1
CHARACTURES
AND
POETRY
The Characturess
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Table of Contents
Section——————————Page
1—The Comic—5
2—The Cable Car—7
3—The Fishing Boats—8
4—The Envisionornery—10
5—The Rascal of
6—The Awesome
Philosopher—15
7—The Sculptress—17
8—The Holy Ghost
Worker I—18
9—The Holy Ghost
Worker II—19
10—Passion for
Compassion—21
11—A Western Saga: Roy
C. Rogers
Roy C. Rogers rides
again!!!
Or yet!—23
12—The Continuing
Western Saga—26
13—An Integral
Moment—29
14—The Nature of a
Tree—30
15—Sittin
and A’Waitin at the Cross
Roads—32
16—The Philosopher of
Life—36
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17—The Writing
Caruso—37
18—Black Madonna—39
19—The Gentleman of
20—Academic
Cookbook—43
21—Inbetweenness:
The Interpenetrating
Flow—48
22—Inbetweenness:
Darkness Appears
Awareness Shines—49
23—Dimensional Flow—51
24—Sundown—54
25—The Journey—56
26—Quiet Calmness—60
27—The Wily
Philosopher—61
28—The Outthinker—62
29—The Most
Significant Event of Our
Lives—63
30—
31—The Rock Garden—67
32—Poetry—69
Digital Haiku—69
4
Past-Future—70
Night Fantasy—70
Appeal to Truth—71
Who’s Light Shines—71
5
THE COMIC
There is a person who
many have met, someone who
doesn’t yet know
which, if any, person to be. Lost in the
limelight and living on
laughter, The Comic keeps reclothing
a soul one mask to
another. Gifted extremes
always tightroping the edge of neither, never quite
balanced when the
pendulum begins its sure-coursed
swing. Arising high
apex, now back falling blackening
abyss, riding mooded shifts momentary escape but living
somewhere hidden inbetween. Into unknown, granted
asylum given only to
few. Coming full circle and on
through barriers,
returning to the same new spot over and
over again.
Tragic ironic, funny
and sad neither intended. In each is
found the same, an
unknown person caught in the
confusion of inbetween. Living to work this tension,
pushed from side to
side, few withstand the constant pull
of balanced
opposition. Again and again same questions
asked, The Comic
answers by quick-witted vision,
turning the onrushing
instant tide. Lost to the limelight
like unspoken words,
racing around unguided in those
who now let them
escape, carried away by laughter.
Immediate relief and
lightness ensues, the world regains
its whirl and rekindled
glow. The moment has passed and
lights go out, again
the unknown person turns and goes.
Strolling along
streets where other feet step, saved by
time and imagined
real. The Comic now empty lets down
all masks, revealing
only another unknown bearing
secrets concealed.
Quickly the night life fades into
another round, back in
front with heads turned around.
There it goes, here
they come, all seeking new voice.
Now find what’s been
given by the one of many who
shows what characture confusion means in the creative
flow as essence in
chaos gathers and fills open form. The
Comic now senses a
beckoning spirit whose call catches
the open ear. Together
they work and tighten the tension,
full pendulum swing
full circle again. Over and over they
work that circuit
still bounded by body in time, bandedlike
angels, exploding
gloomed image with gusting
laughter that moves
only out, the unknown person, The
Comic’s only friend.
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Buffoon clown jester
all common to one who sees when
each gets caught in
the flux, where life’s meaning finds
one standing atop a
bottom looking high into the depths,
where double visioned meaning stands face to face.
Mirrored reflections
of self alive in eyes that dance with
joy, stained by tears
of laughter which fill unwritten
space. Joy and sorry
laughter tears, complete another
circle, another coin
tossed, flip-flop again, another
unheard, speaking
voice.
—The Characturess
7
THE CABLE CAR
The Soul of San
Francisco, first dreamed by one now
loved by all. A glorious
past alive. Clang, clang, rumble
shake, pull and tug
uphill weight, quickly turn to
runaway descent,
uphill downhill cross-town rails.
Climbing high to
breathtaking spires gripman’s leathered
hands hold tight
vistas of modern day Atlantis in
pinnacles of wonder.
