The fist fell like a hard, cold, dark cloud.  But a
fist thrown in an explosion of anger is not
necessarily well aimed.  Instead of stepping aside,
Snake merely stepped forward and bent slightly.  The
fist created a lot of air, but that was the only
damage.

On the other hand, the recent beer had not done much
to improve Elephant's breath.  After smelling it,
Snake wished he stepped aside.

Elephant seemed disappointed that Snake was not lying
on the ground, a mangled pulp.  He held his fist up
and looked at it as if it might have a hole in it. 
How could it have missed like that?

"Next time, would you please brush your teeth?"
suggested Snake.

"There isn't going to be a next time," said Elephant. 
He jabbed with left, a fairly easy punch for Snake to
dodge.  But he had a suspicion that Elephant might
know how to box.  He was right.  For Elephant
immediately threw a looping right hand that would have
severely hurt an ordinary man.

Snake, however, dodged the left jab and let the
looping right glance off his shoulder.

The blow still knocked him off his feet backwards. 
Snake let the force of the blow carry him into a
complete somersault and rolled to his feet.  He stood
there with his hands by his side.

"Try your goddamned firecrackers on me and see where
it gets you!" yelled Elephant.

Why should I waste a very good firecracker on an oaf
like you?" asked Snake.  He kept his hands at his
side.  This maneuver confused Elephant for a moment. 
He didn't understand why Snake wasn't either running
for the mountains or, at the very least, cowering in
fear of his next blow.

When he lumbered forward, he walked into a very
unpleasant surprise.  Snake tapped him lightly with a
left jab on the nose.

He had not put any great effort behind the punch.  But
with his enormous strength, even a light blow was
quite heavy.  Too, he hit Elephant on one of the most
vulnerable parts of the human body.  A man can be
easily killed with a blow in three places-the soft
bones of the neck, an upward blow on the nose, the
sharp, suddenly, heavy blow under the left ribs.  It
takes an expert who knows what he's doing to land
those blows correctly enough to kill a human being. 
However, man is more easier distracted with two
specific blows.  One of these, of course, is in the
groin area.  Hit there, a man can be put out of action
and, in fact, made so sick he not only doesn't feel
like fighting, he can't.  The other place is the blunt
area of the nose.  True, you can break a man's nose
with a hard blow there.  But even a slight jab,
especially a jab from a fist like that thrown by Snake
with his shoulder adding extra power, can cause a
man's eyes to quickly water.  His nose stings.  He has
trouble breathing for just a moment.

Snake quickly hit Elephant on the chin with his right.

Unfortunately, instead of owning a soft chin, the blow
landed against solid rock.  Elephant shook his head
once to clear away the fog caused by the tap on his
nose, and lunged forward.

Snake placed two hard left hooks into Elephant's ribs,
but the blows didn't even slow him down.  Elephant was
an avalanche that had sprung downhill; nothing could
stop him.  Snake moved quickly aside, but not quite
fast enough.  Although the avalanche couldn't even
stop himself, he swung a right at Snake as he flowed
past.  The right landed in Snake's side and this time
it was no mere glancing blow.

Snake doubled up from the intense pain.  His special
jacket that could stop a bullet had done little to
ward off Elephant's right hand.

No wonder the giant had earlier looked at his own fist
with questioning eyes.  He had taken it for granted
that he could figuratively and literally destroy an
opponent with one blow.  And Snake had little doubt
now that this was precisely what would happen if the
giant got in a solid blow to the body.  As for a blow
to the head landed by Elephant, Snake would definitely
need the assistance of his seconds.  If there was
anything left to assist!

Before Elephant could stop, turn, and swing again,
Snake had recovered enough to get out of his way.

Just to throw off the timing of the giant, Snake
feinted a jab with his left.  But that left actually
lacked power enough to even tickle the giant; if it
had landed, it would have only encouraged him.

As it was, the feint bought Snake a little time and he
was able to get his breathing back under control. 
Enough so that he was able to tap Elephant with a
right and a left as the giant stepped in for the kill.
 And then an uppercut that he brought up from around
his waist.

Those blows were not little blows.  An ordinary person
would have been severely stunned.

To Elephant, the right and the left were merely flies
buzzing around.  They annoyed him.  That was about
all.  The uppercut popped back his head slightly.

His annoyance more than the effect of the blows
created a small delay.  And Snake was able to dance
lightly out of range of a thunderous right that the
giant flung in his direction.

