Bucklin Moon

Chris was the kindest person I ever met

Posted on: Jun 26, 2022 at 4:33 AM

Posted on: Jun 26, 2020 at 4:27 PM

Thanks Paul,
I am beginning to think the pandemic is going to get worse , rather than better. Lane County Oregon has had relatively few cases, but that is changing, once bars were allowed to be open.

And punitive damages, if any, are still to come.

Thanks Stephanie for that lovely reminiscense. I also will be unable to attend the 50th, but you were one of the people I was thinking about. I remember some great times had by all of us, at Oberlin and otherwise. 

For some reason, the Six Egg Truckstop (sounds like a whimsical teenage summer movie) seems far away. Nowadays, a six egg breakfast would come with a warning from the Surgeon-General and a blood thinner. I cannot remember the last time i saw a pinball machine.

I was usually under the influence of skunkweed when I went out there in the middle of the night, so six eggs and hashbrowns, and toast, and bacon just seemed like a snack. I remember little studying ,much pinball, a lot of hysterical laughter, which perhaps kept the truckers away, for they knew well enough not to mess with crazy people. I remember Ralph flirting with the waitress, which made her feel good. 

Ralph's station wagon, supposedly to be only used for delivering the NYT, was used for many other purposes, including a trip to Akron. I remember borrowing it to go to Presti's, somehow ending up in Akron. I have no idea why I wanted to go to Akron. 

I did not realize that Walter was Chinese-American and had identity problems around that issue. I thought he was a typical Oklahoman, when he talked about going out and catching gila monsters, for his father who taught at the University of Oklahoma I believe. Walter came home with me one Thanksgiving, and we dropped somebody off in Pittsburgh in  the afternoon, and it seemed like evening because of the smoke. Walter got along with my sisters, quite a feat, since nobody else did. 

Harry and I were section mates. He was seldom around, and seemed to be hanging out with older students. He liked to build elaborate kites, and had summer jobs fixing outboard motors on Long Island. He seemed to have trouble with courses like German, even though he was Dutch, and sociology, but was great at physics and math. 

I learned later from Chris Lloyd, who was his roomate at Noah, that he had returned to Holland. I learned later that he had died, but I never learned the circumstances. I always thought he would do something notable, because he was a talented and idiosyncratic person. 

David and I both returned to Oberlin at the same time, in 1970,so we shared a house at the edge of the Athletic Field for a semester. David did as little studying as I did, and always seemed to have a copy of The Rolling Stone, which he read from cover to cover. He was a kind and considerate person, and a good housemate, better than I. He never mentioned living on borrowed time. I met him later in California, when I was traveling around on The Lost Highway, and even attended a New Year's Grateful Dead Concert. I was not impressed, and couldn't get over the fact they were not in tune, or sometimes not in rhythm. But I guess that was not the point. 

I think that concert was another sign that I would never make it as a hippy. 

The semester I lived with David ,three students from Kent State came to speak at Finney Chapel, and the next day students and faculty voted to end the semester, so everybody could work for peace. It was a very strange time on campus, and in the country.

Peter was my freshman year roommate at Barrows. I noticed that there was something odd about his face, and it took me about a week to realize he had one blue eye and one green eye,
Peter seemed to be more emotionally mature than the rest of us, and I would go to him for advice.

I was traveling from New York to Los Angeles with Michael Oudyn, class of 1966, in a drive away car. We were supposed to deliver it in a week , and at the end of the first week we had not left Oberlin. We called the owners, and they basically said they did not need it for another two weeks, when their daughther returned from Europe;.

I remember hearing about Peter's death when traveling near Bakersfield, and it was announced on local radio. I was paying no attention when I heard Debby Huntingon's name as the daughter of a prominent local physician. I called her mother and found out Peter had died. I was devestated. Nobody I cared about had died before. I miss Peter to this day, and he appears every once in a while in my dreams. The last time was a year ago.