[Dialogue] Stories about a man man I didn't know named Frank

LAURELCG at aol.com LAURELCG at aol.com
Sun Jun 10 14:22:08 PDT 2012


Thank you, Steve.
 
Jann McGuire
 
 
In a message dated 6/10/2012 10:46:34 A.M. Pacific Daylight Time,  
stevehar11201 at gmail.com writes:

Stories  about


----
 Frank Hilliard's Death & Ed Feldmanis's story of a shared  moment or two 
with him in just 93 words [below] and  


---  
Rick Laudermilk's vignette of the moment of silence at his father's  
funeral -all silence-  because his father was such a private  guy. 


Because none of the men that gathered for his funeral knew how to or  cared 
to share a story of what it was like to be with his dad and what they  
loved about being with him enoght to come to his funeral and celebrate at the  
completion of his life.


Then I remembered


---


Joe Matthew's story about the time his father died and the funeral  
director tried to cover up his father's face with lipstick and his body with a  
brand new cut-away funeral gown-suit -all of it pretense and abstractions to  
hide real death in the middle of real life...and


---


My Dad's funeral when I tried to retell 4 stories from my dad's life some  
of the stories everyone knew, some only I knew... once as a boy in Tennessee 
 when his school blew away in a cyclone, once as a young young riding an 
Indian  motorcycle cross country, once as an established adult playing poker 
in Key  West with Harry Truman what happened when "the old man" lost a huge 
pot of  money.


Once...the last time I saw him... wearing a yellow sweater, smoking a  pipe 
that I had given him, smelling that sweet sweet tobacco he loved,  watching 
him rocking in one of those pink metal rocking chairs at the nursing  home, 
seeing him smile in those last moments before he got up and left  for 
Alzheimer's land  and for good. 


---
Now, my peers & teachers pass on:


Sandra True died the weekend I sat 44 hours in the zendo meditating while  
she completed her life.


I remembered the time at the Minneapolis House at 3am during a New  
Religious Mode Odyssey when I was scrubbing my grave plot like everyone else  on 
the  floor when two Minneapolis police men opened the door and asked:  Could 
we what we were doing --they had a complaint from neighbors about people  
wearing white sheets". So interesting what happens in a scene and a couple of  
words.  


---


Robert Shropshire's at Academy 1973 teaching RS1 when he drew  a  diagram 
on  the blackboard with a piece of fat rail road chalk in the shape of the 
letter  Omega and told a Mowanjum story of teaching among the  Aboriginals 
 
He said  one day he was talking to some people about living your life as 
raw  possibility and having the courage to say so out loud. In my imagination 
he  was describing himself like that guy sitting on a log with a bunch of 
kids  listening at the other end of the log. 


He  talked for a long while. Then there was a big Dreaming. As one man took 
a  stick and drew a picture in the dirt in the shape of an empty head [or 
the  Omega symbol].  


The man  then drew 2 circles for eyes, 1 circle for a mouth, 2 loops for 
ears and said:  "Before I was like this... an empty head. Now I have eyes to 
see, ears to hear  and words to say into existence what is real about my life 
and share it with  others. You have given me words to say what is so."
 


Shropshire said that in  Mowanjum when a different moment of real got said 
said into existence clarity  broke into candid conversation - again - when 
the same guy awoke from a  walking-around-asleep dream and said: " Robert you 
are not a  "special-magic" black man: you're not a black man like me at 
all, you're  just a white man... just like them!'


Shropshire used to  distinguish walking around in the ordinary places with 
ordinary people being  fully awake, and how sleepy he felt traveling around 
some places in the  United States,how much energy it took not to catching 
the sleeping  sickness, how in some places you had to struggle to stay present 
to  conversations for possibility. 


The last Shropshire story  I recall was when he went to work at MacDonalds 
after a LENS seminar,  tried to see what it takes to wake-up and stay awake 
in 1% corporate  America. 


