Since Pearl insisted that there be a valid reason for
"dining out in such a lavish manner," they decided to
celebrate Elephant's victory over Snake in Central
Park.

There are many places to dine in New York City and
some of these are elegant and there is a French
five-star gourmet restaurant for those who demand that
sort of thing.

But few restaurants match the pleasant atmosphere and
quality of food and service of the restaurant in the
Plaza Hotel.  For many years, you were only allowed to
enter the room if wearing a tie and jacket.  That is
still the case for some people and others might not be
allowed to enter at all, depending on the
circumstances and the time of day.

Although the restaurant was slightly crowded, Snake
tipped the matre'd a couple of hundred dollars and
when the man still didn't look as if there was a table
open, King stepped over and said something very
quietly to the matre'd and, suddenly, a couple of
tables became available near the center of the room. 
The two tables were joined, tablecloths spread, fresh
flowers came somewhere, and candles appeared.

They were then escorted, with a certain pomp and
splendor, to their table.

Wekser held a chair for Pearl.

"The candlelight does you well, my dear," Wekser said,
although it wasn't all that dark in the room.

Elephant was seated at the head of the table.  King to
his left, Snake to his right.

"What did you tell that matre'd?" Snake asked.

"I told him that both the winner and loser of the
legendary Central Park fight were here and could be
encouraged not to continue their battle if they were
treated well and fed well."

"You've definitely got leadership qualities," said
Snake.  "This is going to work out fine.  Really
fine!"

Already, there were whispers at a couple of the tables
in the room as waiters moved about.  Necks craned as
people strained to get a glance at the celebrities.

"There's a purpose to this, isn't there?" asked King. 
"We're bait for the Spider Lady.  Staked out."

"No," said Snake.  "I would never do that to you.  Or
anyone else.  Not without at least asking you, letting
you make a decision about being involved or not.  I
never put anyone into jeopardy other than myself.  An
old rule."

"Thank you for that," King said.

Snake stared briefly at the window that opened onto
Central Park South.

"She would never attack here.  The ramifications, the
repercussions would be too severe.  Unproductive. 
Women, children.  Too, this is the Plaza.  There is
some safety in elegance, class, quality image.  We're
as safe here as if we were in a fort.  Always give
yourself a first-class ticket through life, King. 
You'll have an easier life, a richer life."

"Yet, you sleep hither and yon like a tramp."

"Well, it's all tied up in what you want in life, of
course.  I'm not a good example to follow.  I don't
want much and I have found that I need even less.  I
suppose that I live the kind of life I want.  At this
particular time.  And now and then I splurge on things
like this to amuse me."

King, now that the idea had evidently occurred to him,
glanced nervously around.

"Safe?"

"I guarantee it,"

King relaxed.

"I don't know why, but I believe you.  Guess we're
both crazy."

Snake laughed.

Everyone stopped talking suddenly for several tables
nearby, as if concerned about what caused him to laugh
like that.

Snake ordered chateaubriand for everyone.

"Not me.  Friday, I go fish," said Pearl.

"Fish for everyone.  Chateaubriand for everyone," said
Snake.

"This man is some kind of problem solver," said
Wekser.  "What about kosher?"

"Bring him scrambled eggs," said Snake.

"Forget kosher," said Wekser.  "That was meant to be a
joke!"

Snake shrugged.  "I was just trying to be a straight
man.  You dropped the ball."

"Has anyone told you the news about Elephant?" asked
Montague.  They had found Montague in Central Park
after a few minutes.  He was talking with several
youths by the outdoor basketball court.  "Elephant has
agreed to be referee at the tournament."

"Excellent choice," said Snake.

"Yeah.  Nobody will dare argue with his calls, whether
he's right or wrong," said Rudy.

"It so happens that I know quite a bit about
basketball," said Elephant.  "I played center and
forward in high school.'

"Here comes the punch line," said Wekser and raised
both hands for silence, "...at the same time!"

"He finally made a funny," said Montague.  "He has
been trying all day."

"It wasn't that funny," said Elephant.  "I think my
feelings have been hurt."

"You will refrain from hurting the feelings of our
referee.  Otherwise, you might end up the referee."

