Today, he wanted breakfast.  He was hungry.  It was
still before dawn, so he had plenty of time.  He
waited for a bus, hopped on, and took it as far north
as the route allowed it to go.  He transferred to
another bus and continued his journey to almost the
north end of Manhattan.  Here, he found a small diner
that was open and ordered several scrambled eggs, half
a pound of bacon, coffee, cinnamon toast, and more
coffee.  He hadn't been followed, but he never let his
guard down.  He kept watch on both the front entrance
and a side entrance as dawn began to show outside the
windows.  The clouds were gone.  The sun would
eventually take some of the hard bite of winter out of
the day and it would be a good day.  He was already
beginning to enjoy himself, even though he kept a
careful watch on both entrances of the diner and the
terrain outside the window at his shoulder.  That low
wall down the street could be a excellent spot for a
pickoff.  A man with a scoped rifle could get in a
good shot and never be noticed.

Even his caution, however, didn't stop him from eating
slow and easy and relaxing for a few minutes.

After breakfast, he got on the subway, which was
actually an elevated train this far up town.  From
here, the elevated passed over the river into the
Riverdale part of the Bronx.

He headed downtown, but got out near the top end of
Central Park.

Every day, when and if the occasion permitted, he
spent half an hour exercising.  Mostly, he performed a
rigorous set of isometrics, pitting muscle against
muscle, stretching, applying tension, relaxing,
keeping arms and legs moving, keeping the muscles of
his neck, shoulders, and arms tense.  He also
performed the same maneuvers with feet and legs.  He
knew he looked awkward performing the exercises–like a
railroad tramp thinking he was imitating the late
Bruce Lee–so he came out into deep Central Park
whenever he was in Manhattan in order to attract the
least possible amount of attention.

The sun was up and the warmth soaked into his back and
he felt good as he worked out.  He'd found a grassy
area where there was no snow.  The grass was brown
with the dead of winter, but it made a nice carpet.

Central Park was the perfect place, especially here. 
This part of the park had become a jungle.  You didn't
dare venture here at night, unless you were hunting
for trouble.  And you didn't even come here during the
day unless you didn't give a damned whether you got
into trouble or not.

The three young adults came around a small pond.  All
three were Afro-Americans, although the smaller one
obviously had a few Puerto Rican ancestors somewhere
along the way.  They weren't dressed all that well. 
One wore an old letter jacket like they give you for
playing basketball or football in high school. 
Another wore a hip-length car coat that had seen
better days.  The tallest of the three wore a
sweatshirt over a sweatshirt; he was probably feeling
the cold even on a day as nice as today.

The taller black carried a switch-blade knife, already
opened, but at his side almost hidden.  The other two
had tire chains wrapped around their hands ready to
swing.  His sneakers, a cheap brand, were ragged and
dirty.

They were astonished that Snake didn't try to run.

"He ain't afraid," said the one with the knife.

"He should be."

They kept coming, spreading out in order to attack at
different angles.  Then they stopped.

"Haven't you ever heard of turf?" asked the one with
the knife.

"And this was your turf?"

"What do you mean, was?"

"Merely a figure of speech.  I'm not laying claim to
it.  Not yet."

The Puerto Rican gestured.  "This is our territory,
man.  Move on out of here."

"And if I should prefer to stay?"

"Why, you can't.  That's all."  His tone of voice
indicated he was a little unsure of himself.

"Go away and leave me alone," Snake said.

"Okay.  We tried to talk some sense into you.  Now
we've got to take care of you."

Snake held his hands apart waist high, palms up.

"Good," said Snake.

"Good?"

"I was hoping someone would show up," Snake said.

"You are one crazy dude," said the Puerto Rican.

"Let's find out," said Snake.

One of the youths, a guy with a clear groove across
his scalp carved through a close-cropped hairdo, came
at him first.  As he approached, he swung his chain in
from the side.  If it had landed alongside Snake's
head, as intended, it probably would have cracked his
skull.  However, Snake stepped toward the youth,
shoulder lowered, planted the shoulder against the
youth's chest in a solid block, reached down and
caught the cuff of his blue jeans and lifted.  The
youth had been off balance as he swung the tire chain.
 It didn't take much of a jerk to throw him onto his
back on the ground.