Fleeting moments slip past,
hesitation then shift
to downward slant while stomachs
sink…slowly winding
along its route clinging to the
hillside like magnets
forged its sturdy wheels.
Along thoroughly
winding narrowed streets The Cable
Car carries another
flow of riders to just where each
wanted to go. Freely
hang passengers on the sides or
from al fresco seats,
pulling in together all compressed,
swish…the return car
clangs past on its way to the
opposite turnaround.
Friendly people from both sides of
their seats, like tree
ornaments dangle in the mystery of
time.
Visitors hop aboard
for promises of surprise, cloaked in
swirls of misty fog or
in nature’s warmth on another
perfect San Francisco
Day. For some an old standby for
others a newfound
thrill, together ride through the streets
on common rails beyond
trudging struggle of traveling
the hills.
too late cut short by
time, since
landmarked the City’s golden early dawn Andrew S.
Hallidie’s inspiration brought the world’s first to its
home. First, last and
only one,
survives like the
networks ’neath the street, mile upon mile of
underground steel,
stretched taut and tight by huge
turning interfaced
wheels, pulling cables steadily,
relentlessly, until
day’s and evening’s end.
—The Characturess
8
THE FISHING BOATS
Rigged for work and
manned by old salt tradition, from
out of the Bay in morning
fog rumbles The Fishing Boats
taking leave. Named
vessels each is unique, all scouts in
search of the catch.
Guided swiftly by a sure and steady
hand at the helm,
first seeking here then there, circling
wide life-filled pools
below…quickly now, drop-baited
nets. Lower sinks into
darkening, deepening mysterious
world beneath. Reel up
hoist aloft wriggling moments of
death. Silvered scaled
rainbowed flash, caught by first
rays of morning sun.
Again and again, over the edge,
idling motors keeping
pace with a moving school, drop
now again re-baited
pots. Clawed pink red creatures
trapped by roped
circles woven for single purpose, lured
in by morsels earlier
caught then singly hooked in
glistening circles
round the mouths of watered caves.
Pots full, nets
squirming with life, poles taut and sharply
bent by fighting
weight struggling to stay free. Steady
working back and
again, fill troves high with treasures
found only in the sea.
Today’s a good one early chests
are full. Homeward bound
a little past mid-day chugging
steadily along coast
side bulging at the seams. Captain’s
satisfaction purrs in
the deep drone of mechanical noise,
lines flying in
victory winds waving tribute to
commemorated and
christened names painted on the
bow, each a personal
prayer to the sea.
Rugged wary seaworkers return, safely guided toward
wharf’s edge by wisdom
spanning centuries. Bayshores
envisioned, home again
home. Hailed by friends berth
spot in sight, slowly
maneuvered to a few short hours of
rest. Cut the engines,
tie the lines, now ready hoist
proudly overflowing
boxes of success. Line up one next
to the other while
already admiring smiles agree, there’s
something special
about living in close tie with the sea.
In chug others one by
one, yellow rain-slickered figures
with wet weathered
faces, giving thanks for yet one more
voyage. Lives tied by
watered lanes moving between
land and sea, striking
out each day before dawn for spots
farther beyond than
the human eye can see. Some young,
some old, some inbetween. Business or pleasure same
souls they are, many languaged voices found by common
venture. Overhead
gulls flap a noisy winged landing,
alertly poised atop
rolls of netting, keen eyes cast for any
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moment to grasp,
resting gently in soft rolling motions,
The Fishing Boats now
scrubbed and clean, quietly
berthed, silent.
Prepare for tomorrow,
checking, re-hooking the network
of lines, wondering
alone and to teach other what
tomorrow’s elements
will bring. Home to some,
workhorse for another,
vacant and alone at times,
abandoned hull
carrying now gilded women’s names
half-worn, rust red
bottoms showing time’s use. A
haunting invitation to
sea spirits found joined by vessels
that go beyond the
bounds of land.
Tarrying far out into
the horizon with fully outfitted rigs
bobbing in morning’s
light…from out of the foghorn’s
returning call rumbles
daily The Fishing Boats, guardians
and protectors of
age-old faces, seafaring souls whose
eyes always strain to
look beyond, to catch just one short
glimpse of the other
side.