That's  how I rememberShropshire as a character  filled-full, vivid with a 
sense  of wonder, focused whole-hearted, present then, present now in my 
meditative  council stories. 



---
Living still and making  online stories


Kaye Hayes listening online  and  live again this year to Kaye Hayes 1972 
Freedom Lecture thanks to  Walt Epply's New ICA-USA Archives digital 
recording. What got me was not the  20th C existential/mythological lingo but the 
still lively storytelling -the  classic ones like "Welcome to Hard Times, why 
don' you stick around and  build". 


What a storyteller she was  at the pedagogue lecturn; when I listen to her 
at Mike May's video clips...  she mostly only tells stories from her 
long-ago community and about her work  as a mentor among reservation indian kids 
who diserve a future view, now, of  freedom 


---


Gordon Harper makes  videoclips of Occupy  and  writes online how Joe 
Mathews gave a talk  in Maliwada one time on Integrity and gave it to Werner 
Erhard who now teaches  about Integrity at Harvard B-school and Oxford. 


--- 


A woman named Sandy Something the time my best Costa Rica friend Jo  Stuart 
invited me to lunch in San Jose last year, with a friend of her's named  
Sandy Something-or-another whom I didn't know. 


As we sat down at the restaurant an island of English speakers in a  sea of 
native Spanish speakers I introduced myself and asked this Sandy  
Something-or-another where she was from. She said Chicago. I said my younger  
daughter lives there and I used to know some people that lived on the West  Side. 
She said yup, me too they lived at 3444 Congress Parkway,  right? 


With in seconds of sitting down we were chanting "This is the drum  of the 
city, this is the drum of the city, it says to us that we can live...".  The 
entire restaurant of Costa Ricans  grew quiet as they listened to  these 
English speaking gringos beating respectfully on the table,  chanting.


The conversation completely changed as we started  sharing-long ago Sandy 
Powell and Steve Harrington  stories. Our mutual friend Jo, who is a writer, 
became more  and more astonished as deep root and memorable character 
stories tumbled out.  Later she told me she wished she had brought her journal 
notebook so she could  write down names and places and themes and write them 
out.  


At our table it seemed as if an entire group of interior council  
characters pulled chairs up around our table listening: many Franks, Ricks,  Joes, 
Roberts, Kayes, Sandras, Steves  listening like an invisible  college woken-up 
again to travel east sharing human  journey  stories. 


---


Thank-you Ed Feldmanis -thank-you  for your Frank  Hilliard story of a man 
I never met and found in  93 sweet short  words. 


Yes, I do now remember that Greek restaurant named Diana's downtown  
Chicago near Halstead. It was the old place behind the small greek grocery  store 
right? 


It's theplace where Anthony Quinn learned to dance for Zorba the  Green. It 
is the place where you learn to cheer "Opa" as the flaming saganiki  cheese 
scorches the blue and white tinsil decorations,  right? 


It is the place I met the mother of my children one Sunday  afternoon 
dinner during Academy 73. It was the origin point the action-before  the action 
that created my family, created lives of my two daughters Sarah and  Margot, 
foreshadowed my current grandfather mind for a new granddaughter named  
Indira.


===


More short-short stories please, vignettes really of the  distinctive 
characters who  travel East. 


More short-short stories of character to pay forward to some other  
generation who might also wish to travel East. 



-- 
Steve Harrington



Ed's 93 Word Story of a man I didn't know named Frank.


I was in Frank's Ecclesiola at Centrum.  One night we all went to  Greek 
town to a special restaurant called Diana's. We persuaded the honor  to dance 
and he finished with resounding Opa's as he flung his glass  crashing 
against the wall. We were mesmerized.  Our members were  raving about the 
experience.

On the next day Frank added his  insight:  Always appreciate a man's 
special talent but never fool  yourself thinking that a talent represents a 
grounded life.  Our  restaurant owner could be someone living authentically or  
maybe not. Thanks to Frank for the sharing and his sacrifice. A  beautiful  
life.





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