Holy molly, 72? you gotta be kiddin’ me. The number seventy two has been prominent in my mind since 1970, when I re-enrolled in college, this time at Oswego State, following my initial mental de-flowering in Boston, while LBJ still held the gun.
In 1970, from Ken Sicke’s admission’s office in Culkin Hall, my view of 1972, the year I would complete my baccalaureate, seemed as likely to arrive as Bridge St. was to begin flowing with milk and honey.
But it did, with Nixon now holding the gun, having gotten off scot-free from his sabotage of the Paris Peace Talks, which was enough to get him elected, at the cost of an untold number of American lives and millions of other people’s lives.
So here’s a friendie* – taken on my 72nd birthday (11/10/2020), by my friend Donna, at her house on (Oliver Wendell) Holmes Rd. in Pittsfield, MA, across the street from where Herman Melville wrote Moby Dick!
One week earlier, we decided potus #45 has taken enough of us and enough from us. Godspeed Joe Biden, with a law degree from Syracuse University, same as my father, who was president of the class of 1940!
*friendie – a picture of you made by your friend.