—The Characturess
10
THE ENVISIONORNERY
Characture of Mervyn O’Leary
Shuffle shuffle, cane cane, here comes Mervyn O’Leary,
make and meet his
daily challenge. For this long-retired
fireman even downhill
is an uphill climb. The blustery,
fighting Irish,
smiling intensity continues burning in
spirit as one caned
step after another steadily takes him
from bottom to top of Sutro Hill, turning here, there
returning to the
Pronto Pup for coffee and talk. Ocean
Beach regulars mingle
and mix at the beach in front of
the Cliff House early
morning each day, greetings hailed
to welcome as each
arrival comes and goes.
A couple more minutes
and there’s Merv sittin’ on
the
bench…what’s the topic
for discussion today? Who’s
here? Could be sports,
could be weather…but could be
death, something he
thinks all the others are spending
their time avoiding.
Political philosophy, ethics,
medicine, physics and
metaphysics are some of Merv’s
favorite subjects but
are discussed only with the few
who’ve got it
together. Once intensely athletic now
crippling pain
restricting his emphasis from body to mind
achievement. Whatever
the topic you bring, Merv’s read
it and hold’s ready
Socrates, Plato, Aristotle,
Shakespeare, Voltaire
and others at beckoned call.
With no mistake, he
knows where he stands, he’s thought
about it. Better be
prepared to back up any taken
position, he’ll blow
you away like fog with one blast of
wind. Barbed words fly
out to negate your being and
irritation momentarily
flares, “you don’t know what
you’re talking about”
and the Envisionornery again
throws you back upon
yourself. What more can he do?
Revoke your birth
certificate!
Face to face, eye to
eye, that’s Merv. Standing fast is his
best speed. But then
tolerance returns for others who are
not quite there,
taking the time to listen between the
words his vision sees
through the ornery and dialogue
now follows reason.
Up and off the bench,
there goes Merv, up the downhill.
With companion walking
on cane side, one constant, one
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temporary, always,
inquiring, together beach-hill
climbing. He’s learned
to take life as it comes, “I’ve
accepted what I’ve
got” and “I can tolerate the pain”
except for the
constant injustice which maintains much
hurt and experienced
pain. One caned step down after
another, it’s his
decision. Going downhill is the toughest
uphill struggle. He
returns to his car parked at the bottom
of the hill, one more
daily challenge met to make sense
of all the rest.
Another lesson, another learned. Victory
visits for a body
willed from bottom to top and up the
downhill again. He’ll
be back tomorrow…the
Envisionornery will will on.
—The Characturess
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THE RASCAL OF
Characture of Ralph Basye
“Ya
hungry?” The independent attendant of
asks of those who
approach. Voiced or just silently said,
“What is it that
you’re looking for?” Untrusting birds
turn toward Ralph and
find kindness as they fly up into
his lap, “How ya doin’?” Reaching into his left-hand
jacket pocket, Ralph
pulls out a peanut, cracks it open
with both hands. The
bird looks, waits and accepts the
gift. “Anyhow,”
pigeons, blackbirds and seagulls fly off,
as both of Ralph’s
hands go sort of straight up and fall
down to again rest upon
his knees, “I first got started in
the printing business
as a ‘press feeder.’ That was in
1916. I just walked in
and asked for the person who did
the hiring.” By now at
least six members of the Ocean
Beach Mafia, 65 years
and older, have gathered around.
Ralph continues his
story, “I can do that!’ That’s all I
said.” Ralph goes on
to explain that you look for the
simplicity and then go
from there. You imagine yourself
doing whatever it is
and then fill in the steps to get there.
Ralph continues,
giving a clear description of events,
making sure you
understand, “You know how they do
letterpress printing?”
