http://www.chfi.com

 ”No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns, they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency, men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurances of their empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of those departed days. At most, terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded the Earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us.”

 Those were the opening lines to the 1897 science fiction classic, “The War Of The Worlds” by H. G. Wells..

 In the original story, the location for the invasion was England. In the radio drama that spooked millions of people on this side of the Atlantic, the invasion took place on the eastern coast of the United States. You have to remember something about the times. Americans were somewhat anxious with fears about war. When Orson Welles and the staff of CBS’s Mercury Theatre On The Airdecided to put together a radio adaption of the classic story, little did they realize the response from their jittery American radio audience. The radio-play was adapted by Howard Koch with contributions by Welles and the staff.

 What made the play so convincing to so many people? It was written to simulate a live news broadcast that would follow events as they occurred, breaking into the broadcast of a supposed live music show. Of course, the interruptions became more frequent, until it was apparent that the United States was under an invasion. One can just imagine how a similar broadcast today could unnerve a whole country, considering the times we live in. At the time, many listeners missed the opening of the broadcast and tuned in after the invasion was fully underway. The New York Times on October 31st, 1938, stated, “Radio Listeners in Panic, Taking War Drama As Fact. Many Flee Homes to Escape ‘Gas Raid From Mars’-Phone Calls Swamp Police…” Figures suggested that six million Americans heard the broadcast with 1.7 million believing it to be real. 1.2 million were “genuinely frightened.” There were some who convinced themselves they could actually smell the poison gas and see lightning flashes off in the distance.

 The program was broadcast from radio studios on the 20th floor at 485 Madison Avenue in New York City. The cast included actors who would go on to become popular in the movies and on television. Actors Joseph Cotten, John Houseman, who later starred in “Paper Chase,” and, of course, Orson Welles, who, much later in his career, reminded us, “There would be no wine before it’s time..”

 At the beginning of the broadcast, Grover’s Mill was deserted, but crowds soon began to gather. The police were sent in to control the throng of curious onlookers. With the flashing police lights across the crowds, the scene quickly began to resemble what was being heard on the radio.

 There is an urban legend that suggests that the “disclaimer” at the end of the program by Welles himself was facilitated to try to ease the growing panic. He said that the program was nothing more than the equivalent of dressing up in a sheet and saying, “Boo!” It’s only a legend, of course, because his comments were a part of the original radio script.

 The date was October 30th, 1938, when the Mercury Theatre On The Air convinced us the Martians were real. Tom Cruise in the Spielberg film adaption recently made us believers again.

 There are quite a few sites on the internet for those interested in learning more about the broadcast and the conspiracy theory that the broadcast was actually a psychological warfare experiment to study panic.

 In my series of programs leading up to Hallowe’en this year, I tried on the same costume. My intent was never to frighten, but to get into the character of the season. I hope you enjoyed the atmosphere I tried to create during my rendition of some classic writings. I’ve always been a fan of old-time radio broadcasts, when the listener had to create the images in his own mind. The right background music, a few sound effects, a convincing script and the right actors, could create an incredible landscape for the mind to get lost in. It was a time when families would gather around the radio set ready to be entertained. The budgets certainly pale in comparison to those set aside for television programs and movies today. With today’s visual medium, we need spectacular computer-generated, special effects in order to convince us to suspend our disbelief. During radio’s “Golden Age,” very little was needed to make us believe. It’s the same sort of idea I try to employ during Lovers and Other Strangers, nightly between 9 and 11pm. 

 And before you think that all of this is pure fiction, consider the fact that we are occasionally bombarded by Martian meteorites. One very famous one, found in Antarctica, was being studied to see if there might once have been life on the Red Planet.

 As Carl Sagan said in his PBS tv series, Cosmos, and its companion volume published in 1980 by Random House, “If the planet is ever terraformed, it will be done by human beings whose permanent residence and planetary affiliation is Mars. The Martians will be us.”