"Oh, god, no!" said Wekser.  "I apologize profusely,
my good man.  I've heard horror stories about what
they do to referees of Little League teams.  This is
probably something like that."

"Apology accepted," said Elephant.

"You're the perfect person for this job," said Wekser.

The waiter appeared.  "Champagne," he said. 
"Compliments of the matre'd."

"Thank you," said King.

"Not for me," said Snake.  "I'm the designated driver.
 But I would appreciate some tomato juice."

"Same here.  I'm the designated referee," said
Elephant.

"Milk," said King.  "I'm the designated general."

"Guess that makes Rudy and me designated lieutenants,"
said Montague.  "Orange juice."

"Me, too," said Rudy.

"We are dining with heathens," said Wekser to Pearl. 
"Shall we ignore them?"

"What's going to happen now?" King asked.

"I don't know," said Snake.

"Shouldn't we plan something?  Anything?"

"Yes.  That would be best.  But I have a problem with
planning.  Planning would take the fun out of the
whole thing.  It would then, I suppose, become work."

"So, we don't plan?"  We simply wait for her to
attack?"

"No.  I've tried that and it didn't work.  It occurred
to me a couple of hours ago that I was running and
hiding.  A lamb can never hide from a wolf.  It's not
the nature of the lamb.  So, I've decided to become
the tiger.  Let the wolf hide from me!"

"Great!" said King.  "So, we began a hunt for the
Spider Lady?"

"Not we.  Me.  I can't let you guys get involved in
this any more than you already are."

"I'm a general.  We make our own decisions."

Snake nodded.  "You're right, of course.  You must be
allowed to decide things on your own.  It's just that
things have been...and are...and will continue to be
rather dangerous."

"I was born and raised in Harlem and you tell me that,
suddenly, things are going to get dangerous?  I'll ask
the guys to vote on it."

"That sounds appropriate."

"Where do you intend to start?" asked King.

"That, good friend, is a minor problem."

"Not too minor, if you ask me."

"Well, I've been trying to figure out the common
denominator about all that."

"That's you."

"I once thought so.  But now I'm not so sure.  I think
the common denominator is Caraboo Edwards.  Not him,
specifically, perhaps.  But something involved with
him and his operation.  It's certainly not Susman,
this friend of mine who was kidnapped."

"Let's go!"

"Not yet!" said Wekser.  "I come to a good restaurant,
I want my just desserts."

Rudy and Montague promptly emitted soft boos.

"Aren't you going to ask them?" asked Snake.

"Them?  They are lieutenants.  They have no vote. 
Officers merely follow orders.  It's a little scary,
but we are ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Whatever," said King.  He tossed out his hands.

"Mr. Wekser is offering you a job."

"$500 a week," said Wekser.

"I've been getting $1,000 a day," said Elephant.

"When you work," pointed out Snake.

"I can do the math," said Elephant.  He clapped Wekser
on the back.  "When do I start?"

"Now," said Wekser, grimacing from the blow.  "While
I'm in the hospital."

"Rudy, you're in charge of security at Wekser's
place."

"Wait a second," said King.  "I'm the general."

"You're right.  Sorry," said Snake.

"Red dogs cover Wekser," King told Rudy.  "You and
Montague stay with us."

"Good," said Rudy.

"I'm all the security he needs," said Elephant.

"Red dogs will be around just in case," said King.

"Who are these Red Dogs?" asked Wekser.

"One of the teams in the basketball tournament," said
Rudy.  "You'll recognize them by their Goodwill Team
shirts and the little red poodles on their sleeves."

"Red poodles?  Whatever happened to gangs like the
Bloods and the Crips?"

"Things change," said King.  "I'm not sure yet whether
it's for the better or not, but it's definitely
change."

"We need a taxi for Pearl," said Wekser.  "And someone
will have to go as guard."

"Not necessary," said Montague.  "I know a brother who
drives a cab.  I'll phone him."

He headed for a pay phone.  Snake paid the bill and
trailed the others out the eastern door toward the
fountain.

They stood there, waiting for the cab to arrive.  A
few minutes later, Pearl was en route home.

"Are we going to be staked out like a goat to attract
a lion?  In this case, a lioness?" asked Elephant.

