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Marc Levine has sent us this story about running into Kesey in Palo Alto....I want to write this before the world ends. It was a glooomy evening at the big redwood interiored house at 951 Bryant street in pallid alto, i was living in the basement room that one entered from the outside in the back of the house. the same one Kesey had been on the lam in a few years earlier. It was rainy and cold outside and gloomy and cold inside; Cap'n Ky had left home for another woman. (one who would leave him years later to be with another woman, I told him, "Ed, you just didn't have that certain nothing.) The sadness and lonliness was thick in the air, three kids just asleep upstairs wondering what the world was all about. I was sitting at the kitchen table with Kit having a cup of herbal tea helping the time pass by. The front door flies open, like a fresh blast of tropical wind bringing with it a great dose of light and life, in blows Kesey and a small entourage ( i remember not who, less and less remember do i do). Coming off the interstate powered by stellar propellants, these travelers instantly dispelled the gloom not even dealing with it but replacing it with joy and energy. the lights got brighter, music emanated from the stereo, stories got bandied about and spirits were lifted. Later, in that same house i remember being mesmerized listening to Kesey telling stories that sounded more like music than words. This is my first major memory of the chief. I had been an undergard at snakefart and been on further when Ken had broought his bus to the student union for a tour after a speech there. I was too young and naive to realize just how slick this trip was/is. I do now, living in pittsburgh. "not much rhythm, but you got to dance with them." life is presently calling me out the door. If i don't see you guys in the future, i'll see you in the pasture, merce © Copyright 2001, marc levine
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