 ***

 Don Jackson

 This is called Hallowe’en by Kathryn S. Gibson from Good Reading and featured in the Farmer’s Almanac for 1990, edited by Ray Geiger. “When the ghosts walk by and you count thirteen, / And the big black cats are long and lean, / And the witches go for a nightly ride, / Astride their broomsticks side by side; / When you see the friendly pumpkin man, / Who always laughs as hard as he can, / And the owls in the trees and the owlets, too, / Begin their wailing, ‘Who, Who Who-O-O’; / When the goblins stalk and the doorbells peal / And the grownups shudder and children squeal; / When the moon rides high and the winds are keen, / Then everyone knows its Hallowe’en!”

 In a rather old encyclopedia it said this about Jack-O’-Lanterns: “People in England and Ireland once carved out beets, potatoes, and turnips to use as lanterns on Hallowe’en. According to an Irish legend, Jack-O’-Lanterns were named for a man called Jack, who could not enter Heaven because he was a miser.” Apparently, as the legend goes, he couldn’t enter the other place, either, “…because he played jokes on the Devil. As a result, Jack had to walk the earth with his lantern until Judgement Day.”

 The pumpkin has its night and creates the atmosphere appropriate for trick-or-treating. It will illuminate the path to the door and light up the dark night. Later that same night, it will end up looking rather dark and dismal. From lighting the way a few hours earlier to being cast aside, ready to go out with the trash, or left in the garden to recycle. And yes, you will even see a few that have mysteriously made their way into the middle of the street. Not such a glorious end to their rather short moment of fame…

 These are a few old rituals. I don’t know if they work, but reading it gave me the impression that it might help appease some of the ghosts that haunt late in the night.

 This is a Samhain ritual for banishing fear from A Complete Guide To Magic and Ritual: How To Use Natural Energies To Heal Your Life by Cassandra Easonand published in 1999 by Judy Piatkus Publishers. Its ISBN is 0-7499-1962-0. She writes, “Begin work as dusk falls on Hallowe’en, or whenever old fears and voices from the past come to haunt you.

“*Use a turnip or large golden swede, the forerunner of the Hallowe’en pumpkin, and hollow out the inside, placing the discarded vegetable in a bowl.

“* As you work name your fears, saying between each scoop words such as : ‘Out fear, out doubt, out pain, out phantoms from my past who seek to haunt me, out old voices that hold me back when I would go forward, out old faces that paralyze me with uncertainty and needless guilt.’

“* When the shell is quite empty form eyes, nose and mouth, saying: “Enter light and hope and new life.’

“* Light an orange candle and place it in the turnip or swede, letting it fill the growing darkness and banish the shadow.

“* Let the candle burn away naturally in a safe place, preferably near a window.

“* Sprinkle the discarded part of the vegetable with sea salt, season with sage and a pinch of nutmeg, cook and eat as a symbol of new coming from old and hope out of fear.”

 Of course this is not real magic but something to do to help change your perspective. It very well could be that the atmosphere you create while doing this very simple ritual will help you make a change for the positive.. 

 This is A Hallowe’en Charm featured in the 1984 Avon Calendar Of Roses, published by Ariel Press Ltd., in 1983. As the writer says, “…the following unwarranted procedure is offered for those willing to experiment.

“‘While thinking constantly about the desired person, make a small bag from material that he or she has worn or slept on (a thoughtful witch will pick an old inconspicuous garment rather than a new sheet but make sure whatever you use has not been washed since it was worn). Into the bag put three rosebuds you have carried next to your heart for a day, a lock of your hair and one of your lover’s, and then tie the bag shut by wrapping it seven times with a red ribbon consecrated to Aphrodite. Clean the house, prepare dinner, and follow your own beauty rituals still thinking of your lover. When the object of all this attention crosses the threshold, bury the bag under the doorsill. He or she will never want to leave you.’”

***

Don Jackson 

 This is what it said in Merriam Webster’s Encyclopedia of Literature about The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe…

“…published in 1845 and collected in The Raven and Other Poems the same year. Poe achieved instant national fame with the publication of this melancholy evocation of lost love.

“On a stormy December midnight, a grieving student is visited by a raven who speaks but one word, ‘Nevermore.’ As the student laments his lost love Lenore, the raven’s insistent repetition of the word becomes an increasingly harrowing response to the student’s own fears and longings.

“Poe’s 1846 essay ‘The Philosophy of Composition’ describes his careful crafting of the poem.”