"King asked me the same thing in the restaurant," said
Snake.  "I don't use people, Elephant."

"I just want you to know that if you need to do it,
it's okay," said Elephant.

Snake shook his head.  "Never,  Elephant.  Never."

"Somebody has to be the bait," said Elephant.

After a moment of thought, Snake nodded.

"Me," said Snake.  "I don't know why she's after me,
but I'm evidently the main attraction.  The one who
sells the tickets."

"Big deal," said Wekser.  "What if she doesn't take
the bait?  What if she doesn't show up?  Some party."

"Our problem-my problem-is she's always there, but on
the edge of the web."

"Then she's always been a party pooper," said Wekser.

"Seems that way," said Snake.  "But this time I'm
throwing a party she can't refuse."

"Seems like I heard that line somewhere before," said
King.

"We'll need invitations," said Montague.

"Got one right here," said Snake as they came out of
the hotel.

Three men stood the corner across the street from the
fountain.

One looked as if he had a gun in a shoulder holster
because of a bulge in an overcoat that had been fitted
too tight for a man in that kind of work.

As he passed the three, Snake clamped the first one's
elbow in a viselike grip and used that as leverage to
shove him against the side of the building.

The man immediately held both hands skyward.

"Cop, Snake!  Cop!"

Slowly, Snake let him loose.

His hands fell limp at his side.

The other two men-both Afro-Americans-had also froze. 
One reason was that Elephant had stepped quickly
forward and confronted them.  He was almost larger
than both of them together.  Both watched him with
rather intense stares.

"Cops?"

"Can I show you my badge?  Foley asked us to watch out
for you.  We'll all off duty."

"I apologize," said Snake.  "It's not necessary to
show me anything.  I feel like a nut."

"The guys were all worried about you."

"Tell Foley that I'm very appreciative.  Tell him
thanks.  But I'd rather you guys weren't around for
the next few hours."

"What's coming down?  Or should I ask?"

"I'm throwing a party this coming Thursday night for
the Spider Lady," said Snake.  "Spread the word.  But
tell Foley that, although I sincerely appreciate his
help, you guys aren't invited to this one.  Please."

"He'll get the message."

"However, if you'd keep an eye out for my friend
Wekser here, I'd consider it a personal favor."

"Foley will get that message, too."

"Also, tell him the Spider Lady is an ex-cop."

One of the policemen let out a low whistle of
disbelief.

"Hard to believe," said the officer that Snake had
accosted.  He rubbed at his elbow.

"True, though.  I had it checked out.  Took her
police-issue revolver from one of her goons a few days
ago."

"Why would she give her gun to a goon?"

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Strange," said the officer.

"Everything about this whole mess is strange," said
Snake.  He shrugged.  "I don't even know what she's
after."

"Only way to find out, I guess, is to ask her."

"That's why I'm having a party.  I intend to sit down
with her and discuss the matter personally."

"I'd be very careful," said the policeman.  "She gave
her gun away, maybe she'd got hold of a better gun. 
An Uzi or something."

"Or a bazooka," said Wekser.

Where is this party going to be held?"

"I haven't decided yet," said Snake.

"Please don't hold it in our precinct."

"Deal," said Snake.  He turned to Wekser.  "Got any
ideas?"

"Not in my neighborhood either," said Wekser.  "I have
a hunch your kind of party causes a sudden drop in the
value of real estate."

"The Bonsoir d'Jour maybe," said Snake after a
moment's thought.

"Where?"

"A hotel in lower Manhattan," said Snake.  "A grand
place for a Manhattan lullaby."

"I know the area," said King.  "Lots of abandoned
buildings and in the center of a place that looks like
it had been bombed, a building that the bombs
evidently missed.  The Bonsoir d'Jour Hotel.  Rooms by
the hour, day, week.  Worse than Harlem."

Less chance of innocent people getting hurt down
there," said Snake.

"Just how are you going to invite this lady to the
party?" asked one of the officers.

"I had the not-so-brilliant idea a few minutes ago to
use a messenger," said Snake wryly.  "Guess now I'll
have to use posters.  Things like that."

