared the way for an American edition. It’s another “what if.” What if Sylvia Beach hadn’t borrowed the money and taken the risk? What if the 1934 case had gone to another judge? Life is full of what if moments.

Categories : Theater, Uncategorized

Posted by jdbernard743

· September 24, 2015

· 7 Comments

“Still crazy after all these years…” Paul Simon

What do the winner of the 1995 Nobel Prize in Economics, a trauma surgeon who transformed emergency care in America, a leading golfer on the LPGA tour, “one of America’s most gifted trial lawyers,” and a Marine fighter pilot have in common? I’m sure there is a good punch line, but the answer is that they all graduated from one of America’s best public high schools in 1955.

Roosevelt is a large urban high school serving a mostly affluent population in Seattle. Out of a graduating class of 750 eager, impulsive teenagers, Saturday night’s turnout was 150 older and hopefully wiser adults. The mood was overwhelmingly celebratory in spite of the sobering fact that more than 100 of our brethren (and sistren) have passed on.

Over the 60 years since graduation there have been a number of reunions on benchmark anniversaries – 10, 20, 25, and 50. Roosevelt sits only a mile from the University of Washington and a majority of its graduates go on to college. After graduation our class had it’s diaspora and Roosevelt graduates moved on to live and work in other places before coming back this weekend to celebrate their common experience. There are exceptional people and classes in high schools across the country, and we may not be that remarkable, but the RHS Class of ’55 has a memorable share of successful graduates.

Bob Lucas, “our” Nobel Prize winner, is still actively working in the prestigious Department of Economics at the University of Chicago where he was a protégé and colleague of Milton Friedman’s. In Jr. High a group of us learned to play bridge in the Lucas’ dining room. It was clear to us that Bob had a superior intelligence but it’s even clearer now why I never won then. I’m the Marine fighter pilot. He’s the Nobel laureate. It’s not that difficult to understand.

What is more difficult to understand are the career achievements of Dave “Pook” Boyd and Gary “the Hood” Gwilliam. Pook is the famous trauma surgeon and The Hood is “one of America’s most gifted trial lawyers.”

Dave Boyd was the laconic quarterback on a high school football team whose singular distinction is that it failed to score for an entire season. “No score in ‘54” is the cry that still haunts our class – but it is catchy and memorable After graduation Dave “Pook” Boyd did not go to the NFL. He went over to Central Washington University in Ellensburg intending to become a teacher and coach, but sometime during his tenure at CWU he encountered a surgeon from Seattle who convinced him that medical school at McGill University in Montreal was his next stop. And so it was.

After graduating from McGill Dave “Pook” Boyd became Dr. David R. Boyd, a resident surgeon at Cook County Hospital in Chicago. His experience at CCH led him to identify the need and develop a plan that revolutionized emergency room care nationwide. He spearheaded the creation of what would become a nationwide network of Trauma Centers.

If you were ever a fan of the TV series ER, you owe Dave Boyd some of the credit for your pleasure. County General Hospital in Chicago was the setting for the series but the real model was Cook County Hospital and the Trauma Center established by Dr. David R. Boyd. Think George Clooney not “No Score in ’54.”

My favorite Boyd story is typical of our favorite quarterback; at some point, in frustration over bureaucratic blockage, he called the White House and asked if the President was in. Two clicks later the voice on the other end said, “President Ford here. How can I help you?” That’s Dave Boyd. He doesn’t believe in forming committees and never relied on data. He knew what needed to be done and did it.

Gary “The Hood” Gwilliam is another unlikely success story. In high school no one knew Gary. He came late and left early – he didn’t go to one of the feeder schools and when he arrived at RHS he decided life on the dark side was more interesting than football, pom-poms, and field house dances. Gary joined a gang and started using drugs, including heroin.

Though he didn’t know his real father, was ignored by his stepfather and spent time as a gang member, by some mystical transformation Gary found his way from community college to Pomona College and on to law school at Boalt Hall at UC Berkeley. Though Gary and I went to high school and law school in the same places our paths never crossed until the Class of ‘55’s 50^th reunion.

Within a few years of law school graduation he opened his own law firm in Oakland and began building his reputation as a trial lawyer. He eventually cleaned up his life and wrote about it in an autobiography entitled “Getting a Winning Verdict in My Personal Life. Part of his transformation took place when he decided to attend that 50^th reunion in 2005. He didn’t know a soul but wanted to meet the people he went to school with at that formative time in his life. Someone who knew I had gone to law school at UC Berkeley brought us together, and we’ve been friends ever since.