 Edgar Allan Poe is buried in Westminster Presbyterian Cemetery at Fayette and Greene Streets in Baltimore alongside some rather curious company. Fifteen wartime generals are also interred there with him.

 An American writer, Tom Tiede, in a newspaper article that was published by the Sun in the late 1970s, told of how one Civil War commander is said to sit on his stone and bemoans the fact that he killed so many Confederate countrymen.

 Tiede describes the place in appropriate Hallowe’en fashion: “The church itself is spooky enough. It was built in the 1840s from red brick and is bounded by a high wall. Eventually, the wall gives way to an iron fence, the gates of which bang in the wind.”

 Tom Tiede says that Poe’s grave is near an open gate, and people believe that his tortured soul rises from the tomb after sundown and walks between the stones and over-grown graves from time to time, even on Hallowe’en.

 ***

 Don Jackson

 On a morning in late October, 1881, dawn came early to a town in the Old West that had a reputation as being, “a town too tough to die…” In time it did die, but in doing so it became one of the legendary ghost towns of the West. Its fabled status is the direct result of a gunfight that took place on that day. The town was called Tombstone, the newspaper was the Epitaph, and this is what they wrote on that fateful day…

“The shooting created great excitement, and the street was immediately filled with people. Ike Clanton (who had run from the fracas) was captured and taken to jail. The feeling of the better class of citizens is that the Marshal and his posse acted solely in the right in attempting to disarm the cowboys and that it was a case of kill or be killed.”

 The gunfight the newspaper was describing was the gunfight at the O. K. Corral. The participants included Clanton’s gang, including the McLowery’s, fabled lawman, Wyatt Earp, two of his brothers, Morgan and Virgil, as well as John Henry (Doc) Holliday, not a medical doctor but a dentist. Holliday was the only one to escape without a scratch. The town sheriff was also there. He was Sheriff Johnny Behan, who tried his hand at keeping the peace before the fight began.  

 Lambert Florin wrote an incredible book called “Ghost Towns of The West.” It was a Promontory Book published in 1970 by Galahad Books, New York, the copyright held by Superior Publishing Company. In his introduction, he quotes one definition of “ghost”: “A shadowy semblance of its former self.” Of all the ghost towns written about in the 800-plus pages of this magnificent collection, this place is very much alive today. I would also imagine that a few ghosts might linger around the stables of the O. K. Corral. It is the famous Tombstone, Arizona. This encyclopedia chronicles the once vibrant towns that dotted the landscape of the Old West. The book also features photographs of what remains of these towns. For obvious historical reasons, the yard at the O. K. Corral remains fairly intact with its large adobe wall and its swinging gate closed in the photo.

 This is how the author described the events leading up to and including one of the Old West’s most famous moments in time. “Fight climaxed long standing feud between Ike Clanton’s cowboys and three Earp brothers. Clanton’s gang had been vowing to ‘get’ the Earps and had so annoyed the Marshal and his brothers that he decided to put an end to it once and for all. As the brothers and Doc Holliday headed for O. K. Corral they saw Sheriff Behan trying to keep the peace by asking the Clantons and McLowery’s to disarm. When the Marshal and his party got near enough, he added his order, ‘Boys, throw up your hands, I want you to give up your shooters.’ At this Frank McLowery drew his weapon but was a split second too slow, was shot just above the waist by Wyatt Earp. This set off a barrage of gunfire. When the smoke cleared away three men were dead and two wounded.”

 You might remember watching the 1957 film, Gunfight At The O. K. Corral that starred Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Lee Van Cleef, Earl Holliman and DeForest Kelly. Here’s where it gets strange. DeForest Kelly later went on to star in the original Star Trekseries as the starship doctor, Leonard McCoy, reminiscent of an old fashioned country doctor. He reminded us of the parent who bemoaned a rapidly-changing world in favor of the simple past. He was always ready to play the role of the Captain’s conscience, the one to remind him of the right thing to do, but not always listened to.

 In  one episode, the crew find themselves on an alien planet re-living the fight at the O. K. Corral. An alien intelligence has fabricated the town. The crew doesn’t get to be the good guys, though. They get to play the part of the Clanton gang.