As he passed the other youth trying to swing a chain
at his legs, Snake kicked him in the stomach, chopped
him harp up beside the temple with the heel of his
palm and continued toward the teen with the switch
blade.

This guy knew how to use a knife.  He kept the knife
in front of him, pointed at Snake; he jabbed with it
rather than swung.

But Snake stepped neatly by one of the jabs and hit
the youth in the face with a short right.  His fist
caught him on the point of his jaw.  He was
unconscious before he hit the ground.

Snake surveyed the scene.  All three of the youths
were out cold, sprawled in small heaps on the dead
grass.

"Nice work," said a voice to his right.

Snake whirled in a defensive posture, knees bent, legs
apart and braced, hands out.

"Caraboo!"

Caraboo Edwards dipped his head slightly and gestured
with his hand as if to tip a hat.  He sat on a park
bench, his legs crossed just as if he hadn't a care in
the world.

"Alive, too, I think," said Caraboo.

"Can't prove it by me," said Snake.  "I saw your body
hauled off."

"Ah, yes.  Some people wanted my office.  Can you
imagine the gall!  But, because I'm a generous soul, I
let them have it.  I never used it much anyway."

"I can assume, then,  that wasn't your body they
placed in an ambulance?"

"I don't know who that was.  He came early.  He
obviously left late.  My secretary and I left at some
period between.  Down a private back stairway.  There
seemed to be an awful lot of people coming up the
elevator and others coming up the main stairs."

"Your enemies?"

"I guess you could say that.  But they were not my
favorite enemies.  In fact, these enemies were
complete strangers."

"Why raid you?"

Caraboo shrugged.  "Another part of the mystery."

"One hell of a mystery," said Snake.

"Coffee everyone?"

She walked up the sidewalk, a brown paper bag in one
hand, a purse in the other.

"Perfect timing, as always," said Caraboo.  "Snake,
meet my secretary.  Neva, this is the quite legendary
Snake Williams.  Don't ever fall in love with him."

"You're too late for anything but coffee," she told
Snake, handing him a Styrofoam cup of black coffee. 
"I'm already in love with Sussie."

"Helluv a note, isn't it?" said Caraboo.  "Hire a good
secretary and instead of falling in love with you like
in the movies and running away with you to Brazil, she
falls in love with one of your friends."

"I think I already have a girlfriend," said Snake.  He
told Caraboo quickly and briefly about the thin-faced
girl.  Neva seemed to be quite interested in
description.

"A very strange lady," said Caraboo.

"Part vampire, probably," said Snake.

"I wonder if she had something to do with Sussie's
disappearance," said Caraboo.

"I intend to find out," said Snake.  "Here's to
Sussie." He lifted his cup in a partial salute.

"Sussie," said Caraboo.

"Hold this a moment," Snake said and handed his cup to
Neva.

He went over and examined the three youths.

"I hope you didn't hurt them," said Caraboo.

"They're not hurt," said Snake.  "They belong to you?"

"Not me," said Caraboo.

"Put them on the payroll," said Snake.

"What doing?"

"I'll think of something," said Snake.

He propped the three youths against the trunk of a
tree by the bench, took out their billfolds and
casually glanced through each of them, laid them on
the ground in front of the tree, then went back and
took his cup of coffee.  They looked like limp
puppets.  He and Caraboo sat staring at the young
black men.  One of them showed signs of coming to in a
few minutes.

"What happened to your army?"

"Oh, they're out there somewhere," said Caraboo.  He
waved a casual hand at the park.

"I am very glad that I don't have to worry about not
attending your funeral," said Snake.

"I'm rather glad about that myself," said Caraboo. 
"You really wouldn't have come?"

"No."

"Just for that, I don't think I'll come to yours
either."

"I'm not planning to have one," said Snake.

"Can't you guys talk about something else," said Neva.

"If you're in love with Sussie, how come you couldn't
tell me more about him?" Snake asked.

