 |
| Oregon Reunion - 2010 |
 |
| St. Helen's Reunion 2015 |
I pulled out my tattered old letters from you last night, and decided on my morning walk at sunrise that one last letter was in order. We had a very special relationship - I believe it goes back to 1972 or thereabouts, likely when we were probably teamed up for a Girls Athletic Association show as prop men (boys to men maybe?). Girls sports in those days - field hockey and GAA - required us to help them build stuff for the Orange team. I think we bonded then, and also in the small room above your parents garage that we remodeled into our own place to hang out, and evolve our philosophical pursuits, for our inadequacy in finding girlfriends was well known, at least to us!
These letters, even your poor spelling, which you admitted! We have written off an on over these past 43 years, and I have kept them all. We shared a few over around the campfire last summer, for they are timeless in a way, a track of our personal history. I relish them now, and will share them with your family. We wrote of our trials and tribulations, of love lost and gained, of school, of prophecies forming in our heads, of politics and people, and the family we kept, You even presaged your final destination of Hawaii with a letter in 1980 regaling of your trip to the big island and backpacking, followed by tales of your new found love - "Ramy" in 1983. I treasure these, and enjoyed the journey through our collective past.
The summer of 1973, you fled to Idaho to work in a camp, I to Florida to work in an Architect's office. You wrote to me on August 18th of that year:
I got my check from Mr. Wilkens. I charged him $20 as a base and added our reciepts onto that. Mine was $22.56 and yours is $28.88 about. I haven't seen yours because I think they probably mailed it to your house. Your lawn is doing fine.
We were "class" carpenters, you and I, at least in our own minds. We were paid to construct several picnic tables for Birchwood Lake - they were beautifully built as I recall, quite sturdy and eminently suitable for all the carved graffiti that was sure to follow. But we had a history as carpenters, having constructed the "smoking lounge" off the school lunchroom, a lean-to roof shed to protect our smoking classmates from the elements. That could never happen today - it would take some kind of a bond issue or act of the legislature, or at least 16 different permits, and professional carpenters that something like this could ever be done today. Simpler times, to be certain, and to think the school let us do this, in full view of all the students, and we secretly hoping for the admiration of the girls that were never to satisfactorily arrive. And so we struck with hammers our "philosophy" and our dreams. Yours to become a forester, mine an architect.
Remember our hike up Looking Glass Rock? I had just completed my 300 mile post-graduation backpacking trip along the Appalachian Trail, and you came to visit in North Carolina, where we spent a few days hiking, knowing that this was likely the last meaningful time together for us as we sat overlooking the Blue Ridge mountains from that marvelous vista, considering our future pathways. You wrote on September 26th, 1974:
Yes, I finally got to Oregon. It seemed like ages after I left your place till the time I left New Jersey. . . I've been here 2 days now and lovin it. I'm on the top floor of my building and the building is coed. The two floors directly below me are women's floors. It makes life interesting, I tell you that much for sure.
Over the next several years, we would write often, - using our new typewriters, to which we both quite attached. These were some pretty deep ramblings, we were hitting our prime in 1974-77 writing of technology, society, religion and the end of the world, even UFO's.
I have been deep in thought, that is why the first, handwritten part of this letter does not seem to follow much ryme or reason. This also explains my lack of haste in replying to your latest communication. The written part of this letter contains the usual bullshitlike crap, how are you etc. whereas this part on a completely different sort of subject which is easier written on a machine of this nature.
My thinking, in the last couple of monthes, has been pretty complicated and rather hard to express, particularly by mail, but since a phone call would be out of the question this will have to do.
This is the first time that I have discussed this idea with any of my old friends, not that there are too many of them, besides you, who I consider to be real friends. I have talked to other people who feel the same way I do but never to an unintroduced person. What I am getting at is that I feel that we are in for some real catastrophy this year some time or in the very near future. It's difficult to say exactly what it will be but I feel it is certain to come. This probably comes as quite a surprise to you, hereing this kind of talk from me but this is really me. I have not reached this decision arbitrarily but have done some deep thinking, reading and historical research. I feel that all of our familiar, old and cherished traditions in life are due for a jolt. "Progress" is just too much for the human race. Even I feel greatly displaced by our technology . . .
To which you later wrote, on the very eve of our 19th birthday, February 5, 1974:
Having re-read my last communication and read your rather lengthy disertation, I realize that I did communicate a rather dismal picture of my present outlook on life. My original letter did require some clarification on semantics. I think however, that you noticed these areas of vagueness and have guessed correctly at my real meaning. At a later date, I will hit upon the subject again, but for the time being will be content with bullshit. . . Well - how does it feel to be almost 19. Yah, I know - big deal. At 17 we could drive, at 18 drink, at 19, what's so great about 19 except that you're 1 year closer to 21? At 19 I can drink in Wash. or Idaho, but not in Ore.
Oh Andy, we did reflect a lot in those days, and I am fortunate the end of the world did not happen, and that in fact you embraced technology in your career to help save the world in the Forest Service. And to think, so many of your subsequent letters spoke about your interest not in forestry, but in being a schoolteacher. And we shared the questions of our own destinies with each other, and offered advice to each other, even as I was questioning my pursuit of architecture for history. Your advice, October 14, 1975:
Peter, I found my typewriter long ago and neglected to respond to your last correspondence . . . I too am in the stage of questioning my objectives in life and really wondering if college is going to do me any good besides educating me how to be poor! With a degree in elementary ed I stand a good chance of getting a job because I am male and there is supposed to be a demand for male elem. teachers, that demand is now, what about 4 years from now? Since you asked for advise, I will gladly provide some, not to say that I know any of the answers, but . . . My cousin graduated from college with a degree in history and is presently unemployed! The market is flooded with History teachers and a degree in history is little use to you unless you plan on being a history teacher. Certainly it is alright to take hist. for your own edification but don't get your heart set on a career! I was thinking however that your pursute of writing as an academic endeavor would be a good idea. You have a talent with the pen. Perhaps with some refinement you could make a go at being a novelist or essayist. The trouble with that type of work is that is it very insecure . . .
But then life steps into your later paragraphs, which I treasure most:
At this point in time I am decidedly unattached romantically, and loving it (except sometimes) With my present financial situation I don't even have any money to take myself out let alone a girl! For now I can only browse the many curvatious young students and dream.
Dreams are the feathers of the pillow of life,
and reality is the dirty pillowcase which keeps them from getting out of hand
That just came to mind as a lay back to rest my tired fingers. You better keep this manuscript because when I become famous (ha ha) this will be a valuable pv original!
I suppose I ought to get back to the brain drain of homework. We learn something only to find out there is more to learn. Go walk your path and I'll walk mine and until our paths cross we can through (throw) paper at each other!
And in one of our later typewritten missives, on February 26, 1977, and our ripe ages of 21, you were deeply questioning religion, the condition of the human race, and your being "turned on" to outdoor education, when you questioned:
- Is there a god, can he be explained scientifically or not?
- If there is, who is he, where does he come from and why and how has he affected humanity?
- Are religious beliefs the product of doubt, the product of a need or a suppreem being to explain away all our troubles or is there something to these beleifs that men have had since the dawn of civilization?
- Is there something in the human being which separates him from the other primate and animals of different classes. Is this great "soul" which men have believed in for so many years?
- What happens when we die? Is there "life after life"?
I think you now know the answers, my friend, sitting there on your mountaintop, no doubt sipping a beer. There is life after life - your life in our hearts. Thanks for the memories, and our enduring friendship. I'll catch you on the other side of that mountain soon enough.