 In Funk and Wagnalls New Encyclopedia was this about Marshall Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp (1848-1929)

“American frontiersman and law enforcement officer, born in Monmouth, Ill. In 1876, Earp, who had been a stagecoach driver, railroad construction worker, surveyor, buffalo hunter, and policeman, became chief deputy marshal of Dodge City, Kansas, a lawless frontier town. Within a year, having brought relative peace to Dodge City, he moved on to Deadwood in the Dakota Territory. There he furthered his reputation as a gunfighter, first as deputy sheriff of Pima Co. and later as deputy United States marshal for the entire Arizona Territory. Earp left Tombstone in 1882 to live the rest of his life in various cities of the American West, looking after his extensive real estate and mining interests. Since his death he has become a legendary figure, hero of numerous Western novels, television programs, and motion pictures.”

 One of the more recent film versions is the 1993 film, Tombstone that starred Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer. Kilmer played the gambler Doc Holliday and really gave us a sense of how ill the dentist was. He had moved to Arizona, leaving his practice in Atlanta in favor of Arizona’s drier climate. He had tuberculosis. He was also the only one to use a shotgun during the famed shootout. He succumbed to the disease on November 8th, 1887, at the age of 35.

 I have two conflicting dates for the events of the day: one being October 26th, and the other being October 27th, 1881.

 This is how author Lambert Florin described one of the many photos featured in his coffee-table book. “Old chains are draped across hitching rail of O. K. Corral Stable. Original building was in bad state of repair few years after famous shooting scrape in yard, was repaired and restored with authentic atmosphere. Visitors can now browse around stable and yard, almost hearing again fusillade of shots.”

 Some have romanticized the Old West. I wouldn’t call the events that day “romantic,” but it was one of the many times that law and order was maintained in a lawless part of the United States.”

 ***

 Don Jackson

 In the movies, Dracula said, “Listen to them…children of the night. What music they make…”

 Of course, the reference was to bats and other creatures of the night. It certainly wasn’t a romantic association, but Dracula seemed to be  a dark but romantic creature. The image he portrayed may have struck terror, made us fear leaving windows slightly ajar after nightfall, but if you read between the lines of the story you will find a grief-stricken creature.

 The story by Bram Stoker tells us that while his character was away at war, the woman he loved was delivered a message that said that he had been killed. In a fit of despair, she threw herself from the uppermost ramparts of the castle, plunging to her death in the moat below. When he returned from the war–very much alive–he was told of her tragic death, and in a fit of rage, called upon the Dark Forces. The result was that he became a vampire, a creature that inspired so many other stories and movies.

 A couple of recent film portrayals come to mind.

 The Francis Ford Coppola re-telling of the classic Bram Stoker tale that I gave you the essence of, and that starred Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder. At its heart was a love story that crossed the centuries. The other was the film version of the Anne Rice classic, “Interview With The Vampire” that starred Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt. One can’t help but get caught up in the very dark but also somewhat romantic direction her story took. It was on late-night TV just last night. The movie was filmed in New Orleans. I saw the streets where the great fire was staged. It was, of course, movie magic.  

 My wife and I went on a vampire tour in New Orleans some summers back. We saw some of the locations used for the movie. We were quite surprised to discover that New Orleans has a long history of vampire stories, some romantic, others not-so-romantic, chilling in fact.

 We also toured one of the Cities of the Dead, the above-ground cemetery where those scenes were shot. Even though it was not even close to Hallowe’en, one couldn’t help but feel the inspiration that the authentic locations must have lent to the actors, as they tried to bring Anne Rice’s moody immortals to life.

 You can even go back to the film versions that starred Frank Langella, and, of course, who can ever forget Bela Lugosi in his evening clothes, and the soft, melodic voice that so hypnotized his victims. There are very few creatures of the night and the silver screen that had such a depth of character as the one portrayed by Lugosi.  It was his one crowning achievement on screen. He would never eclipse this portrayal in any other role.

 The date was October 20th, 1844 when Bela Lugosi was born.

 It was ironic and a sad commentary at the end of his life, that he was buried in the very same costume that his character wore, when he retired every day at sunrise, in a coffin filled with the earth of Transylvania.