He now realized, and realized it without question,
that he could not let the giant get in a solid blow.

Snake sent two left jabs into the man's face, just to
annoy him a little more, then barely escaped from a
left thrown by Elephant.

Elephant had evidently spent many hours in a ring. 
>From the looks of his face, those hours had been
mostly spent as a punching bag.  But even a punching
bag learns a lot of tricks.  And he used one now.

As Snake swung a right, Elephant crouched slightly to
let the fist fly harmlessly over his shoulder, then
moved in chest-to-chest, grabbed Snake in a body hold
and spun him around, flung him off and hit him with a
hard left hook.  Because Snake was falling away, the
blow did not land full force.  And it landed on his
chest.

Still, the blow was tremendously powerful!  Snake
staggered, managed to keep his feet, but was obviously
affected

Greatly encouraged, Elephant came forward.  He threw a
right and cocked his right and threw it again,
advancing both times as Snake tried to retreat.  These
were straight-from-the-shoulder punches and they had
the impact of a sledge hammer.

Snake blocked the first punch with his left arm and
felt his arm go immediately numb.  The last blow got
through and hit again in the chest.

This time, he was knocked down and didn't have the
wind nor strength to spring immediately to his feet. 
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Elephant raising
a foot to stomp him.  Or maybe Snake didn't see this
as much as sense it.  In any case, he rolled sideways
for his life!  Elephant's heavy foot missed Snake by
inches, pounding the earth.  Snake felt the ground
tremble, but that was probably an illusion.

Even in his weakened state, he tried to get to his
feet, fell, but made a valiant effort again.  He knew
the giant would have no qualms about stomping him to
death.

He rolled into some rocks at the side the glade,
causing people to flutter right and left from their
"first-row" seats.

Scrambling on his hands and knees, using the rocks as
leverage, Snake barely avoided a swinging foot from
the giant as Elephant tried to kick him in the side.

But he was on his feet again!

His ears were ringing, but he could hear cheers mixed
amidst the groans in the crowded mass of people
scattered around the glade.

Elephant paused, as if to take a bow, but didn't.  He
merely nodded at some of his friends by the tree.  One
of them raised a bottle of beer in salute.

"Open a bottle for me," said Elephant.  "I'll be right
there."

Unknowingly, Elephant had let Snake off the hook.  He
had a moment in which to catch his breath, a few short
deep breaths in which to let the pain in his side
subside.  The years of roughing it, the years of
exercise, the years of eating sparsely, but
well--these all paid off for Snake now.  He had the
unique ability to recover quickly in both mind and
body.

When the Elephant charged forward, he found a huge
surprise waiting for him.  Snake wasn't there. 
Instead, Snake bent low and sideways.  Elephant's legs
collided with Snake's back and sent him tumbling
through the air.

This time there was no mistake.  The ground did quiver
slightly from the impact of Elephant's fall.  It you
can call an earthquake registering 7.3 on the Richter
scale a slight quiver.

To his credit, although the man had probably never
been knocked off his feet in a fair fight--if he'd
ever fought a fair fight--he did not stay down.  He
was immediately up on one knee, facing Snake, so that
he wouldn't be entirely defenseless.

When he saw that Snake was not going to attack, he
climbed slowly to his feet.

His face wore a puzzled expression.  He couldn't
understand why Snake had not charged him while he was
down.

Snake, in order to create even more concern in the
huge giant's mind, calmly looked at his fingernails as
if considering whether they should perhaps be trimmed.
 It appeared as he was not paying any attention at all
to Elephant.

That, however, was not the case.

With a roar of anguish because he'd been floored,
Elephant leaped toward Snake.

Again, Snake wasn't there.  He stepped quickly to the
left and, as Elephant went crashing past him, chopped
him hard across the back of the neck with the edge of
his hand just where the brain stem goes into the
skull, then kicked him in the seat of the pants as he
began to fall.

Elephant stumbled wildly as he tried to catch his
balance, then he went plunging to the earth once
again, this time face first!

The blow had without question dazed Elephant, but it
hadn't stopped him.

Snake didn't pause to look at his fingernails.  He ran
lightly over to where Elephant was trying to get his
hands under his enormous body in order to lift himself
up.  Before he could even start, Snake stepped as hard
as he could on the back of Elephant's head, driving it
against the earth.

Although the sun had melted the snow a few days ago
and the glade was covered with a profusion of grass,
underneath of dead grass the ground was still hard and
somewhat frozen from the heavy winter that always
pounds New York City.