While attending to those in the
immediacy at Ocean
Beach #17, where he locates
himself, another
person passes by the bench on which he
sits, “Hi Ralph.” And
within the flow of conversation
comes a return, “Nice
day for a walk.” Or he calls out a
pleasant greeting,
“Very well thank you.” Ralph watches
what others do. He can
be present and attend to both the
immediate situation
and the surround. This way he can
watch how others
approach to see what they are looking
for. “Everyone is
trying to do something.” Ralph looks to
see what it is that
the person is intending toward, then
sort of reaches into
his own events and emerges with a
word-gift. “If I give
to ten people and only one really
needs it, I am
thankful.” Even when approached at Ocean
Beach for some money
for something to eat, Ralph
reaches into and out
of his pocket. “Giving a few coins to
people is like feeding
the birds.” The flow of
conversation, moves on
as Ralph gives a more
penetrating
description, “I remember when I was only
six, we were really
poor. My mother and two brothers
walked up the railroad
tracks about a half-mile and
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picked wild
strawberries. That afternoon my mother
made a strawberry
shortcake. We were all going to have
a big piece. Then, the
people from across the way just
happened to come over
when we sat down to eat the
strawberry shortcake.
So, we all took a smaller piece.”
Someone asks Ralph,
“When were you born?” A smile
develops at the corner
of Ralph’s mouth, “I am almost a
firecracker; a delayed
fuse.” With a laugh, “I was born 7
July 1901, Topeka,
Kansas.” He pauses, “Just outside of
it.” The just outside
of it, reveals the personal
independence of the
rascal who comes to
because he likes the
openness. If you look real close you
can glimpse the
quick-witted smile at one corner of his
mouth. Ralph tells one
story after another which brings
forth your own smile,
too! “Yeah, I was here before this
Ocean Beach Wall.” You
sort of feel the restriction of the
wall while Ralph
continues, “I was out here with a girl.
We went out and walked
around in the sand dunes.” Now
you begin to see the
real rascal. Ralph continues, “Yeah,
I left for California
in 1922.” The little smile emerges,
“In 1922, I won $100
in a baseball pool, bought a 1917
Touring Car for $75
and headed for California. I went to
L.A. first then came
to San Francisco where I was in the
movie, Broadway
Bill. Mickey Rooney was the star. I
was part of the local
color in this race horse movie. There
I was in the infield
of the race track. I was supposed to
jump up on the fence
and shout as the race horse,
Broadway Bill, fell and died as he reached the finish
line.” Ralph pauses,
now you look for that smile to
develop at the corner
of his mouth, “I don’t remember if I
got up on the fence or
not.”
“Anyhow,” as both of
Ralph’s hands go sort of straight
up and fall down to
again rest upon his knees, “I came to
San Francisco in 1924.
Moonshine, speak-easies,
gambling, it was all
here. I even went to
before gambling was
legalized, in the late Twenties, it
was there!” As a
person approaches Ralph is already
looking in that
direction. “What’s happening Ralph?”
Ralph returns, “Just
having a little conversation.” Ralph
is a
conversationalist. He holds people around him the
same way he does the
birds eating out of his hand. Then
someone asks Ralph,
“What was one of the most exciting
events of your life?”
Without pause the response comes,
“One of the most
exciting events I had was in 1921. I
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went for a ride in a Jenny.
As we flew up, I looked down,
the first thing I saw
was the graveyard. Anyhow, we
continued on and then
flew over my folks’ home. Later
my mother said ‘I knew
it was you. Who else would be
flying over like
that!’” The smile develops, “My family
has a tree but I just
came from a branch all by itself.”
Then he says, “I
always just wanted to have fun.” He
smiles and says, “I am
unpredictable.”
Some members of the Ocean
Beach Mafia have now
walked on only to be
replaced with others. Ralph
remains. “Look a ship
is coming into the Bay.” Turning
from the horizon he
attends to the immediacy, “Look at
the two young
puppies!” No sooner said, the puppies
come over as birds all
around him wing off into the sky.
Then he attends to a
little girl dressed in pink and blue
with white stockings
walking alongside her mother.
Ralph smiles. The
little girl looks, smiles and waves.
Ralph says, “Hi” to
youth. He doesn’t try to impress
people. He’s just
Ralph. This printer of 50 years retains
the quickness of eye.
Each afternoon he is there with his
car parked at Ocean
Beach #23. He feeds birdseed to the
birds two times. “The
peanuts are for dessert.” Then he
walks slowly along the
walkway to #17 and provides the
desert for the birds.
