After the election of 1980 left me unemployed, I traveled to the nation’s capital in a fruitless search for work (it was not a good year to be a Democrat). Late in the evening of Monday, December 8, sitting on the couch in my friend Tom’s basement apartment on Capitol Hill, I was reading — yes, reading — the new Playboy magazine, which featured an interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono. I had just finished these words from John –
“…There were a few times when we nearly went under, but we managed to survive and here we are…
(an excerpt from SETI@oz, a short story)
Professor Desmond Walters flicked a mosquito off his arm, reached for his can of Medalla, took a swig and washed down his last bite of arroz con gandules. He came to this lechoneria nearly every day for lunch, and nearly every day had the same meal — rice and beans, roast pork and tostones — along with a cerveza or two.
Desmond, 33, looked about 25. Brown hair, cropped short. Lean, tall, with nerdy-stylish black glasses. Orange Gap T-shirt under short sleeved white linen shirt. Khakis and topsiders, no socks. Born…
Back in 1775, around the corner from my childhood home, George Washington stopped for a visit in what is now the Squire Stanley House on the Choate Rosemary Hall campus.
Earlier that century, a few blocks down my street, Lyman Hall was born. He went on to sign the Declaration of Independence in 1776.
In the 1930’s, just a few houses from my own, John F. Kennedy spent his second year at Choate in the East Cottage. My grandfather, Charles Kennedy, was a custodian at the Winter Exercise Building at Choate around the same time.
Served as spokesman for Pres. Bill Clinton, Hillary Clinton, Al Gore, Joe Lieberman, Sony, Sony Pictures and, currently, News Corp. Views own. Catholic.