 ***

 Don Jackson

T.S. Eliot wrote, “You know only / A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, / And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, / And the dry stone no sound of water. / Only / There is shadow under this red rock, / (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), / And I will show you something different from either / Your shadow at morning striding behind you / Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; / I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

 ”There are many pleasures to be derived by drawing up to a comfortable rock or well-appointed stump and watching a stream go by. It is no coincidence that great cities consider fountains and pools among their most important assets. The soothing effects associated with water in any form take the edges off the annoyances of daily life.” Norman Strung in Field and Stream and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the October 2001 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine.

 Consider a stream on its journey. It may meander its way through a shaded ravine, come out into the sunlight or moonlight to eddy in a pool for a time, and eventually continue on its way. Look at how it smooths the rough edges on the pebbles that lie on the stream-bed just below the surface. It is a process that takes eons of time, but we see the results when we lift a smooth pebble from the water.

 If we drop that pebble back into the water, an amazing thing happens…

 This called “Drop A Pebble In The Water” by James W. Foley, featured in the 1936 Doubleday collection, “Best Loved Poems of The American People.”

“Drop a pebble in the water: just a splash, and it is gone; / But there’s half-a-hundred ripples, circling on and on and on, / Spreading, spreading from the center, flowing on out to the sea / And there is no way of telling where the end is going to be.  //Drop a pebble in the water: in a minute you forget, / But there’s little waves a-flowing, and there’s ripples circling yet, /And those little waves a-flowing to a great big wave have grown; / You’ve disturbed a mighty river just by dropping in a stone. // Drop an unkind word, or careless: in a minute it is gone; / But there’s half-a-hundred ripples circling on and on and on. / They keep spreading, spreading, spreading from the center as they go, / And there is no way to stop them, once you’ve started them to flow. // Drop an unkind word, or careless: in a minute you forget; / But there’s little waves a-flowing, and there’s ripples circling yet, / And perhaps in some sad heart a mighty wave of tears you’ve stirred, / And disturbed a life was happy ere you dropped that unkind word. // Drop a word of cheer and kindness: just a flash and it is gone; / But there’s half-a-hundred ripples circling on and on and on, / Bearing hope and joy and comfort on each splashing, dashing wave / Till you wouldn’t believe the volume of the one kind word you gave. // Drop a word of cheer and kindness: in a minute you forget; / But there’s gladness still a-swelling, and there’s joy a-circling yet, / And you’ve rolled a wave of comfort whose sweet music can be heard / Over miles and miles of water just by dropping one kind word.”

 Have you ever seen one of those stone tumbling machines? Pebbles and stones are placed inside and when the machine is turned on, the stones tumble against each other. This machine needs to be kept going a very long time. Not just a week or a month, but day in and day out for maybe a year or more. Patience is needed where stone polishing is concerned. Eventually you will open up the machine and find stones that have had all their rough edges removed. They are smooth and polished. They bear little resemblance to the stones they once were. If you didn’t know any better you might consider them to be almost gem-like. As one writer said, who described the process on the internet, “Deeply burnished, glistening like fire, impossibly flawless stones are now warming the skin of your palm. You can’t bear to put them down: they are too sleek and beautiful.” This writer goes on to suggest that when we run up against trouble, whether it be a careless word or even illness, remember the stones. Maybe we’re being polished in the hands of our Creator.

 Its been said that time flows like a river. We experience it in a fluid motion. Sometimes it feels like time slows down or even stands still. That’s when we might experience it like an eddy in a pool. Eventually time will move forward again, on to its final destination.

 George Eliot wrote, “The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.”

 There is a story called “Magic Pebbles” byJohn Wayne Schlatter in the collection, “A Second Helping of Chicken Soup For The Soul” published in 1995.  It tells the story of a group of nomads who are preparing to bed down for the night, when they receive a visitation from an angelic being. The being tells them to gather as many pebbles as they can and carry them on their journey for a day. They are told that when they retrieve the pebbles they will be glad and sad. They are dismayed. They believed this being would impart some grand wisdom, but they are being told to perform some menial task. They collect a few pebbles, though. The next night, they find that the pebbles have turned into diamonds. They are glad they have the diamonds, and sad they didn’t pick up more pebbles.

 One final thought…

 Charlie Brown once complained, “I went trick-or-treating, and all I got was a bag of rocks.” If he got a bagful of rocks and pebbles like the ones I’ve photographed for you, he is very rich, indeed.