"I don't like to talk too much over the phone.  We've
been aware for a long time that it was probably
bugged.  Anyway, you probably wouldn't be interested
in the other things about Sussie."

"Try me."

"Well, his hair crinkles very nicely right behind the
head and I like the way his eyes are so blue and
bright when he looks at you in a certain way and...."

"That's enough," said Snake.  "Forget I asked.  I was
hoping you could tell me where he shopped for
groceries, where he bought his pipe tobacco."

"The market on the far corner of the street.  And he
didn't smoke."

Without hesitation, Snake asked:  "Did he have a maid
come in now and then?"

"No.  I don't think so."

"What about hobbies like bowling, going to basketball
games?"

"No.  Just me."

"Some hobby," interjected Caraboo.

"If you think of anything about Sussie out of the
ordinary, I'd like to know," Snake told Neva.

"We stayed in a lot, especially in all of this cold
weather, and watched old movies on television.  Now
and then, we went out for Chinese food.  Usually, we
went to one of the restaurants up near 85th Street. 
I'm afraid there's not much to tell."

Snake glanced at Caraboo.  "What did Susman do for you
in the past couple of weeks worth slightly more than
$17,000?"

Caraboo's head popped up.  "I'm afraid we've just
discovered something greatly out of the ordinary.  I
haven't paid Susman anything like that in some while."
 He looked at Neva.  "Have I?"

"No," she said.  She explained to Snake:  "I write all
of the checks for Allied."

"This has been a highly productive day," said Snake.

One of the youths groaned and began climbing to his
feet.

"Hi," Snake said.

The youth leaned weakly against the tree trunk.  He
saw his two friends still unconscious.

"You do us all?"

"Afraid so," said Snake.

"Guess this is your turf after all," said the youth,
grinning slightly.  He was the taller of the three,
the one who'd carried the switchblade.

"I'd give it back to you for a quarter, King," said
Snake, "but Mr. Edwards here has a better idea.  He
would like to hire all three of you."

"How did you know...."  He quickly grabbed for his
billfold, found it missing, then noticed the three
billfolds laying on the ground.  He reached and picked
up his billfold.  "What makes you think we need a
job?"

He rubbed at his head, trying to clear out the
remaining cobwebs.

"Just a wild guess," said Snake.  "$200 a week and a
uniform will be provided."

"I'm great on the dollar bills and not too great on
the uniform," said King.  "As for the job...as long as
it don't get us thrown in jail too often."

"No jail," assured Snake.  "Maybe trouble.  But
without question no jail as long as you do the job the
way I say.  As for the uniform, shall we say blue
jeans, high-top Reeboks, a specially-designed tee
shirt."

"Cool."  He grinned.  This time with more emphasis. 
"I suppose we really don't have much choice on the
job?"

"Choice, yes," Snake said.  He added a touch of venom
to his voice just for effect.  "But I think it would
be a dumb move to say no."

King nodded.  After a long pause, he said:  "I sort of
thought so."

"Can you handle this for me?" Snake asked Neva.  He
handed her a few hundred dollar bills from a zippered
pocket on his jacket.  "Three sets each of the
uniform.  And at least one of the pair of shoes should
be Air Jordans just for the hell of it."

"No problem."

"Provide all three also with jackets like the one I'm
wearing.  Fleece lined, of course.  

"What kind of tee-shirt," she asked.

"Solid blue with the exception of these words–not too
large, but clear and readable in florescent red–right
over the left breast:  Central Park Goodwill Team."

"I know just the place that makes tee-shirts," she
said.  "And I think I noticed a sporting goods store
just three blocks away."

"King, you know the sizes of your friends here?"

He glanced down at them.  "More or less.  Close
enough, I guess."

"Go with her.  Report back here."

"Cool," King said.

The youth and Neva took the pathway east and soon
vanished from sight.

Snake surveyed the distant trees.  He and Caraboo were
in a small clearing in which there were a few
scattered large trees.  He could not see any of
Caraboo's army in the shrubbery or the far trees. 
Earlier, he thought he'd spotted the glint of
something shiny, perhaps a gun barrel, over to the
right, but he could have been mistaken.

"How come your army didn't prevent the takeover of
your office?"

