1981

April. Gypsy is the cruelest moth. Lunar Module. All right, fine. I've been receiving letters and phone calls about the class notes for a few months now. The words "mystified" and "bewildered" seem to appear most frequently, so I've decided to clear the air once and for all.

You see, I had a high fever and very little oxygen between the ages of one and four. Also , mom used to carry me around by the ankle, leaving my head to bounce merrily along the pavement. And of course there were the paint chips for between-meal snacks.

The point is, I'm not responsible for my actions. Or the notes. So leave me alone (unless you have honest, libelous dirt to spread). Modular Loon. Fayerweather's former master of the 12-string, Chris Justice, has finally abandoned his cardboard packing crate and settled in for some serious, committed depravity. Dr. Bullsuits is on a teaching fellowship at the University of Vermont, pursuing a master's degree in mathematics, and undoubtedly frightening small children. C'est le boeuf.

Golden Gate Book Twelve, Verse Four. And it came to pass that he known as the Tsar sojourned in the Valley of the Squaws, by the Lake of the Tahoes. There, he received shelter from the one called Bob Van Wetter he who places fiberglas slats beneath his feet and slides down mountain peaks for the golden shekels of the great god Peugeot.

But it was raining and really yucky, so the Tsar blew that cheeseburger stand and went to San Francisco.

And 10, in the land of Kesey, quakes, and kool-aid, the Tsar did spend day upon day. And his many adventures there were chronicled in the following epistle:

"So, Dirk - First I should tell you that before I left the I.B.M. boot camp in Dallas for Tahoe, I encountered Mike Hogarty, who is also an 1.8.M. enlisted man. I told him I was working at the Chicago office. He told me he was working at the Honolulu office. "He'll be out of the hospital in about three weeks.

"Fortunately, I escaped assault charges and made it to Frisco. Big mistake much strangeness. While dining at the Sir Francis Drake with Gay Macomber, Brian Stewart, Lucy Irwin, and Frazier Smith, I happened to glance across the street at the Hyatt . . . and there were two naked guys standing in the window. Hint of confusion. (I'd already seen nude Californians shoveling their sidewalks, however, so I acted fairly nonchalant.)

"I learned that Brian busses, Lucy architects, and Gay sells computers in Palo Alto. That was all very interesting, but on the way to Brians house, I saw yet another naked guy on display in someone's bay window. Snap. That was it- Vaughn leaves S.F. Score: California-4, Halyard-0."

Legal Matters. On the other side of the continent, Jimmy Bynoe is booking at B.U. Law School, and Lon Povich is doing the same thing at Harvard.

Another, hall monitor of the northeastern corridor is Betsy May, who married Tom Hudson last August. They're living in keene (a small town south of Hanover), while Tom seeks permanent-type career status and Bets} works for Yankee magazine.

Quick Cross-Country Clips. Random access, moving from east to west.

Debbie Wesselmann is in Hanover writing trillions of soon-to-be-bestseiling novels.

Nothing is happening (nor could it) between the banks of the Hudson and Lake Michigan. Here in Chicago, Bob Smith is working for Inland Steel. Bob's not what he used to be, but I don't know anyone who's what Bob used to be.

Up in Detroit, Marvin Smith is working at a hospital and applying to various med schools. That's got to be tough. I wouldn't even send Jenny Toolin to Detroit.

Next door, in Minneapolis, Brian Hitchcock is undoubtedly embarrassing our class in public places. Hitch is a stockbroker, and from what I've seen of the Dow-Jones lately, he's been breaking a lot of stocks.

Out in Denver, John Haroldson is banking at 5,000 feet. And Mono Johno is reputedly catching some weekend skiing with Kevin Lewis and the boys in Winter Park. (But how do you catch a skiing anyway?)

Finally, all the way up in Seattle, Suzy Hopkins is working for Baccala and Shoop Insurance. Suzy recently received a dozen roses from that incurable romantic (anyone with a cure, let me know), Tyler Zabriskie, who is training for the Peace Corps in Nairobi. I'll bet roses are expensive in Nairobi.

Well, I'm tired of writing now. Not that you're boring - it's just that I'm not having fun talking to you anymore. Sorry.

Postscript. I generally try to write something amusing here.

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