PFK1 (45 page)

beyond Instamatic photos but until I met Megan, never had the

courage to buy a serious camera.

What a beautiful machine. I love it.

Mailed back my warranty card and everything. Took some

experimental color and black and white pictures. I can hardly wait to

see the results. There are so many photos I can take now that I

couldn’t take before. Mushrooms, for example.

While in Eugene, saw my dentist Don Miller again. My 1972

fillings seem to be holding up all right. All eleven cavities were filled

back then, mostly in my molars where I wasn’t brushing right. Don

may replace the porcelain filling I have in my right front tooth.

The discoloration would go away, I think, if I quit smoking dope. I

promised Don I would brush and floss more carefully.

A client complimented me on "my pretty white teeth" not too long

ago. If nothing else, I intend to keep them sound. Good dental health

is an outward sign of class, in my opinion.

My mother, by way of illustration, has hardly a tooth in her whole

head.

* * * *

May 19, 1979

Salem again. These union jerks are really putting me off. This

stupid board meeting is interminable.

People do not need to know that I do not exist in this world. My

interior world is far more compelling than this tawdry real one. Only

two things keep me tethered: My love for Megan and that absolutely

gorgeous bod of hers. Otherwise, I do not fear oblivion. Fear of

death is cowardice. Do not fear the inevitable. I suppose it is

acceptable to be a tad disconcerted, however, when death suddenly

comes by surprise.

Otherwise, let it roll, roll, roll.

288

The Dark City
will be finished soon. It is full of dark humor.

Absurd dark humor.

Life is very dark in
The Dark City
.

John Thomas is working hard on the anti-nuke campaign. He has

filled three shoeboxes with the names of volunteers in the Third

Congressional district. He wants to make his State Representative the

next Congressman.

John says the time has come and if his guy won’t do it, somebody

else will. Old Bob Duncan is ripe for the picking, John says.

I think he is right.

Later 9:30 PM: Back in town. The sun went down a little while

ago, a fiery star sinking into the broad, blue Pacific. I look out over

the water and forget my own name. It is as though the Pacific Ocean

is a total brain wipe.

Worried about the VW. The engine’s running hot and hard. Nick

says he knows a guy who can fix VW’s.

Dammit. More expense.

Ruminating on just how to conclude
The Dark City
.

So many options.

We shall see.

Birds cry in the shore pines outside my window. I can speak

enough bird lingo to know they are saying goodnight. Cars are

making noise on the street. Noise. More noise. We are in the midst

of the Rhody Festival.

Author Ken Kesey is the Parade Grand Marshall.

I am like everybody else. I think Kesey wrote one classic

American novel and another pretty good novel. One Flew Over The

Cuckoo’s Nest is the classic, amazing and beautiful. The other book,

Sometimes A Great Notion, is overwritten and way too long, but also

very fine in many respects. I skipped a lot when I read it, thinking:

yeah, yeah. Get to it, Ken.

But here in town is our own Mr. Kesey.

The genius in our midst.

Got an amusing letter from Mick. He also thinks Chesley’s

marriage is ill-advised, but then again he knew Karen and like most

289

guys, Mick can’t think of many women who can match that exquisite

female.

Myself, I only know of one woman who compares favorably with

Karen, and it definitely is not Shirley. Mick thinks Chesley is

probably getting married because his mother thinks it is a good idea.

And what mommy wants...

* * * *

May 23, 1979

Made an appointment for a job interview at Maryhill AFS on

Tuesday morning. The college there has a state welfare branch, using

an old women’s dormitory for the office space.

It’s a beautiful, wide-open campus with nice private offices for the

workers. I am ready to leave town right now.

I want the fuck out of here.

* * * *

June 1, 1979

It’s official. I will go to work for Maryhill AFS on June 18.

Another move in the making. I am eagerly looking forward to the

change. Called Chesley this AM to advise him of it.

Then I informed Nick.

Megan took me to dinner tonight at the Windward Inn to celebrate.

She asked me twice if I was doing it to escape from her. I said no. I

told her that I picture us together in the very near future and that I am

in love with her.

There is no one else, I said. You are it.

This however, is career-related.

How can I explain it in a way that makes sense? What I really want

to do at this point is to court her, spend some money on her, for us to

have some fun together. Before, I’ve never had a decent job and a

woman I was in love with at the same time. Let us enjoy life, my

darling.

If we remain here we will be stuck at that crappy welfare office

together. What fun would that be?

290

I want to live in downtown Portland, see movies and go to plays,

sample restaurants, bars, attend concerts, and, above all else: go

dancing.

On the few occasions when Megan and I have danced, it is like a

dream. She is so slim, sensual, graceful, and beautiful. I haven’t

danced with a woman like her since ... well, for a long time. I want us

to have some fun together and in Portland we can do it. Working in

this beach town, it will always be grim.

Everybody knows our story. They smirk at us. I hate it.

I want to get an apartment up by Portland State University. At first,

Megan can come visit on the weekends or I can go down there. I’ll

find a nice private place where we can make love to our heart’s

content with nobody knowing our business.

At night, we can dress up and go out. First the restaurant, then the

movie, then to the dance club. There are zillions of places where we

can go and they are (thankfully) not all disco.

We’ll wrap the evening up at this cool jazz bar I know about and

come home at one or two in the morning. Then we will make love.