When Elephant lifted his face, his eyes round as large
marbles, Snake could see that his nose was completely
crushed.

Any man who steps into a boxing ring, at some point
will suffer a broken nose.  He has to expect this.  A
broken nose comes, as the old cliché goes, with the
turf.  A crushed nose is entirely different.  Only the
great Joe Louis or Rocky Marciano in their prime could
hit that hard and they most often didn't get a clear
shot.

Elephant now could only breath out of his mouth.  His
breath came in quick gasps for air.  The beer he'd
drank earlier was now his enemy; he retched a couple
of times.

Getting to his feet wasn't easy.  He rose to his
knees, facing Snake, and tried to get one foot planted
so he could rise.  The foot refused to stay firm.  His
leg bent to one side.

At the moment, Elephant was completely vulnerable.  It
would have been easy for Snake to kick him in the
neck, crush his wind pipe, jab out both eyes to leave
him blind.  The giant would die slowly, very
painfully, and very scared because he wouldn't be able
to see.

However, Snake merely turned and walked over to the
bench and sat down by King and Montague.  Rudy got up
to give him a place, then stood by the end of the
bench.

They watched as Elephant tried to get up, failed a
couple of times, then finally made it to his feet.

"You were right," said King.  "Big and slow."

"Ah, but because he's big, he also not done yet," said
King.

"Man, he's whipped," said Rudy.

"True," said Snake.  "But he doesn't know it yet.  In
a moment or two, he'll charge across that clearing. 
Just in case I might not be able to stop him, I don't
think I'd stay too close to this bench."

"I'm not giving that gorilla my seat!" said Montague.

"That gorilla may dent your head for you if you
don't," said Snake.

"Didn't that punch a few minutes ago hurt?" asked
King.

"Without doubt," said Snake.  "Can't you see me
crying?"

Rudy looked closely into his face.

"He is crying!" he said softly.

"Keep it quiet, will you!" said King.  "Do you want to
tell Elephant all about it?"

To the contrary," said Snake.  "Perhaps we should tell
Elephant.  Anyone want to volunteer?"

"Jesus, but you're one crazy dude!" said Rudy.

"You keep saying that, I may begin to believe it,"
said Snake.

"Why would you want to tell him about you crying?"
asked King.

"I'd be interested in knowing how he feels," said
Snake.

"That guy?  He's not going to feel anything," said
King.

"I'll do it," said Rudy.  "But if he swings at me, I'm
running like hell!"

"Good idea," laughed Snake.

"Whups!  He just saw you laughing," said Rudy.  "There
goes that whole thing about crying."

Well, it was a silly idea anyway," said Snake.

"And a bit late," said King.  "Here he comes!"

Elephant didn't bother dusting himself off.  He didn't
even bother wiping away the blood pouring from his
busted nose.

"I would suggest the three of you move to a safer
place," said Snake.

"I said that gorilla's not getting my seat," said
Montague.

"Not too loud!" said Rudy.  He moved back to the end
of the beach, but stood his ground.  King and Montague
remained seated.

"I think you guys are a little scared," said Snake.

"Ain't nothing little about it," said King.  "I'm
scared as hell."

"Me, too," said Montague.

Neither moved.

Elephant stopped five yards away.

"It ain't over," he said.

"Look at your face in a mirror," said Snake.  "It's
over."

"This nose is nothing," said Elephant.  "It ain't
over."

Snake sighed.  It was a faked sigh.  "Are you sure,
Elephant?"

Elephant, hands at his side, looked around in the
direction of his friends partying by the tree.  Two
girls were laughing.  One was raising her skirt as if
to check her stocking; actually so the other men could
see her legs and admire them.

"You can see why it can't be over."

Right," said Snake.  "I guess I can."

"Elephant, I'd like to introduce King here and
Montague and Rudy there at the end of the bench."

"Glad to meet you fellows," said Elephant.

"Hi," said King.  Montague waved a hand.  Rudy was too
paralyzed to do anything but smile.

"Let's go," said Snake.

He got up from the bench and walked back to the center
of the glade, followed by Elephant.

They faced each other out there.

"Shake?" asked Snake.

"I guess so," said Elephant.

They solemnly shook hands.

Elephant looked once again at the girl leaning against
one of the men by the tree.

"I'm going to lose this one, ain't I?"

"I'm afraid so," said Snake.  "We could just call it
quits, you know."