 ***

 Don Jackson 

 Henry Van Dyke wrote, “These are the things I prize / And hold of dearest worth: / Light of the sapphire skies, / Peace of the silent hills, / Shelter of the forests, comfort of the grass, / Music of birds, murmur of little rills, / Shadows of clouds that swiftly pass, / And, after showers, / The smell of flowers / And of the good brown earth– / And best of all, along the way, friendship / And mirth.”

 I used to play the drums in a fairly popular local rock band in the city I grew up in. Actually, I played in a few rock bands, but the core musicians stayed together. This was a very long time ago but it was a great experience. It helped shape who I am today. It also taught me a lot about friendship. I don’t see the people who made up the band on any regular basis but when we do get together it’s great to relive the memories. I mentioned that it shaped who I am today. If I hadn’t quit the band when I did I would never have pursued my other passion in life. My other love was radio. I had no illusions about where the band was headed. We might have had a future, but I got a sense that I would probably end up being a studio musician playing on other groups’ records. Radio was where I really wanted to be. I’m thankful today that I had the foresight to make the change. I’m also thankful for the friendships I made along the way. I still miss the drums, though. I don’t play them as much anymore, but my son does…

 I really believe that some talents are passed down through the genes. My wife and I discovered early in his life that he had a sense of rhythm. He would pick up chopsticks and play the furniture. I made the leap and bought him a set of drums, and with little or no instruction he plays with a style all his own. I created my own style and have been content to sit back and watch what he does on the drums.

 I must tell you that when my wife heard I was going to buy drums she was less than enthusiastic about the plan. I compromised and made sure they came with muffle heads. There wasn’t much I could do about the cymbals, but she enjoys hearing him play. This year, he made the jazz band at school. I can’t wait to see him play.

 My daughter tried her hand at the guitar and keyboards. Every once in a while she will play one or the other, but music doesn’t seem to be as important to her right now. I know that could change over time. When I hear her play something she has come up with on her own, I often wonder about something as mysterious as talent and where it comes from.

 This is an excerpt from the 1979 edition of the Friendship Book of Francis Gay, published by D. C. Thomson and Company. Gay writes, “The other night I saw once again a film made in 1930-the famous horror classic The Bride Of Frankenstein. Oddly enough, one of its most powerful scenes is one which stresses the importance of friendship… The unhappy monster created by Frankenstein arrives at an isolated cottage where a blind old man is playing his violin. Attracted by the sound of the music, he enters the cottage and the blind man welcomes him as a friend, gives him food and invites him to stay.

“He also teaches Frankenstein’s pathetic creature to speak a few elementary words. It may be a horror film but I shall never forget how movingly Boris Karloff portrays the gratitude of a lonely soul who has learnt to utter the simple phrases: “Food … good!’ And, best of all: ‘You … friend.’”

 My son has played on quite a few hockey teams since he developed a passion for the sport. One of his coaches told me that no matter how far he goes, the most important thing he will have learned is the value of teamwork. He will also have developed lasting friendships. Like my infrequent reunions I’m sure he will meet up with some of the guys he’s played hockey with over the course of his lifetime. When they do, they, too, will reminisce about their playing days, and talk over old times.

 I’ll leave you with one last thought. It’s from Families of The Heart condensed from “Families” by Jane Howardpublished in 1978 by Simon and Schuster. “A friend of the heart is one who perceives me as one of the better versions of myself. We make good music, this friend and I, and we make good silences, too.”

 ***

 Don Jackson

It’s been a busy weekend for us. We’ve been on the road with my son for his hockey and I missed posting a blog on Friday. I plan to make it up this week.

 If you’re a fan of old movies then you might remember the “road” movies that starred Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. Many of the classic black-and-white movies of the 40s and 50s dealt with life on the road. What about “Some Like It Hot” with Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon trying to get themselves hired in an all-girl band? I recently watched a late-night movie on tv that featured the life of another rag-tag group of 40s musicians traveling by boxcar from one city to the next, finally coming to a stop at a honky-tonk establishment run by a mobster.

 It’s an enduring theme that has carried over well into our generation. Movies like “Easy Rider” and “Thelma and Louise” have to a certain degree glamorized life on the road. In this day and age when the top bands of the day tour they travel in customized, streamlined buses that are literally equipped with every modern convenience.