"I never waste men," said Caraboo.  "Running seemed
the more economical thing to do.  What's an office,
more or less, when compared against a man's life?"

"At least you were alert enough to get the guy who
died, as the thin-faced girl said, of a heart attack."

"Ah, Snake, still the male chauvinist.  Actually, I
was busy on the telephone.  Neva shot him."

"Some secretary."

"She does, indeed, have beneficial talents.  She is
also a very excellent secretary."

"I'm curious, Caraboo; how did you find me this
morning?"

"Well, I lied just a little in the car the other
morning.  I don't know a little about you, Snake.  I
know a whole lot."

"There's only one way anyone can check me out.  The
rumors are one thing.  Knowing me, knowing my habits,
is another."

"Yes.  I know you very well."

"Too well."

"Your life is safe with me, Snake."

"I know that.  But the thin-faced girl also knew too
much."
	
Ah!  Ah, that means trouble," said Caraboo.  "Under
the circumstances, you've become perhaps too
predictable."

"Me?  My whole lifestyle is predicated on being
totally unpredictable.  You've heard of the man
without a country?  I'm the ultimate man without a
home.  I never sleep in the same place twice, never
eat in the same restaurant twice.  I live on the
wind."

"That's not exactly true," countered Caraboo.  "You
have a tendency to nest at some place you've marked
earlier in the day, you like to read and once a day
can be located more than likely in a library because
you don't like to carry a book around with you.  And
you seldom miss a day exercising.  Since an athletic
club is out of the question, you generally find an
open area.  When in Manhattan, you prefer Central Park
because it's the least crowded area in the city and
because there's an element of danger here.  You feast
on elements of danger, which could also be considered
a predictable part of your character."

"So the thin-faced woman knew I was heading for
Central Park!"

"Without question."
	
You wouldn't consider packing a gun, I suppose?"

"I gave up guns," said Snake.

"You liked them once."

"No, I never particularly liked them.  I used one or
two, yes," admitted Snake.  "But I got burnt out on
guns somewhere along the way."

"Actually, you were so good that you realized it
wasn't sporting for someone like you to use a gun.  To
make it more even, you had to do without such an
edge."

"Not true," said Snake.  "I always have an edge of
some kind.  And sometimes I even cheat."

Neva and King came back.  King was already wearing his
"uniform," which, of course, Snake had selected on
purpose to not look like a uniform.

Clothes, in King's case, actually did "make the man." 
He looked different; he carried his head with a
slightly jaunty tilt.  He didn't act quite so
aggressive.

He began to roust his buddies, waking them up.

"We also brought more coffee," said Neva.  She passed
around the Styrofoam cups, handing one each to the two
black youths who were still leaning against the tree
trunk and still groggy.  "As for the tee-shirts, I'll
get them this afternoon.  I'll meet King here at this
bench."

King squatted in front of his two friends and began
explaining things to them.  He handed them the new
clothes that he brought.

"Did it ever dawn on you that this might not be a wise
maneuver?" Caraboo asked, nodding toward the three
youths.

"No," admitted Snake.  "I never think about those
things."

"Next question: Are we joining them or are they
joining us?"

"Hard to say just yet," said Snake.

"But you have a plan," said Caraboo.

"I never plan," said Snake.

"Cool!" said Caraboo.  And laughed.

"Now you're being slightly sarcastic.

"Not slightly in the least!"

"You don't have much faith in your fellow man, do
you?"

"In this town?  In America?  You've got to be
kidding!"

King walked over to the park bench.  "What about that
job?"

"I've been looking for someone to organize a
basketball tournament.  There's a court back down the
walk there."

"I saw it," said King.  "But it's a touch chilly to
play outdoors right now."

"Oh, a tournament takes a while to organize," said
Snake.  "Obtaining permission from the city at
whatever office, contacting people to play, setting up
the teams and getting them all team shirts.  It'll be
warm enough to play on that court in about four to six
weeks."

"Sometimes, we even sweep off the snow.  As long as
the sun is shining."