"I know a print shop," said Wekser.  "Does flyers and
that sort of thing for people in my area."

"Good.  The posters should read:  Snake invites Spider
Lady to a roof-top party.  Bonsoir d'Jour Hotel.
11 p.m.  Thursday.  No RSVP necessary."

"That's just three days away," King pointed out.

"Actually, it gives us three days of grace.  She more
than likely won't do anything until then."

"Maybe," King said.  The tone of his voice indicated
he was not convinced.

"I can guarantee you at least two days of peace," said
Snake.  "After that, I expect hell and would be more
than willing to settle for anything short of something
like World War II."

"If you need us...."

"Thank you," Snake told the officer.  "I sincerely
appreciate the offer."

The three police officers drifted away as Snake and
the others walked on up Fifth Avenue.

"It's funny," said King.  "A few days ago, those guys
were the enemy."

"But wasn't everyone the enemy?"

"I guess so."

He turned and waved at the three policemen.  "I'm
going to invite the entire precinct station to the
basketball tournament."

"Good idea," said Snake.

They walked at a steady-but-unhurried pace.  It was
already dark.  Night hides a lot of the ugliness of
New York City.  This section of Fifth Avenue, crowded
with the towering condos of the wealthy forming a wall
on one side and the spacious, brooding Central Park on
the other, created a mystical feeling.  You felt good
about life because the lights twinkling out in the
park were pretty and because the air was less polluted
and felt good in your lungs.

"We need to get those posters done for your party
right away," said Wekser.  "I'll take care of it."

"I'll take care of distribution," said Montague. 
"Some of the subways, store windows."

"Thank you," said Snake.  "Make sure several of the
posters are placed along 47th Street near the UN. 
Cover that whole area, including 46th Street and 45th
Street."

"I'm not going to ask why," said Montague.

"Good.  Because I don't know why.  A lot of the time,
I do things by instinct."

"I'll take care of the party arrangements," said King.
 "Arsenic, bear traps, poison ivy plants artistically
located here and there."

Snake laughed.

"No, King.  Let's leave the party arrangements to
Neva."

"But...."

Snake nodded.  "True.  The phone may be tapped.  But
in this case, it probably doesn't matter."

They passed a pay phone stand.

Snake dialed Allied Global's new number.

Before he could say anything, the woman on the other
end of the line, said:  "You know our phones may be
tapped?"

"I'm counting on it," said Snake.  "Tell Neva to rent
the Bonsoir d'Jour Hotel in lower Manhattan for this
Friday night, regardless of cost."

"The entire hotel?  Will they do that?"

"That particular hotel would be more than happy to
rent you the entire place for a year, month, day, hour
or minute."

"What for, for god's sake?"

"I'm tossing a party for the Spider Lady.  I want a
folding table and a couple of chairs set out in the
center of the roof.  Fritos, a large bag, and a bottle
of cheap champagne would be okay.  Sit them on the
table."

When she had the instructions correct and knew the
location of the hotel, he told her to tell Caraboo to
meet him at the same time and place they'd first met,
but did not mention where, and hung up.

Just then, two couples walked by.  They had obviously
been drinking.  Their laughter and their conversation
were too loud, as if it was very important to have
fun.

"What a lousy host," said Wekser.  "No wonder the
Spider Lady never comes to your whingdings!  Cheap
champagne?  Fritos?"

"Should have let me handle those details, Snake," said
King.  "I could have done a better job, believe me."

"No sense wasting money," said Snake.

"You also made a mistake on the date," said King.

"Did I?"

"You told her Friday night.  Should we change the
posters?"

"Certainly not," said Snake.  "She probably wouldn't
come to the Thursday night party.  Probably not even
the party on Friday night.  The one on Saturday night?
 Well, we shall see.  You can handle a few of the
arrangements for my Saturday night fling, King. 
Special arrangements.  I'll discuss them with you
later."

"Three parties?  Whoosh!" said Wekser.