  I mention this because at one of our home-games over the weekend the visiting team arrived in their own ultra-modern bus with their team colours on the outside of the vehicle. I couldn’t help but wonder about the team’s budget.

  There was always a certain romance associated with life on the road. If there was one poet who inspired that romance then it was Jack Kerouac who helped formulate the name, “The Beat Generation.” October 22nd marks the anniversary of his death back in 1969. He was inspired to write about the highway of life because of a letter from a friend that rambled on in 13,000 words. The book that he rode to great heights of popularity among the 50s generation was “On The Road“ published in 1957. A recent tv ad for a certain make of car showed a passenger reading from one of his books.

 I was inspired to write this blog today from the amount of time we spent on the road over the weekend. My blog tomorrow will hopefully include some digital images.  It was also inspired by an interview with Eric Clapton on Larry King Live over the weekend on CNN. The interview reminded me of “Crossroads” also from 1969.

 One final thought about the road tonight from a very old edition of the Britannica.

“Hecate was a goddess in Greek mythology, but she was not of Greek origin. She came into the Greek mythology at a fairly late period, probably after the time of Homer in the 9th century B.C. Hecate was at first the goddess of magic, sorcery and spells; and she ruled a part of the underworld.

“One of Hecate’s powers was that of driving away misfortune or bad luck from doorways, gates, and crossroads. In order to secure her protection the Greek people made offerings to her in the form of food. These offerings of food were called “Hecate’s suppers.’ They were prepared according to religious rules and left at gates, crossroads, or forks in the road. They  always had to be offered to her at night, under either a full moon or a new moon.

“Some time in the fifth century B. C. Hecate became a moon goddess along with Artemis (Roman Diana). She also shared with Artemis the duties of protecting mothers and babies at birth. Cakes or loaves of bread were given as offerings to the goddess at the time of birth. In one ritual of this kind the cake was surrounded by torches and placed in a gateway or at a fork in the road. This custom might possibly have been the origin of the modern birthday cake.”

 If it’s your birthday soon, I hope you will save me a piece of your cake. The road can be long between stops.

 ***

 Don Jackson

“I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, / The manifold, soft chimes, / That fill the haunted chambers of the night, / Like some old poet’s rhymes.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow from “A Hymn To The Night.”

  The mind is a mysterious, wonderful thing. It is the storehouse of every living moment we’ve experienced. It also keeps all manner of bric-a-brac originally intended to have only ephemeral value, like the lyrics to a ridiculous song from our youth. That song is stored right there alongside the major milestones of our lives. As the years pass, and we want to draw upon something worth remembering, we may be unable to summon the pertinent details. Those lyrics? They keep coming back with the most frustrating clarity.

 There are memories we would most like to put away, as one would store old photos in a shoebox on the top shelf of a closet, in behind old clothes we no longer wear. The problem is that the shoebox keeps tumbling down, spilling the contents in front of us. Out come old faces of lost loves, harsh words said in the heat of the moment, and regrettable actions we wish we could turn back time to correct. They keep coming back at the most inopportune times to torment us as well, like those lyrics from that old song.  They will make us toss and turn in  the dark as we ponder over what was, what could have been, and why it had to end.

 Night is the time when the ghost-like images of Lovers and Other Strangers haunt the dark corners just beyond our beds, calling out to us from years gone by.

 Thomas Moorewrote, “Oft in the stilly night, / Ere slumber’s chain has bound me, / Fond memory brings the light / Of other days around me; / The smiles, the tears, / Of boyhood’s years, / The words of love then spoken; / The eyes that shone / Now dimmed and gone, / The cheerful hearts now broken.”

 Thomas Moore also wrote, “And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, / Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.”

 It’s one thing to occasionally remember the people who have passed through our lives, the ones who played an important role, and quite another to be obsessed with them night after night. And yet that is exactly what some of us do long after the closet has been emptied of their clothes, and they are no longer physically there. That’s when the haunting begins…

 There is no easy answer to rid ourselves of these phantoms of memory. We hope that the passage of time will make their visits less frequent and dim their recriminations. In the meantime, we’ll try to make peace with ourselves and live with the decisions we’ve made. We will then welcome their visits as a temporary stay. Eventually we’ll discover what it takes to finally close the chapter they occupied and move on to a new cast of characters. At that point, the hauntings will most likely stop and we’ll have assigned them a new place to occupy in our minds. Let’s hope that it’s a place that won’t be as easy to access as the song that keeps playing over and over again.