"Our major problem will be an audience.  One cannot
play good basketball without an audience.  Thus I want
this area to suffer drastic cultural improvement. 
>From now on, little old ladies will be safer here than
in their apartments.  Do you read me?"

"No problem here," said King.  "About some of the
gangs, I'm not so sure."

"Sign them up to play basketball."

"Man, some of those gangs roaming around north of the
park don't play anything but Vietnam.  You know what I
mean?"

"Vietnam's over," said Snake.  "You have a problem
like that, I'll take care of it personally. 
Meanwhile, you will be paid weekly through general
delivery mail at this post office.  Ask for your mail
under your name.  You're in charge for paying Rudy and
Montague here."  He wrote down the address of a post
office and handed it to King.

"Harlem?"

Snake looked at Neva.  "I know the post office.  I
will see that a check is posted there once a week."

"Cash," said Snake."

"Of course," she said.

"Told you she was also a good secretary," said
Caraboo.

"That's where I get my mail," Snake said to King.

"Predictable," said Caraboo, shaking his head.

"But safe.  Not even my girlfriend in the black fur
cap would dare go into Harlem," explained Snake.

"Don't bet on it," warned Caraboo.  "The rumor has
been out for a long time that one of these days the
legendary Snake would meet his match.  This just might
be that time."

Snake tried to smile, but couldn't force his face into
action...not even in order to express a certain amount
of sarcasm.

Finally, all he could manage was a weak:  "Don't bet
on that, either."

King tucked the note away and turned to go, then
turned to face Snake.  "I want you to be aware that
I've never done anything like this before."

"Neither have I," said Snake.

"Do you actually think it'll do any good?"

"It'll do me good," said Snake.

"Rudy was right," said King.  "You are one crazy
dude."

"Aren't we all," said Snake.

(continued next week)

I was working too hard.  I knew it.  I had developed a
twitch in one eye.  So, I had some really dark
prescription sunshades made to hide behind.  I
figured, hell, if I went blind, I would need them.

I wore them that night that Felix Pappalardi
celebrated his birthday in the old Bitter End in
Greenwich Village of Manhattan.  His parents were
there and he introduced me to them.  They were very
nice people.  I think they were proud of him.  I don't
think they realized he was a musical genius.  I still
have a picture of me in those shades...me and Felix
and his partner Bud Prager.

Greenwich Village in those days was my kind of place. 
The whole of several blocks were filled with a
vibrancy you cannot imagine.  You had to be there.  It
was exciting just to walk across the park and down the
side streets.  Raw comedians like Woody Allen
sharpened their wits on Bleeker and the surrounding
turfs.  Bob Dylan roamed out there in the dark of
pre-electricity.  I once spotted Shel Silverstein by
the arch and this was in the days before I came to
realize he was one of the best children's writers
around and a great songwriter; we thought of him then,
if at all, as one of those Playboy people lacking
stature, lacking scope.  One night, en route to the
Port of Call, I found an old high-top Converse sneaker
on the street.  I picked it up and took it with me and
once inside the Port of Call whipped off my tie and
tied it around the shoe and hung this life's trophy on
a nail on the wall and it hung there for months as
"decoration."  In my bachelor days, Raul Cardenas and
I would stop by a very pleasant bar and have a couple
of bottles of dark Pryor beer.  Because at the Port of
Call they sold Ballentine.  A horrible beer.  One
night there was a fight and the bartender leaped over
the counter to break it up.  Raul, not too long from
Korea, offered to help next time.  "Just ask."  The
bartender thought very highly of Raul after that. 
But, hell, Raul wasn't about to get into any fight. 
He'd seen enough of that crap long before coming to
Manhattan.

I'd suggested a few months before this to Raul that he
come north from Texas.  And he did.  In Manhattan, he
finished up his master's degree and went on for a
Ph.D.  Married.  Four kids.  He later made a lot of
money and bought the old home place on Galveston
Island.  But he lives in the New York City area and
his kids are like my kids, they'll never
know--really--where their fathers grew up.  Raul's
kids more than likely wouldn't understand Galveston. 
My kids certainly wouldn't comprehend Brady and
Winters.

