Thursday, March 20, 2014

Letter to the Editor

Twenty years ago, there seemed to be some discussion and debate about curbing a certain type of undesirable business between men and women which appeared to be centered, at that time, along a stretch of Colfax Avenue.  The two major daily newspapers had been approached by law enforcement about publishing the photographs of suspected participants, in the belief that the threat of publicity would reduce such interpersonal business transactions.  Being inspired by the possibility, I sat down at the keyboard and punched out the following poem.  I was quite surprised to see the entire poem (which surely exceeded the word limit) included in the Letters to the Editors in the Denver and the West section of  The Denver Post on July 26, 1994.  I've made some slight changes from the original to make a better fit with the meter in a few lines:


Twas a foggy night in Denver when my parents came to town.
They exited I-70 and commenced to wander round.
Mother gave directions using memory and maps.
She wanted to avoid downtown and major traffic traps.
Darkness hid the street signs as they drifted aimlessly.
Fatigue and fog conspired to make it difficult to see.
Then suddenly a major street, a landmark came to view.
Father said “Let’s turn west here” on Colfax Avenue.
Mother quickly gave consent, she thought the idea sound.
But didn’t realize her map was tilted upside down.
So instead of driving to my house on routes they knew the best,
My parents strayed off course by turning east instead of west.
Thus, off the wayward couple crept to a fate no one deserves,
'Twould be a memorable meeting with the cops out in the ‘burbs.

Dad was growing weary and the hour was growing late.
He even started doubting whether Mom could navigate.
As they passed into Aurora father knew they’d gone astray.
Mom said, “Stop and get directions and we’ll be back on our way.
Look dear, there’s a woman and she’s waiting for a bus. 
She’s doesn’t have coat on.  Maybe she would ride with us”.
Dad pulled up beside the lady and asked if she was free.
She replied that if he’d like they could negotiate her fee.
Dad said, “It’s late, we’re very tired.  We’ll gladly pay you ten.
But please get in.  It’s very cold.  We can’t get lost again”.
The lady mumbled something ‘bout my father being cheap.
Dad  said, “Yes, I am a rancher.  We have cows, but never sheep.
Mom unlocked the door and said, “It’s cold, now please get in.”
The lady shrugged her shoulders saying, “OK, I guess you win.”
Mom said she felt much better now and safer with a guide.
Dad told Mom to settle back and just enjoy the ride.
He turned around and started west as soon as traffic cleared.
‘Twas then he saw the flashing lights reflected in the mirror.
He dutif’ly pulled to the right to let the car go past,
But it stopped instead behind him.  Now his heart was beating fast.
He knew he wasn’t speeding.  He hadn’t run a light.
He’d driven very carefully.  It was a foggy night.
Two officers approached dad’s car, guns drawn and poised to fire.
The guide now spoke and barked at dad to get out of the car.
She pulled his arms behind his back, placed handcuffs on his wrists.
Then a trenchcoat-covered spectre surfaced from the cloudy mists.
It bolted right in front of Dad.  There came a flash of light.
Then it vanished  just as quickly off into the foggy night.
The undercover hooker, watching Dad’s eyes track the shadow,
Crowed, “That’s how we handle perverts in Aurora, Colorado.”.

When our clock at home struck midnight, we were anxious and depressed.
And we hoped that Mom and Dad had sense to stop somewhere and rest.
Our fears were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.
I was glad to hear Mom speaking, but was troubled by her tone.
“Your father’s in some trouble, son.  He’s safe, but he’s in jail.
Could you come out to Aurora, please, and help us with his bail?

Dad told us of their getting lost, reviewed the  whole sad story.
The calm detective dropped the case and said that he was sorry.
We left the jail at three o’clock, arriving home by four.
My tired folks went straight to bed and closed the bedroom door. 

The slumber didn’t last long because morning came so soon.
Grandkids sought out Grandma who they hadn’t seen since June.
My wife and I climbed out of bed; we got the children dressed.
We tried to keep them quiet so that Mom and Dad could rest.
May parents said “good morning” to the kids while still in bed.
I told the kids to let them rest and watch cartoons instead.