 This is a poem called “Midsummer” by Sydney King Russell, featured in the collection Best Loved Poems of The American People, published in 1936 by Doubleday.

“You loved me for a little, / Who could not love me for long; / You gave me wings of gladness / And lent my spirit song. / You loved me for an hour / But only with your eyes; / Your lips I could not capture / By storm or by surprise. / Your mouth that I remember / With rush of sudden pain / As one remembers starlight / Or roses after rain./ Out of a world of laughter / Suddenly I am sad. / Day and night it haunts me, / The kiss I never had.”

 ***

 Don Jackson

One of my favorite movies was “The Day of The Jackal” based on the Frederick Forsyth novel of the same name. The original film was released in 1973. The “Jackal” was portrayed by a great actor by the name of Edward Fox. His character was as “sly as a fox,” meticulous in his preparations. There was a recent remake that starred Bruce Willis in the role that Edward Fox made his own, but I prefer the original since it stayed true to the Forsyth novel. I wonder if director Fred Zinnemann saw a connection between the fox and the jackal when he was casting for the lead role?

 One of the many things the “Jackal” was good at was camouflage. You might remember the assassin was a master of disguise. It was one of the elements that was successfully employed in both versions of the film. In life, the fox is a master of camouflage, too. One moment, it can be in a clearing in a forest. It stands majestic surveying its surroundings with a cunning eye. The next moment, it can seemingly vanish, using the flora to aid in its ability to hide in plain sight. It is this ability to melt into its surroundings that can be unsettling to its prey.

 In the book “Medicine Cards: The Discovery Of Power Through The Ways Of Animals” by Jamie Sams and David Carson, published in 1988 by Bear and Company, Santa Fe, New Mexico, were some interesting thoughts on this creature of the forest and what lessons we can learn from this beautiful animal. The authors tell us that the fox is like a chameleon, changing in order to adapt to winter conditions. The authors write, “Fox medicine involves adaptability, cunning, observation, integration, and swiftness of thought and action. These traits may also include quick decisiveness, and sure-footedness in the physical world.”

“The ‘medicine’ in this book is anything that improve’s one connection to the Great Mystery and to all of life. This medicine is also anything which brings personal power, strength, and understanding.”

 If you feel an affinity to the fox, the authors go on to say, “…it is a sign that you are to become like the wind, which is unseen yet is able to weave into and through any location or situation. You would be wise to observe the acts of others rather than their words at this time. Use your cunning nature in a positive way…”

 Edward Fox’s character in “The Day Of The Jackal” would approve. But I did make sure to quote that a cunning nature can be used for a positive end.

 In the radio program tonight are many fables. The fox has one of the most luxurious tails. There is a fable about how he got such an elegant one that is not featured in tonight’s show. The lion was king of beasts, a tsar in his own right. He decided one day that all his subjects should have a tail. Messages were sent throughout his kingdom that all the animals should be at the palace on a certain day when the tails would be handed out. This is an excerpt from “Tale Of Many Tails” from the Time-Life series “The Enchanted World: The Book Of Beginnings” published in 1986. “In the Summer Palace, meanwhile, a line of beasts stretched from the foot of the throne, around the samovars and under the icons all the way to the gate. At the head of the line was the fox. It had arrived at the court first and begged to be allowed to choose first among the tails. The Lion Tsar nodded his assent, opening one of the many jeweled caskets that lay before him. The fox held up first one tail, then another. The crowd of animals gasped as they saw curly tails, bushy tails, bristly tails, silky tails, tails in gold and russet, cream, black, white and silver. The fox chose the finest one, a luxurious brush, but there were many magnificent tails left.”

 In another fable, the fox wasn’t able to keep the tail for long, but being a cunning animal, he tried to persuade those of his kind to follow his fashion lead and have theirs removed.

 It’s one thing to be like a fox, but you run the risk of encountering another who might be really sly. That’s when your cunning will be put to the test, so that you are not led astray.

 ***

 Don Jackson