"Naw.  Guess I can't," Elephant said softly; the tone
of his voice said, however, that he no longer had much
fight in him.  He'd never been downed before; that had
happened twice today.  He'd never seen anyone stand up
to his powerful fists before; that, too, had happened
several times.

"They aren't really your friends," said Snake.

"They're the only friends I got anyway," said
Elephant.

He swung.

When he did, Snake stepped inside the blow and slugged
him as hard as he could alongside the temple with the
blackjack he'd concealed in his hand.  No one saw the
blackjack, of course.  It probably looked to everyone
around the glade as if Snake had hit Elephant with his
fist.  A bare fist with the power of a sledge hammer!

Elephant's eyes became glazed.  He stood there,
already unconscious.  Slowly, as a mountain crumbles
over centuries from wind and rain, he began to
collapse, one bone at a time, disjointed.  Sprawled on
the ground, he appeared to be more of a heap of flesh
than a human being.

Instead of coming to help him, his "friends" by the
tree began to melt away, the girl still laughing at
something one of the men said.  None of them looked
back.

Snake motioned to King and the others.  They hurried
to join him.

"I want an ambulance for Elephant," said Snake.  "Get
him over to Reed Whitaker Hospital.  But keep quiet
about where he's at.  See that cop on that hill with
Wekser?  He will help you."

Rudy shook his head.  "You really are one crazy, crazy
dude, Snake.  No cop is going to help us.  Especially
no white cop."

"Can do?" asked Snake as he bent down to tend to
Elephant's face.

"Can do," said Rudy with resignation.  He found a
book-size rock and placed it under Elephant's head.

"Done," said King.  He jerked his head at Rudy and
Rudy trotted toward the small hillock where three
priests, Wekser, and the uniformed policeman were
still discussing something.

Montague ran to the edge of the park to phone for an
ambulance.

"On second thought, King, make sure he gets a double
room and the other bed is empty."

"You're going to take care of him?" asked Rudy. 
"After he tried to stomp you?"

"To keep the Spider Lady from killing him," said
Snake.  "She seems to have a tendency of killing those
who let her down."

"Man, that was some battle," said Rudy.  "Some
battle."

"I cheated," said Snake.  "I hit him with a
blackjack."

"You'd have won anyway," said King.

"Well, we'll never know that for sure," said Snake.

"I'm beginning to understand you, Snake.  Just a
little.  You got it over so you could save his life,"
said King.

"Let's hope so," said Snake.

(continued next week)

Not far from Lillydale lies Chautauqua.  One is still
a mecca of art and culture.  The other is a center of
hobgoblins, which to me, at least, seems the other end
of the spectrum.  I'm being facetious, of course, even
though the home of the Fox sisters has been moved to
Lillydale and occupies a place on the slope of the
hill overlooking the valley and its small lake.  If
you're not aware, the Fox sisters may have launched
what we today know as the spiritualist movement in
their home then east of Rochester, NY.  As for
Chautauqua, it was the home of the Chautauqua movement
that spread around the world before and during the
turn of the century...a major fountainhead of great
thought, enormous wisdom and intellect, and art.

Oddly enough, I thought both places were mythical.

But one afternoon in October after the Lillydale
"season" had ended, my wife and I wandered around
Lillydale.  She wanted to find a medium in order to
have her palm read.

While she was doing this, I sat out by the small lake.
 A black cat came by.  I wondered where its witch was.

I, too, have been at Chautauqua.  Like Lillydale, it
is quite active in the summer.  It also borders a lake
in the far western hills of New York State  not far
from where Concord grows its grapes for jelly and
wine.  Here on a summer evening you can still hear
lectures, concerts, take painting lessons, study the
arts.

Both Chautauqua and Lillydale have been cause
celebres.  And both owe their fame, past and present
(to some extent) to cause being diffused through all
present media channels.   Lillydale makes the tabloids
even today or an odd Sunday newspaper supplement and
the movement has its own publications, plain and fancy
and most not-intended-for-mass consumption.

Chautauqua does not promote itself to any great extent
these days, though in its beginning stages it used
every channel of communication available at the time. 
For an indication of the types of channels available,
think pre-television depicting modus operandi then and
now.  Early radio.  Compaine believes that:

"Maps of the information business (Figures 1-3) show
that a simple landscape in 1780, characterized by
widely separated and clearly demarcated industry
segments, had yielded to an only slightly more complex
picture in 1880.  But by 1980, much of the open
territory had been filled in as transmitters of
information and creators of information converged. 
Many of these new industries owe their existence to
the emergence of electronic computers in the past 30
years and to the extensive development of the
telecommunications infrastructure in the last hundred
years.  The confluence of these two technological
wonders has produced a hybrid "communications" arena
that underlies much of changing structure of the
information industry. (Compaine, 133)

In the heyday of Chautauqua, communication channels
were limited.  But Chautauqua did extremely well with
these.  Print.  Public talks.