Mother woke at ten o’clock, refreshed and much relieved,
But wondering why the vice squad was so easily deceived.
With morning paper in her hand, she found a padded chair
And looked for stores to shop in and a place to do her hair.
The enjoyment of her browsing ceased quite unexpectedly
When the likeness of her husband jumped right off page 93.
We all heard Grandma’s startled gasp, we ran to catch a glimpse
Of the mug shot of my father under “Prostitutes & Pimps”.

You may disregard my story or believe it, if you choose.
But that’s how Grampa got his picture in The Rocky Mountain News.

 

 The day the poem was published, I received a telephone call at home from a reporter from "Westword", a local weekly investigative paper, who asked to interview me to get more information about my parents' run in with local law enforcement.  I confessed that the entire episode was fictional. 

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Baad Verse

A young fertile ewe
Clearly had not a clue
When it came to the facts of conception.
She was clearly entranced
By a young male who glanced
And bleated out in her direction.

She'd given her heart
To the gentle upstart.
She should have been carefully tutored.
For you see, one sad day
When she was at play
Her friend, the young male, got neutered.

With position secured
When she had matured
As certified pure breeding stock,
She looked for her bud
(Who she still thought a stud)
So they could go out "for a walk".

But try as she might
He took no delight
In hanging around with this ewe.
Was it the norm
That he couldn't perform?
She wondered just what she should do.

An ancient old ewe
Who'd borne lambs, not a few,
Gave counsel to this great endeavor:
"You'll have better luck
If you seek out a buck
And stop spending time under the wether".

(Can't remember when I wrote this one. Perhaps around 1994). 

Monday, March 3, 2014

A little bit of light reading on the rails

     Shortly after we were married, we received an advertisement in the mail to join a book club.  We could get 4 free selections if we would fulfill the obligation to purchase a certain number of other books over a period of time.  Desiring to impress the new bride that I was intent on becoming a well-rounded renaissance man, as one of those 4 free titles, I selected the 11 volume tome titled "The History of Civilization" written by Will and Ariel Durant  It seemed like a good idea at the time.




The set has been packed up and moved along with us many times over the long journey through life.  It has moved along with us from Taylorsville, Utah to Belmont, California and back to Provo to finish school.  To Denver, then to Texas and back.  I completed the reading of the first volume, Our Oriental Heritage only last year. 

I decided that I might need to invest a little more time in the task if I'm going to get through the complete set while my eyes and mind are still functioning well enough to get through it.  I've been lugging volume 2, The Life of Greece, onto the bus and/or light rail train and have made a bit of progress.  It's easier to stay alert to read in the morning.  Sometimes it's a challenge to stay focused on the way home in the evening.  I seem to have a pattern of reading Durant for a week or two, then taking a break to read something else. 




A few little gems from my reading:
"…About 590, the fabulous Aesop had been the Phrygian slave of the Greek Iadmon.  An unconfirmed tradition tells how Iadmon freed him, how Aesop traveled widely, met Solon, lived at the court of Croesus, embezzled the money that Croesus had commissioned him to distribute at Delphi, and met a violent death at the hands of the outraged Delphians.  His fables, largely taken from Eastern sources were well known at Athens in the classic age.  Socrates, says Plutarch, put them into verse.  Though their form was Oriental, their philosophy was characteristically Greek. “Sweet are the beauties of Nature, the earth and sea, the stars, and the orbs of sun and moon.  But all the rest is fear and pain,”– especially if one embezzles."  (pg 142)

Upon reaching page 609, this little nugget was found:
Callimachus describing a literary work by another as “A big book is a big evil” which Durant followed with “of whose truth the reader may find an instance at close hand”.

And lastly, a few pages later:
“Aristoxenus was a very serious man, and like most philosophers he did not enjoy the music of his time.  Athenaeus represents him as saying, in words that many generations have heard: ‘We also, since the theaters have become completely barbarized, and since music has become thus utterly ruined and vulgar-we, being but a few, will recall to our minds, sitting by ourselves, what music used to be.’  (pg 617)

One assumes Aristoxenus would not have enjoyed Beatlemania.