Looking in the rearview mirror today it is clear how different 1955 was from the present. Our yearbook reveals not one person of color, and though many of the women became teachers I’m aware of only one lawyer and no doctors in the class. My wife, Marilynn, has her own senior healthcare consulting business but for 25 years she experienced bias, hostility, and a glass ceiling as she moved up in her chosen profession. I’m sure others experienced the same bias and hostility. My entering class in law school had 3 women out of 250. Today’s classes are almost equally divided between men and women. The same holds true for medical schools.

Our single female celebrity was Ruth Jessen, one of the pioneers of the LPGA (Ladies Professional Golf Association), who was denied the opportunity to play on the RHS golf team because of her gender. Ruth won 11 LPGA titles between 1956 and 1971. Unfortunately, she wasn’t with us this weekend having passed away of lung cancer in 2007. None of this is to suggest that Seattle was racist, misogynist, or intolerant. Our Class of ‘55 was simply representative of society and the entrenched social norms of the times. By 1964 Bob Dylan’s The Times They Are A Changin’ was released revealing the shifting norms and changing awareness of the next decade.

I’ve never been a big fan of reunions – like New Year’s Eve they often seem to be setups for disappointment. These two – our 50^th and 60^th – are notable exceptions. I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk to more people on Saturday night. It was a great success and that is due in large part to the generosity of a few people who gave selflessly of their time and resources. Carolyn Bryant Scheyer is that one in a million person who knows everyone in the class and keeps track of them. She has been the glue for all of our reunions since the 10^th in 1965, and the prime mover and organizer of all of them. Along with Carolyn is a classmate who is our primary benefactor, a guy named Jim Weymouth who, with his wife Roberta, is the owner of a chain of boutique hotels called Silver Cloud Inns. Jim has given untold sums to Roosevelt, hired a few of our down on their luck classmates, and donated hotel facilities to host these reunions. We couldn’t have done it without these two.

We’re all in our late ‘70’s now. 100 of us are gone already. How many more reunions will we have? Not many, I’m sure, but it’s always good to live in the present and in the present this one was terrific. I saw friends who live in Maryland, Florida, California, Arizona, Idaho, and Illinois. The Internet is an amazing tool for keeping in touch with people, but there is nothing like shaking hands or getting a hug from a friend you haven’t seen in 60 years.

My friend, Tom Wilson, died earlier this year. We had known each other since the 5^th grade. Tommy was always the Emcee for these gatherings, He had what my father called “the gift of gab,” so when Carolyn asked me to step in and say a few words as the Emcee I was touched. I felt like an imposter – this was Tommy’s gig – but I did it and in the end I enjoyed being able to stand in for my old friend.

RIP

Campbell Thomas Wilson

1937-2015

Dr. Dave “Pook” Boyd’s Essay on “No Score in ’54”

After I published my reunion blog Dave told me he had written an essay “explaining” how No Score in ’54 came to pass and how it matured into a lasting legacy in Roosevelt’s history.

Here is Pook’s story:

Not many high schools, football teams or quarterbacks can say that. But we can and I can, and have for the past 60 years. And this was, of course, a recurring theme at the RHS Class of 1955, 60th reunion in Seattle this summer. I was repeatedly invited to comment on this indelible memory, but the raucous reunion event precluded any serious discussion of this historical footnote to our senior year. I recently learned of Jack Bernard’s blog and subsequently offered a short explanation and my analysis of that memorable experience. I think that most high school graduates at their 60th reunion would not remember their football team’s season final rank (unless they won their championship), but we, the class of 1955, will never forget ours. The story: The 1954 football season looked good for the RHS Rough Rider Football squad. We had, after all, been undefeated while winning the junior varsity league the year before. We looked and played well and were all together as a group and as a team. We, especially the senior leaders, were brimming with confidence, youthful energy, and enthusiasm. That summer, as many of you might recall, Head Coach Lou Hull’s son was killed during a climb of Mt Rainier. Gene had been the RHS quarterback two years before, leading RHS to a good year. There was some talk that Lou might not coach that fall, but despite the tragic loss of his son, he returned to the field, with the same offensive strategy as in previous years, which was classic Big Ten and Notre Dame Football of the time. It was an over-shifted right wing, (i.e., bringing the left tackle over to the right side and to run the strong side run-pass option). We all knew it by heart. I took books out of the library and studied it all summer. This system worked best when it was new in 1950 when Mike Monroe was the running/throwing half back and RHS won the city championship. It had worked less well over the next years, even with good players, because unfortunately, every other high school football coach in Seattle also knew about it and planned accordingly. Our right guard, two tackles and the end were reactively covered by the opposition’s left shifted defensive line, line backers and safeties. The other teams were ready. Over and over, we ran and threw into this stacked defense. (More on that later) Even though the record books say that we did not score a point all season, here is the Real History: Playing West Seattle in the first quarter of the opening Jamboree, we did, in fact, Score in’54 —the first touchdown of the new season. And I did it! We drove the ball down the field to the 1 yard line. I called a quarterback sneak on a quick count and Viola! 6 points! And one more after we converted the P.A.T. 1st Quarter score: RHS 7 vs WS 0. However, because this touchdown was made in the Jamboree essentially an exhibition game it wasn’t counted in the league statistics. The following week, we played Lincoln, and we were pumped! But lost 30 to zero. This was the first of a sad set of losses and the progressive doom of questioning when would we win and eventually when would we score a touchdown, or anything? The team was initially surprised as we truly thought we were pretty good and certainly we could beat Cleveland, West Seattle or Queen Anne. But we did not. Our postgame analysis was always, “critique light” and Lou would embark with a talk on a theoretical level of “becoming men of virtue” and that it was not whether we won or lost, but how we played the game. Of course that was not what we wanted to hear nor felt we needed. We wanted to win……..and, later on, to at LEAST score a touchdown. Late in the season, when we did score two touchdowns, both were called back on penalties. This did nothing but deepen our gloom. Team talk was all about if we could or would score a TD. Not a pleasant atmosphere. From a play-by-play analysis, we were disadvantaged by the opposition knowing that every play went to the right and being anticipated by a ready crowd of defenders. Tom Orrell, our able running-throwing half back, came back to the huddle more than once and said “Pook, give it to someone else, they’re killing me”. Unfortunately there wasn’t much else we could do. I drew up some sand-lot X and O plays in the huddle, i.e., counter runs and traps back to our left “weak” side and some quick slant passes. It really became a burden for the whole team by the end of the season. Friends, interested folks and classmates were supportive, hopeful and sympathetic but everyone around town seemed to have already seen the end of this movie. The RHS student body remained loyal, energetically supportive and optimistic to the very END, which in some ways made it even more challenging Because of a coach rule the football team didn’t go to the school’s 7:00 am pep rallies on days when we had night games. But for our last game vs Queen Anne, the cheerleaders corralled me and a few others to come to the pep rally. Standing on stage as a packed house of our classmates and friends cheered and rooted us on to victory was an overwhelming experience. We all knew they would settle for a score, which we didn’t produce! When the final gun went off, ending the QA game, I thought this nightmare was finally over, but it wasn’t. The local press and national news wires found our plight “interesting” and the “No Score in ‘54” legacy was born. The next year, when Russ Orrell scored the RHS first TD in the ’55 season, he and a crying RHS cheerleader were in a full page photo in Life Magazine. (I would appreciate a copy of this from any one. Thanks.) During that football season there was amazing solidarity among the team. There was no bitching, no complaints about others’ performance, no back stabbing, no bad mouthing Lou Hull or going to Assistant Coach Don Harney to have him take over the team. Likewise, neither I nor we experienced any booing, negative criticism or demonstrations from the student body. Everyone seemed to understand that it was not that we didn’t play hard for 48 minutes every game, but this was something that we were all experiencing and living through together. Sort of a bad group Karma…team members and the entire student body. I was honored and humbled at the end of the season when the team quite surprisingly voted me both the Team Honorary Captain and the Inspirational Award. No Score in ’54 has been a “binder of sorts” over the years. But, I didn’t expect any of us thought it would go on for 60 YEARS! And maybe forever. Lessons learned: There are many. The value of hard work, team effort and hanging together in bleak times, I am sure, was gained by the entire team and the student body. For me there are two personal elements; 1) don’t accept the leadership responsibility for a group of young people unless you are prepared to lead them. And 2) hanging together in a group during hard times is an experience that hopefully provides the grit, optimism and trust in others essential for the long haul of life. Post Script: Jim Mullins, our very capable team center, went on to college and medical school as I did. He specialized in Internal Medicine and enjoyed a successful professional and happy family life. Jim passed away in July 2001 and my sister Marietta (RHS 1964) sent me his obituary. The obituary, correctly described Jim’s professional and family life. It then went on to remind everyone that Jim had played center on the now infamous Roosevelt High School “NO SCORE IN ‘54” football team. I said to myself, “Oh my god”! We will all carry this to our graves, (and beyond). I sent a message out to Seattle, that it wasn’t Jim’s fault. In fact everything was quite OK when Jim had the football. It was when he gave it to me that the trouble started. You can see why my exit plans are to die silently out of town. Way out of town! The perpetually nasty press will have to find me. Please don’t tip them off.

David R “Pook” Boyd MDCM

Categories : Personal/Family