Here as Ralph reaches into and out of
his pocket, for
peanuts or events, is the cream of
reflection given to
those who happen to pass or wander
by. After a short time
the return walk from #17 to #23
begins. Just before The
Rascal of Ocean Beach gets to
#23, he remarks, “Here
come the scouts,” as two birds fly
toward him. Arriving
at #23, pigeons come walking from
the parking area
toward Ralph as he, too, moves toward
them. Ralph clears his
throat and comments, “We meet
for a short time.” He
smiles and says, “This is when I
feed them the third
time. This is the last supper.” Ralph
throws birdseed on and
around the birds, then says, “So
long.” As Ocean Beach
brings wonder to its there you
then know Ralph will always
be there.
—The Characturess
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THE AWESOME
PHILOSOPHER
Characture of Thomas Langan
Standing here, at your
door, a moment lasts forever.
Suddenly, life’s
changed. Into your world he strides, a
genteel philosopher
whose readiness to be astonished,
appropriates him well.
Tall in stature, warm in nature,
inquiring in
thought…awesome indeed!
American born,
Germanic roots apparently sent to
explore. Vast openness
appears on the horizon of each
new question as again
and again he is set to wonder.
Strong penetrating
mind tempered gentleness impelled by
compassion. One moment
he’s light perhaps next
somber, each rising
out of the other allowing delightful
surprise. Asking the
right questions, gathering
information in short
periods of time.
Mature in years, lively
in heart, sensitive to the surround,
the global thinker who
loves traveling by trolley. The
professional life
might drive another less resilient to
become a recluse. But
no, out he reaches, choosing those
to help, confined by
frustrations imposed by time and
called to speak and
write. Unpretentious about oftenpretentious
work; a scribe whose
words carry wisdom on
aerial wings into
human light.
Conversation reveals a
host of scholars settling round his
name, dropping in as though
truly present, at the mention
of their names. These
constant confidants in thought are
ever ready for instant
variety in frame of reference. Out
pops famous personages
in contemporary philosophy,
each enacted in
mirthful spirit, attending anecdote or
personal story; each a
friend to the man. Truly an
aristocrat in
Confucian terms, deeply steeped in Catholic
tradition, an educator
for whom life quality will forever
foster authentic
questions.
Witty, poignant,
wise…what new venture might alight,
next thought?
Considered options, rational selection,
giving way to higher
voice issuing an appeal from within,
called to responsible
action in serious work enjoyable
tasks of learning. A
confident stride into the future…
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Standing there, now
again, outside your door, bidding
farewell. The same
everlasting moment now graced with
promise for the future
by possibility of return. Awesome
indeed!
—The Characturess
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THE SCULPTRESS
Characture of Connie
Fischer
Connie the
sculptress…she sculptures images with
words. She’s moving
across boundaries, going here,
going there, on her
way up…she shows others the secret
she has learned about
the power of the written and
spoken words, about
the ability to use the power of
speaking together in
order to show us other ways of
experiencing the same
world. Her words cut into the
empty pages like marks
in an emerging image, as it has
been just first
glimpsed in its blankness. She moves into
that world and sculpts
upon the pages the guided tour she
traveled in another’s
world. These images speak out the
tensions which exist
between discrepant ways of
experience and offer
images of the Real, a way to
transcend the
polarity, yet let it remain conserved and
active. That is the
way she is moving, cutting a clear path
of the Real with the
power of the word.
She’s strong…she’s
proud, she’s loyal…she’s a lady of
action who does
things! But she’s attuned, she’s aware,
she knows, she’s
there, she’s moving up and out and
bringing back the
lines of contact. She’s spreading the
word.
A woman of warmth and
humor…of flashing wit and
high spirit…another
who likes to stand in the sunshine!