After I got married and began work on Billboard, I got
to know Greenwich Village quite well.  I loved the
Cafe au Go Go.  Great music there.  And phenomenal ice
cream.  One of best jars of ice cream ever compiled;
four flavors (Barbara, a Woody Allen fan, remembers
the ice cream, not the music).  No booze at the Cafe
au Go Go.  Always enjoyed the performances of Richie
Havens.  Fred Neil.  Paul Butterfield and his Blues
Band (I think I caught them here; used to hear them
frequently at the Town Hall in mid-town where I also
caught the Weavers, Ian and Sylvia, etc.).  Here, I
caught the Cream in their first performance in the
United States.  Here I caught both versions of the
Blood, Sweat and Tears...their initial unveilings by
Al Kooper.  Here, I heard the Paupers, which never
happened on disc, wipe out the Jefferson Airplane. 
Here, Al Grossman once sent a flunky over to tell me
that I couldn't take a picture of him (I was shooting
the crowd); I don't remember what I told the flunky,
but I probably wouldn't print it here anyway.

The Bitter End, the Cafe au Go Go.  Great music. 
There were also the Kettle of Fish, the Cafe Wha.  I
think I caught Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys in
the Kettle of Fish.  We sat on plain wooden benches. 
Monroe told anyone that had a tape deck could use it. 
I thought this was sensational; he was selling his
music more than his records.  God bless Bill Monroe.

At nearby 8 St. Marks Place, you had jazz.  I remember
fondly performances by such as Chico Hamilton,
Coltrane, Monk.  I used to sit in one of the cane
chairs over to the side.  Greatest musicians in the
world literally free.

One night, a guy brought his guitar into the Mexican
Gardens at 137 Waverly Place, the basement, and played
classical music.

A long walk away, of course, was the Greek cabarets
and Jim Houtrides introduced me to those places and I
grew familiar enough so that the bellydancers would
dance on my table.  Loved the music.  Sitting at one
of those tables, I wrote short stories and sold a few
of them to the cheap girlie magazines.

Anyway, as I grow older, places like the Greenwich
Village are just memories.  Not even sure that kind of
place exists anywhere in the world anymore.

OTHER MATTERS
Rick Frio, rickfrio@earthlink.net: "My brother came
across your website and brought it to my attention,
and I can say that I truly enjoy it. It is impossible
to bring you up to date on the last 30 years in this
short letter, but to bottom line it, and thank God, I
am feeling GREAT!!!, and I hope you do. too.  Thanks
for remembering the Universal backlot party, you have
a wonderful memory, and I still have that 'FRIO' sign
covering the inside wall of my garage.  I'm sure
you've heard it a million times already 'It's not like
the old days', well, add my statement to the list. The
only good thing that I'm grateful for the old days,
are the life long friends I've made and with whom I
still maintain a relationship. In some cases those
life long friends are passing on and I feel a great
loss. Recently, KEN REVERCOMB, [associated with
Columbia, Imperial, Dot and A&M] died, very many of
the 'guys' came to the chapel, it was like a
mini-NARM, it was fun hearing the old stories, and
they get better in the retelling every year.   Some of
the guys I still see are: PAT PIPOLO, RUSS REGAN,
JOHNNY MUSSO. NORMAN WINTER, BOB FEAD, BUD DAIN, JOE
SARACENO, JOAN BULLARD, ARTIE MOGUL, KARIN GREEN MOSS,
DON BLOCKER, VINCE COSGRAVE, VIC FARACI, MORRIS
DIAMOND, DENNY DIANTE, JOE SUTTON, MACEY LIPMAN, BOB
MARCUCCI, SHARON NELSON, ARNIE ORLEANS, DAVE PELL, and
many, many more. And, yes, when I see one of our old
artists, they do 'remember' and sometimes say 'Thank
you', that's nice to hear.  I have been very fortunate
to have been in the right place at the right time, I
could not have planned it any better, the companies,
the times and the people, I wouldn't change a thing. 
Starting with Milt Salstone, M.S.Dist. Co. in Chicago,
to Liberty Records in L.A. to Imperial Records to Uni
Records and then to MCA Records was quite an exciting
ride in the late 50s, the 60s and 70s. From 1- 2- 3
o'clock, the start of rock, to the day our music
died.  More later, Rock on!!!"