(continued next week)

Dave Donahue, DaveDonahue@clearchannel.com, "Claude,
in one word...'wow'! In a few more, pulling up your
anchor from the bottom of the sea of memories brings
up wave after wave of bits and pieces of your life. 
The printed word and wordsmiths like you have always
given me pause to reflect on my own times. You do us
all proud.  Dolphins are very unique, and as I dive
two to three times a week with wild ones in the
Atlantic that surrounds these beautiful islands, I do
wonder why they associate with humans. Maybe they are
truly trying to teach us something, for they always
seem happy, serene, loving, curious, lively and
interested. If humans could just grasp their
reality. Claude, it is why I live down here, moved
out of the big time radio rotations, and slowed down
for the huge expanse of the unknown, and beauty I find
away from the air-breathing surface, I wish often I
could be a fish, or a dolphin. True, that blue world
has dangers, but in reality, if you respect it, and
realize you don't really own it, it won't eat you. 
Just the other night, at sea, on a rather large yacht,
I watched twenty or so white-tipped sharks chase bait
fish attracted to the spotlights glare on the dark
waters. 'Image', I thought, 'in this very place I
dive during the day time, and never ever see more than
one shark at a time. Even then, that shark turns tail
and runs away from the noisey air-breathing, monster
in a mask that flops and flippers himself through the
deep blue'. Still, you wonder, just what would it
take to be the 'bait'? First, be like a human and
start a war against sharks. (Sadly, there are people
that do kill them for sport!) Someday, one of those
might think I am one of those shark killers and take
after me. After all, isn't the sadness of war, the
fact that war kills more non-combat persons that it
would ever admit.  Well, good buddy, keep writing,
keep entertaining and making me think, reacting to
others is what keeps us ticking!"

Dave, while you probably wouldn't agree with the modus
operandi, there's a book by James Jones you should
perhaps take a look at.  "Go to the Widowmaker."  Bad
book.  But there's a sequence I should never forget
about sharks.

Don Whittemore, don@dandydonsicecream.com, "We're all
geezers.  At least, you can write about  getting
older.  And on a $100 M boat, ship, yacht, pleasure
cruiser and dream boat. Life is.  Live it up. Thank
you for your courage and talent that flows into words
for, we, who are land-locked for the moments needed to
read what you wrote.  In those moments you transported
me into the future.  I wanna go on a  cruise, too. As
for the past...those BB conventions are vibrant
memories for me and lots of other 'industry veterans'.
As I write this in my office, looking at photos of
Thayer, Imus, Lund and Moorhead taken by me, your
handy, dandy local promo man at the Century Plaza
Hotel lobby. Irony?  Over 30 years later and counting,
Dandy Don's  ice cream is served at the Century Plaza
Hotel.  The pastry chef, Ricardo Chillon, 32 years on
that job, still remembers that convention only for
very different reasons than you or I.  Last night,
'The Last Picture Show', was on cable.   We've all
changed, but no one more than Cybil Shepard or Jeff
Bridges or Ben Johnson.  Ben Johnson? Oh yes, the
Academy Award-winning actor, who can't rekindle what
we spark in the dark, dreary corners of yesterday.  By
the time you get this, you'll have thought of Jerry
Wexler more than once or ten times.  What's the diff? 
You KNEW Jerry Wexler, I didn't. For me, just meeting
him for five minutes, would've a major memory maker.
I'd suppose you have him all over your recall nerves
because Mr. Wexler was unlike most record people and
you can fill in the  superlatives on the real
legendary Jerry Wexler. Living in the moment, that's
where the action is on the day after yesterday. I read
your words because I can't write like you and I can't
draw on your reserves of history.  Keep writing.  Keep
writing.  Keep writing.  Always, your friend, Don
Whittemore."

Ah, Don, I was just thinking:  Would Jerry Wexler know
me now?  Now that is a rather interesting question.