Chautauqua was a much larger factor in American life
in the 50 years after its birth than now.  All of the
great intellectuals, the great leaders came to
Chautauqua to present lectures or to listen to others
present lectures.  U.S. Grant, while president of the
U.S., visited here. (Vincent, v-vi)  Franklin D.
Roosevelt, then governor of New York, came to
Chautauqua to deliver an address.   He was just
following family tradition: Theodore Roosevelt visited
Chautauqua for the fourth time in 1905.  Thomas A.
Edison, son-in-law of Lewis Miller, president of the
Chautauqua Institute,  broadcast from his garden at
Chautauqua once.  George Gershwin composed his
"Concerto in F" in one of the practice shacks at
Chautauqua in the summer of 1925.  Admiral Richard E.
Byrd lectured in 1931 on "Little America" at
Chautauqua and his lecture, accompanied by motion
pictures, drew one of the largest crowds ever.

I especially think of it as the "intellectual
birthplace" of Ida Tarbell, queen of the muckrakers,
perhaps the founding father of the necessity for
public relations as a science.  Without an Ida
Tarbell, there might not have been an Ivy Lee nor a
Edward L. Bernays.  Maybe, in fact, no public
relations at all.

Shortly after finishing her education, Tarbell worked
for a publication of the Chautauqua movement.  This
gave her the spirit, the courage, the ambition to
eventually leave for Paris and the subsequent historic
meeting with S.S. McClure of McClure's magazine,
which, of course, led to her articles about Standard
Oil and the subsequent breakup of the Rockefeller
empire and the development of antimonopoly laws in the
United States.  Headstrong, she'd gone to Paris in
hope of supporting herself with freelance articles. 
One evening, a guy showed up at her door, said he was
McClure, wanted to borrow some money because the banks
were closed.  She didn't have much, but she loaned him
several dollars.  He paid her back, invited her to
visit the magazine next time she was in New York.  She
ended up working on the magazine.

Because of Tarbell's articles and subsequent book, the
Rockefellers hired Ivy Lee, now known as the Father of
Public Relations, specifically to help their
floundering image and, literally, fight fire with
fire.  Thus, public relations was born.  More aptly,
it had a floundering beginning through a series of
"muckraking" articles by Ray Stannard Baker, Lincoln
Steffans, Ida Tarbell, and other as they sought to
build circulation for McClure magazine.  Though
history records that Baker probably wrote the first
muckraking article, by now Ida Tarbell had become
unofficial editor of the publication and she evidently
asked Baker to write the article.

The term "muckraking," was coined, unknowingly, by
Theodore Roosevelt when he was chief of police of New
York City.  His department was under attack by the
press.  Roosevelt responded by claiming that the press
"raked the muck wherever they found it."

It is strange that Ida Tarbell, associated so strongly
with muckraking and exposé-type articles, had in
intellectual birthplace at Chautauqua.

Chautauqua, you see, was founded for "an enlarged
recognition of the Word."  (Vincent, v)

Lewis Miller, in his introduction to a book about
Chautauqua by John H. Vincent, said:

"It was, at the start, made catholic as to creeds; not
undenominational, but all-denominational--a place
where each denomination of organization, as at the
great feasts, brings its best contribution which the
particular order would develop as a consecrated
offering for magnifying God's word and work; and, when
gathered, each to bring its strongest light, and with
the lights blending and the rays strengthened and
focused, with spare and plumb, with compass and
sun-dial, with telescope and microscope, with steam
engine and telegraph, with laboratory and blackboard,
with hammer and spade, search out the deep and hidden
mysteries of the Book." (Vincent, v)

The need for a Chautauqua, as it was then, is still
evident.  Miller pointed out:

"We are in the midst of great problems and
struggles--the right of the people to deal with the
commonly accepted national questions such as
temperance, and Sabbath observance, the rights of
property, the rights of labor, the rights of trade,
the rights of money, the rights of woman." (vii)

Though the Chautauqua movement was spread via many
channels of communication, including traveling tent
plays and lectures, two main publications were used. 
Dr. T.L. Flood stepped down from the pulpit in 1876 to
make a weekly newspaper--The Chautauqua Herald--and a
monthly magazine--the Chautauquan--his only work.

