City of Legends

You may not recognize the strange looking fellow in this picture, but it comes to me courtesy of an old friend, Jeff Lucas, who ran across some photos from his halcyon days at West Virginia University, when we were both in the Monongamoot Science Fiction Society.  He was President and I was this hyperkinetic idea machine they turned loose to add "flavour" and strange ideas.

That’s me in the silver paint and caftan.  Yes, me and yes, a caftan.  I was in costume to host the insterstellar cantina welcoming party.  I was never that young.  The weird part is, the pose you see me in these?  My son, Elric, who had never seen this picture before yesterday, that is his natural pose.  My God.  I’ve been cloned.

Also at the interstellar cantina were the other members of SIC (or, the Strange Ideas Committee).  Milton Stiles, who died back in the 80’s and was memorialized in my poem "Words Upon the Death of a Friend", Karen Gross (later, Doctor Karen Gross) and her room mate, Jan Arthur.

I may share more of these pictures, later.  Thanks, Jeff.  It’s funny to note that these pictures are older than the standard demographic of my readers.

This next picture is of Jan, who would three years later become my wife.  Our sons were startled to see their mother almost as young as they are now!  I remember her at the cantina quite well, she kept making slave girl comments to me so much that a stranger took aside my girlfriend at the time (Nancy, known in my totem muses as Psyche) and told her she should "Punch her out now and avoid trouble in the future".  Seeing as Jan was a 5′10" farm girl who could throw bales of hay, I don’t think the fight would have quite gone that way.

You never know, though.  There were several other great pictures, including a few of Milton, and of Kim Duryea, an artist friend who passed away a few years back of Advanced Systemic Sclerosis.  Kim was an angel and I remmber her going with us to visit Milton when he was dying and my having to carry her disease-ravaged form up the steep stairs at Milton’s apartment in Pittsburgh.

She aklso attended the memorial service where I read the poem, even though she was in a wheelchair.  Tyndara, who also attended the service, died a few years ago in a car accident.  Starting to sound like "Final Destination".