Raul Cardenas, EnviroRaul@aol.com, "I showed up at my
regular one-day-a-week job and the lab director walked
in dressed totally in black (he just also happens to
be an Afro-American) and announced that he was in
'mourning'. One of the other engineers asked: 'Even
your underwear?'  He unzipped and showed off a pair of
black briefs, then his black socks...such is life in
Brooklyn.  I simply dropped out immediately after the
people's decision. I went through the same impact
withdrawal that I felt after the third assassination
(Kennedy or possibly King) when I just gave up and
decided it would be self destructive to vent my anger
at what some people were willing to do. I simply could
no longer stand the people who populated most of the
country.  As far as I'm concerned Bush won fair and
square (this time). However, the realization of this
fact has hurts me intellectually and it makes me
question the basic concept I have had since college
that the government should serve people, garantee
freedom, and take care of its citizens when they are
sick and grow old. (call it Communism of Socialism, I
care not) and that we should try and redistribute
money, not simply manage the government tomake the
rich richer and watch the poor grow worse. Nor is it
our purpose to become an empire, keep an enormous Army
and make war on people we do not like or covet their
oil.  They (e.g., the Neocon Republicans) were clever
enough to harness the middle of the Country --
the fundamentalists. These are nice, Bible-reading,
Church-going decent 'Christian' people...but naive and
intolerant as hell and they care not what is in the
Constitution or the Bill of Rights. The Bible is
their guideline and will not hear a word questioning
that it may not really be the 'word of God'. This is
scary. It is now the 21st century. By now I
thought that surely the U.S., of all the world, had
religion under control, despite our religious
historical roots in Europe and "live by my our rules
or else" attitude they had for a long time. I'm
perfectly content in my atheism and my reposte is:
'...it takes more real knowledge, understanding,
learning and reasoning to be an athiest than it does
to hide behind 'faith' and accept it all'.  It is as
if country has regressed and has sifted itself into
two English-speaking nations: the East-West Coast and
Chicago ferment. An unruly lot who question, argue
politics and ideas, read books, but seldom take the
Bible (or Bible readers) seriously.  Then there is the
belly of the country: nice people who do not drink or
dance or philander or question religion, but who would
make a woman live by their rules when it comes to
abortion and consider homosexuals as unredeemables. 
The real melting pot of poor Jews, potato
grubbing irishman, ex-slave Blacks, wetback Latinos,
Wop-Italians and other unfortunates have yet to make
an impact on their society (if they ever will). And
they retreat into their righteousness and still live
in what is left of an agriculatural society that
has gone from a world where 1 out of 3 worked on farms
(1900) to a country of rich subsidized super farmers
who still read the Bible and are intellectually no
different from their grandfathers.  And too, there is
age. I am at the age when death is the next big
chapter and I realize that my time and that of my
colleagues has passed and that those who look forward
to the future are our children. And, I do not like
what I see. My world, by comparison, was better and I
feel that the good times of the kind that I enjoyed
are of the past and those that follow us will never
know such laissez faire.  Other than arthritis (knees
and back), I am overweight and healthy and still
consulting. The Polytechnic is being absorbed by NYU
(where we started from) and I have been asked by the
Polytechnic to teach what I believe will be my last
course this coming spring. I have told them 'yes',
and I feel somewhat flattered that they should ask a
75-year-old Ex-Professor to teach his specialty course
one more time (three different professor have tried to
replace me and none stayed for various reasons). A
last hurrah?  Do stay well. Our best to Barbara."

Dr. George Pollard, gpollard@ccs.carleton.ca, reports
in with a new website you might find interesting, 
www3.sympatico.ca/drgeorgep/rpmmusicweekly.htm.  You
may have to cut and paste this one.  Says he's seeking
ideas for the site. "Hey, vent negatively, if you
wish, RPM was always  therapeutic. The tradition
continues. Nay-saying can be as productive as
creativity and imagination."  Also says that RPM
charts are available, on line, at,
www.collectionscanada.ca/rpm/index-e.html   (AV
Preservation Trust and Library and Archives Canada).

Dene Hallam, Dene@TheHallams.com, "When it comes to
mind, I go to Your Website, and, as always, thoroughly
enjoy Your writing, and, insight! (except maybe for
some of Your political views ;-) Funny, a couple of
weeks ago, I thought of a Billboard Convention at The
Fountainbleu Hotel in Miami Beach...and We spent a few
hours in the pool, 'pontificating' until after dark.
Even though You were such an influential and powerful
Man in the 'Business,' You always had time to talk,
even when I was really new in Radio. For that I
will NEVER forget, and will ALWAYS be grateful.
AND...after all, YOUR last name is 2/3rds of MY last
name!  HAPPY HOLIDAYS!"