It was for the Chautauquan that Ida Tarbell later
worked.

Chautauqua at the very beginning made wise and
extensive use of the "press," in order to arrest
public attention to the work attempted. (Vincent,
204-205) The Sunday-school Journal with a circulation
of more than 100,000 copies monthly, the Normal Class
and the Chautauqua Bulletin, in large editions, gave
notice to the world of the coming Assembly; and
through a thorough system of announcements in the
general press, religious and secular, the first
meeting on "the first Tuesday of August," 1874, was
looked forward to by hundreds of thousands of Sunday
School and church workers.  A special secretary was
employed, who prepared an elaborate account of the
proceedings in a pamphlet of 300 pages, more than
12,000 copies of which were circulated.  The daily and
weekly press gave lengthy reports of the proceedings. 
Never since then has the press been more effectively
utilized than in the anticipation and report of the
first Chautauqua Assembly. (Vincent, 204-205)

Tarbell worked on the magazine, which was published at
Meadville, PA (not far from where she was born and
raised in Titusville, PA; evidently, she'd attended
sessions at Chautauqua with her family [Morrison,
34-35]); the magazine reached a circulation of 50,000
copies a month. (Vincent, 206)  Tarbell also gave
lectures on behalf of the Chautauqua movement.

So did William Jennings Bryan, three times an
unsuccessful candidate for the presidency of the
United States and Secretary of State under President
Woodrow Wilson.

"During midsummer of 1919, Ida Tarbell encountered him
on a circuit in the northwest.  Both were lecturing
for the League of Nations, but they differed over the
question of guarantees to France against future
invasion, and Bryan, the luminary of the circuits, in
whose favor other speakers had to postpone their
appearances or cut their time, forbade her to express
views contrary to his.  Miss Tarbell acceded for the
two weeks during which their paths coincided, then
took her own position again." (Morrison, 187)

Bryan, incidentally, was criticized for going on
Chautauqua tours while Secretary of State. (Morrison,
187)  But evidently President Wilson had approved.  In
any case, one lecture alone--"The Prince of
Peace"--was delivered in some 3,000 circuit tents over
a period of some two decades to 1924, the year
preceding his death. (Morrison, 187)

Education came with strong religious symbolism at
Chautauqua, including a scale model of Palestine along
the lakefront.  Ida Tarbell recalls:  "The worst
mischief in which I personally assisted was playing
tag up and down the relief model of Palestine...one
rule of our game was that you could not be tagged if
you straddled Jerusalem.  The most serious vandalism
was stealing Damascus or Nazareth or Tyre and carrying
it away bodily." (Morrison, 35)

Flood enlisted her to work on his magazine.

She found ways of bringing greater order into the
management of The Chautauquan.  From the foreman of
the printing office, she acquired professional
training in such matters as scheduling, printing, and
makeup.  She began to contribute articles to the
monthly and editorials to the daily when it
transferred itself to Chautauqua for the summer, where
John H. Finley, later editor of the New York Times,
read copy and proof for several seasons. (Morrison,
63)

In a valedictory article of 1899, Flood said that one
of his motives in giving up a pastorate and
undertaking to edit The Chautauquan had been to
promote John Vincent's "new movement." (Morrison, 63)

Bibliography
Compaine, Benjamain M. "Shifting Boundaries in the
Information Marketplace." Journal of Communication,
Winter 1981, Vol. 31, No. 1.
Morrison, Theodore, "Chautauqua--A Center for
Education, Religion, and the Arts in America."
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974.
John H. Vincent, "The Chautauqua Movement." Freeport,
NY: Books for Libraries Press, 1885 (reprinted 1971).

Other Readings
Journal of Communication, Winter 1981, Vol. 31, No. 1
Bagdikian, Ben H. "Conglomeration, Concentration, and
the Media." Journal of 
     Communication, Spring 80, Vol. 30, No. 2.
Rosse, James N."The Decline of Direct Newspaper
Competition." Journal of Communication, Spring 1980,
Vol. 30, No. 2

OTHER MATTERS
Ad

Now look!  If you find fault with this world of ours
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Until the sands of time run dry

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Should your then find
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With fluids and such
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I'll put you back in good condition.

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Friendly Mortician
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