Hot, sweaty, dirty, and sweet. I’ll find a place with a big claw foot

tub so we can soak in the suds together.

On Sunday mornings, we’ll go to Hamburger Mary’s for breakfast.

Those homo chefs at Hamburger Mary’s make the best damn lacto-

ova vegetarian omelets you’ve ever tasted.

Megan will fucking love them.

For a long time I think I have been waiting for a woman like Megan

to come into my life. I sense she has also been waiting for a man like

me. Let the world go to hell.

We’ve got each other. In this golden summer and fall of 1979, I

want it to be just Megan and me.

* * * *

June 29, 1979

So much has happened I haven’t had much time to write, let alone

digest my experiences.

I’m working at Maryhill AFS now. A whole new set of wacky

clients. This afternoon one of them (her name is Shirley) slipped on

291

the lobby floor, the surface made slick by the puddle of urine a boy

toddler had deposited a few minutes earlier.

It was official. Crazy Shirley was coming to visit her welfare

worker. She has two kids and a history of mental illness.

It’s odd but I guess not too odd that she has the same name as

Chesley’s wife-to-be.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Shirley nodded. "I slipped on the floor."

"Uh huh." I helped her up. There was a big wet spot on the back of

her ratty green stretch pants. I made no move towards the interview

room. I didn’t want her sitting down on anything.

"What can I do for you?" I asked.

"My ex-mother in law is raising my rent because she heard that

welfare payments are going up."

"Yes, I see. Well," I said, "your Section 8 housing application is

still on the waiting list. It might be another six months or so before

you get approved for low income housing."

"But I can’t afford another rent increase!" Shirley said. She has

these frantic, pleading eyes.

"How much does your ex-mother in law want?"

"Another $23 per month. Exactly the same amount as my grant is

supposed to go up. She knows about the increase."

"Oh, for crying out loud," I said, crabbily, before I caught myself. I

took a deep breath. "Well, if I juggle your food stamp allotment

around some, maybe we can use the higher shelter cost against your

stamps."

"How much?"

I did a quick mental calculation. "I’m guessing maybe I can

increase your stamps by $25 or so."

Shirley was embarrassingly grateful.

292

July 25, 1979

Tomorrow’s the big day. We are flying to California for Chesley’s

wedding – Michael, Randy, and me.

Lloyd refuses to go. He says the bride is a horrible hag and he

wants no part of it. Absolutely I agree but I’m going anyway for

Chesley’s sake.

Everything is set. My bags are packed and I’m ready to go. Picked

out a few photos to show around, mostly of Megan and me having

fun. I am bringing my camera, books, other reading material, and my

Dark City notebook to keep me occupied should things get dull.

I’ve decided to introduce a policewoman in the next chapter. She

will burst through the door with gun in hand. There will be certain

other revisions as well.

Lots of hard work ahead.

How fast does light travel? 186,000 miles per second? Visit this

water world and travel to
The Dark City
. Read a story written in sand.

See fear and horror as Dale Murphy sinks into an unfathomable

morass. Life is destructive of itself.

That’s the beauty of it – the constant waste, the decay, the

redundancy, the inevitable spoliation.

Ashes to ashes, from DNA to dust.

Need to rent me a monkey suit, buy a gift.

All these draggy financial things. Human marriage customs. Bah

humbug. Poor people buying gifts for the rich. I may never get

married. Surely not like this, in any case.

It’s way too phony for me.

Reading Isaac Bashevis Singer’s
Passions
. Love the way that guy

writes. Reminds me of me. Also reading Jules Witcover’s
The

Resurrection of Richard Nixon
. Witcover’s book really inspires me

about politics. I love reading it, consider it a masterpiece. Nixon’s

comeback after his 1960 loss to JFK was truly amazing. Politics

aside, what perseverance!

293

Still want to run for the legislature next year. I’d like to have the

decks cleared for an all-out effort. Don’t tell me I can’t win. I don’t

care. I just want to run. I want to express my views in a public

forum. There are so many things I want to say.

* * * *

July 27, 1979

Soft, cool California morn at 8:00 AM. The suburb Chesley’s

parents live in is called Danville. About thirty minutes south of San

Francisco. Attended a very dull party last night (all male) to

commemorate the passing of Chesley’s singlehood.

Did not get drunk and probably it’s just as well. Wished I’d

brought my book to work on, though.

At least there were no strippers or sexist bullshit to live down later.

I got real stoned and sat alone for a while out on the patio, thinking

about Chesley’s old girlfriend, Darlene.

She was this leggy Chinese-American chick Chesley met at Oregon

State. Oh man. Darlene had this very long black hair, dark almond

eyes, was beautiful and sexy. Chesley started dating her right after I

hooked up with Leanne. Talk about skimming the cream. That babe

Darlene was like to take your breath away, she was so drop dead

fucking beautiful.

And smart, too. Except, apparently, about men.

Originally, Darlene hailed from Hawaii but she also lived in

California part of the time. She had a father in the military and her

parents were divorced.

Darlene’s favorite thing was to get stoned and fuck Chesley’s

brains out in his dorm room, which was right next door to mine.

Based on the noise that came through the wall I’d have to say Darlene

was multi-orgasmic practically to a fault.

Beautiful, smart, and fucked like a champ – what more could that