Ah, but what's a little politics among friends, eh. 
Life is always a matter of give and take.  Except with
women, of course.  Barbara is still ranting at me for
referring to her as a little old lady in last week's
Commentary.  Good thing she never read that article
about her I wrote for Tune-in magazine in the
1980s...I'd be dead.

But Dene does remind me that I really wish all of you
good holidays this year.  I have been blessed in so
many, many ways.  In my life, just about everyone that
I met was not only intelligent, but fascinating and
many of these became good friends.  For that, among
other blessings, I am truely grateful.

Tom Noonan, Tenoonan8@aol.com, "Thank you for that
commentary--I found it fascinating, interesting, and
in parts so very true.  It's good to sometimes put
your thoughts to paper or a computer.  I just recently
was in touch with Diane Kirkland who is still in the
wilds of Wisconsin in a very small town (853 people)
and she works for the town hall as administrator.  At
any rate, welcome back to the real world...will be in
touch--hope you got my last newsletter when you
returned home--it is dated Dec. 1. Next one is dated
Feb. 1, 2005.  Take good care."

Tom Noonan has a great newsletter regarding the music
industry.  He charges just enough to absorb his costs.
 I've been hoping to convince him to go on the web
with it.  Tom and his buddies know a lot of
fascinating stuff and it's going to be lost.  If he
went to web, I believe so very many more people would
not only enjoy the information, but the material would
hang around.  Hey, there's an interview I did with Dan
Ingram more than 20 years ago circulating on the web. 
Who would have thought?

Ted Marvelle, shazam@mvdsl.com, "I truly enjoyed the
prose, painting the picture for me, of the December
trip to Acapulco. As a fellow long-term Las Vegan, I
completely understand the somewhat world weary, jaded
view of other tourist traps bait, as compared to our
town.  I could, however forget that with a little time
on the beach, my favorite place. Rather than 50 bucks
to chill and have already somewhat shrunken appendages
shrink further in the cold water, I would much rather
be at Ocean Beach, or Mission, Pacific, La Jolla
shores and Black's Beach of my growing up pastures in
San Diego. I probably spent half my life time on a
beach at San Diego. I even, for a year or so, managed
to live just across the wall from the surf at Mission
Beach. Despite this being in the 70s, I do have good
memories of the place while others are lost in the
haze of those days. I can truly understand Barbara's
strong reluctance to leave San Diego. The changes of
recent years break my heart, but my heart, at least
still resides, mostly where it spent its childhood and
much adult life, too.   San Diego always had some of
the very best radio and radio people. Drake was so
happy with the early crew, including K.O. Bailey, Bill
Wade and Dick Sainte, he used to use air checks to try
and tell the other jocks in distant and not so distant
markets that that's how it should be done. What a
great way to break into radio for the rookie that I
was, News, production, promotions, I was the little
gopher who did it all. Write those casts for the
jocks, Get material ready for Fred Lewis, who would
usually walk in thirty seconds before air, grab 15 or
so feet of wire copy and wood shed the cast as he read
it in his special way. Lessons were learned that are
still viable today.  And.FUN was also had in huge
measures. Pay was good for the time, and jocks did
three or four hours shows and yet the Brown's, Pa and
son fattened their accounts considerably, lessons that
the current corporation operators apparently never
learned.  KCBQ managed to do as well for its family
owners, complete with 'fish bowl' studio on a downtown
street corner.  The glass was not bullet proof, but
then, back then, it don't need to be.  That portrait
in your attic is certainly doing its job for; you have
changed little since those days, 30 or so years ago,
when I would see you on occasion. Alas, I have no
such portrait.  Thanks for the vicarious trip. One of
these days, I'll have enough advance thought on the
60-mile drive into to town, to accept your invitation
to stop by and say Hi."

Just FYI, I'm always open to visitors.  Lots of Diet
Pepsi in the ice box.  And instant coffee almost
ready.  Friends enter through the patio door at 2563
Paradise Village Way, Las Vegas, NV 89120 just a dab
south of Tropicana on Eastern...go to the back street
and park...then hunt for 2563; the number is on the
patio gate.