—The Characturess
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THE HOLY GHOST WORKER
I
Characture of Rudy Bielek
As a familiar
character on campus you first came to me
in a time of
beginnings. Rudy—The Holy Ghost
Worker—seemed like an angel to me. I shall never forget
our beginning
Rudy…those first days of teaching for me,
our conversations
together and your constant and faithful
encouragement during
tenuous times of my own. You
were always there…and you
remain there for me now. If
only there were words
to reveal the quality of the vision
which seems to spring
from your heart. As a true
messenger of the
Spirit your presence on campus brings
the truths of a
religious life to people who may never find
it without you. As—The
Holy Ghost Worker—you reach
so many like myself
who discover through you
Duquesne’s true
educational gifts. Your spirit is the heart
of Duquesne. Speaking
not only for myself but for many
others who have come
to love you as I have, you make
our lives buoyant with
your ever ready willingness to
give to others without
thought to your own comfort and
needs. Gifts from the
heart flow naturally from your
being. As the angel
that you are Rudy…may God Bless
you and watch over you
now and forever. I will always
carry with me the
inspiration which flows from your
presence and which has
on occasion lit up darker hours
of my own existence. I
have grown richer in my own
faith through being
with you. The gifts of yourself
unknowingly given to
those of us who know you
illustrates for me the
true meaning of the Spirit in action.
Your life shows it
each day. You have taught me how to
look at a new world,
one whose vision is inspired by your
faithful heart.
—The Characturess
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THE HOLY GHOST WORKER
II
Characture of Rudy Bielek
Up the elevator,
down…there’s Rudy working on all
levels. Here and gone
working in the foundations,
sweeping us up into
visions with practical application. He
just seems to know how
things work. People are his
strength. None too big,
none too small…sooner or later
he “pegs them down.”
There he goes…hands
signaling the pictures in his
thoughts, watchful
heart looking for students who need
someone’s help. He
catches those who might otherwise
fall through the
cracks. Rudy finds them one by
one…picks them up,
dusts them off, helps them shine.
He’s like a little elf
who brings good words when he
speaks. Encouragement
is natural to his expression. And
his daily labors
behind the scenes do far more than
keeping an office
straight or ending his week with a
paycheck.
Rudy…here he comes,
there he goes, in then
out…cleaning, sweeping
and caring. One never quite
knows where he’ll
appear. From the highest to the
lowest, he sees them
all. In the gym, down in the
archives, up in the
administrators’ office. Each place he’s
sent he gets things
done while simultaneously enjoying
his unique talent of
teaching others how to “conversate.”
As the local morale
office on campus his presence
naturally livens up
lackluster moods…he settles
differences…saying what
needs to be said…to whomever
may need to hear it. Conversating with Rudy keeps the
spirit alive and
working inbetween the people he sees
each day, from one
person to the other he moves with
trails of human
kindness following in his wake.
Students, priests,
nuns, fellow workers, secretaries and
their
administrators…right down the line, he likes them
all…introducing faith
to hope in charity’s name. Rudy—
The Holy Ghost
Worker—a one-man rescue team whose
dauntless efforts have
sustained many a disillusioned
dream.
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Up…down, in then out,
here he comes…there he goes, it
kind of makes you
wonder who he “really” is while he’s
busy helping others
discover who they can be.
—The Characturess
21
PASSION FOR COMPASSION
Characture of Leo Zonneveld
…Along comes Leo…
…a man in search
of…and for life’s call whose ear
remains always open
for the listening…what do you ask
of life?…“Oh…to find
God I suppose”…seemingly a
simple answer even
though wisest in the end…the liferoad
leading to that
pinnacle long and circuitous, fraught
with many a humanity’s
puzzle…to what end can this
solitary quest
lead?…to brilliant illuminating Light,
Knowledge,
Love…unending rounds of prayers
continually offered up
for ever-and-ever-increasing
more…this lone man in
search of…less suffering for
all…passion for
compassion…flame burns brightest of
them all…
…Along comes Leo…
…distinguished
profession, key member to a European
nerve-center of
diplomacy—professional communicator
—wherein dreams can be
made real with but a phone
call, thrives the
spirit of a peace-maker by
heart…“Always leave a
little room for negotiation,” freeflow
aspirations come to
the ground…for an “old
walking encyclopedia
of high-tech knowledge,” trusted
“science man”…a
20-year tour of duty in the service of
two Queens…“I’ve been
to Heaven 100 times,”