Category Archives: Memoir

Prayer at Big Creek

I’m having a heart attack, I told the 911 dispatcher. She got the details quickly, calmly, then said something that sounded to me as close as I’ll ever get to hearing angels. “I won’t leave you, Mark. I’ll be right here with you until the paramedics arrive. Don’t leave me.”
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The Willis Kids circa 1958

The Willis Kids circa 1958: Diana, David, and Mark. It’s been a long journey. Happy Birthday, Brother David! I am the youngest sibling in the photo, on the far right. I look like I am pleased with the snazzy red blazer worn for the occasion. Continue reading

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Journey in Peace, Wayne Shorter

The jazz saxophonist Wayne Shorter died this morning at age 89. His compositions and virtuosity propelled the evolution of jazz for six decades. He performed with other jazz giants like Art Blakey, Miles Davis, Lee Morgan, Herbie Hancock, and Weather Report. One of my favorite Shorter compositions is ““Ponta de Areia” from his 1974 “Native Dancer” album. Continue reading

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Dark Side of a Half-Century

I remember sitting in a strobe-lit dorm room where someone passed a joint and said, “You have to hear this.” I remember time-warped kinesthesia, but I can’t tell you how many times the ritual was reenacted. So, for Pink Floyd’s 50th anniversary, here’s the Dark Side track that moved me most. Still does. “Another Brick in the Wall”. Kids singing in a chorus nail it every time. Continue reading

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A Ghost Dance for the Turtles

Robert Duncanson painted “Blue Hole, Little Miami” in 1851. Today it hangs in the Cincinnati Art Museum. A hundred and fifty years after he painted the luminist scene in Clifton Gorge, I stood in the same spot and saw a soft-shelled turtle sunning on a snag. It slipped silently into the water when it heard me. That’s when I knew past is present and destiny, too. That’s when my vision of the Ghost Turtles began. Continue reading

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More Manhattan Moj0

I hope I smiled then at their mom, if I can call her that. Hell, I hope I beamed. I should have asked her for their names. In such situations I never think of the right thing to say until a day later. That’s why I’m a writer. Continue reading

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Manhattan Mojo for a Walkable Neighborhood

I felt like the guy in that Joni Mitchel song, “I was a free man in Paris, unfettered and alive.” Except it wasn’t Paris, it was New York. I hadn’t gotten my Manhattan mojo yet. I needed to settle into the tempo of the street, the people and the traffic. Continue reading

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