You know something, Rick?  The other day I came to the
conclusion that I was very, very lucky to have been
there, done that.  Not many people in the world had as
good a time, a fun a time, as exciting a time as you
and I did over those years.  You had to be good to be
in the business and you had to be very bright, but,
yeah, we were lucky, too.  Just being around some of
the people you mentioned was constant excitement,
constant creativity.  What a great bunch of people! 
All of them.  Regardless.

Katherine Josenhans,  lizzie_jane77@yahoo.com: "I got
caught up in reading your article--'The Pitfalls of
Complacency, part 3'--which happened to mention my
hometown. I was just wondering if you've ever even
been to Enid, Oklahoma? I was born and raised there. I
know exactly where babies come from (I have two
darling children of my own). I never, even as a child,
believed that 'babies were delived by the stork' as
your article said. Sex is not a dirty thing if both
the people love each other. I feel greatly insulted
that you would generalize a city without even giving
it a chance.   Please, next time you write an article
realize that not everyone in any area thinks a certain
way, or is as naive as you seem to think the people of
my hometown are.   Thank you for reading this."

I wrote Katherine back that I consider Enid a horror
story.  I was cheated, robbed, and stepped on in Enid.
 Don't know one good thing about the town.

I heard from Ernie Farrell.  Guess that he has
upgraded me from his C list to his B list.

Many of you will remember Ron Frasier.  Worked as a
deejay and program director in the south with
considerable success.  Well, I just heard from his
son.  Can't remember his name.  Too long ago. 
Djfraiser@aol.com: "Ron Fraiser is my dad.  He is
currently back in Mobile doing political talk radio
with his old station.  He is getting ready for the
hurricane as I write this.  Incidentally, he MC'ed the
25 anniversary showing of 'Close Encounters' last
year."

Ron, his wife, and his young son were in the movie. 
Ron, in fact, played two roles.  Guess Stephen
Spielberg was trying to save money in those days.  If
I'd know that Ron was going to emcee the anniversary
showing, I'd have watched it over again.  Good on you,
Ron!  Glad to see you're also doing okay.

And I also heard from another offspring.  Surprised
the devil out of me.  Bill Randle's daughter!

Pat Randle,  patrandle3@yahoo.com: "You've written
some really nice things about my dad, Bill Randle.  I
wanted to let you know there will be a 'Bill Randle
Day' at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.
Of course, you are welcome to come, and welcome to let
folks know about it through your website.  If you need
to know anything more, feel free to e-mail me. I am
attaching the press release put out by the Hall of
Fame.  Thanks for all you've done!"

Pat sent me the news release.  The Rock and Roll Hall
of Fame and Museum offers free admission for the Sept.
26 tribute to Bill.  An email address for information:
jwill@rockhall.org.  Most of you know about Bill.  For
those who're stumbling over this website from
outerspace, Bill Randle, Ph.D. and a lawyer and a DJ
and record producer, helped the careers of many,
including Elvis Presley.  Randle hosted Elvis’ first
TV appearance on the 'Dorsey Brothers Stage Show' in
1956 and put him on the radio in both New York and
Ohio.  He was also associated with the careers of the
Four Lads, Bobby Darin, Johnnie Ray, the Crew Cuts,
Tony Bennett, Fats Domino and others.  Bill died July
9.  Cancer.  The Museum will host a free performance
by the Four Lads.  Following the performance will
video on Bill, then a panel discussion moderated by
WCPN’s David C. Barnett and including Norman Wain and
Bernie Toorish of the Four Lads.

Then I heard from Jim Labarbara.  He said he was
definitely attending the Bill Randle tribute.

WORSE COMMERCIAL
Bill Gates ought to be ashamed of himself.  That
commercial flight on TV featuring a man in a kid's
butterfly costume--the Microsoft ad--is without
question the worse I've seen in years!  Horrible! 
Insulting!  What was Bill Gates thinking, for god's
sake?  If that represents the Microsoft image, then
the world is definitely in even more trouble than I
realized!