Writings
Some Advice for Professors Everywhere
Following is some advice for professors everywhere that should serve as a useful reminder. I offer it with respect and good intentions, knowing full well that we don’t always live up to these standards. Still, it never hurts to try. Check your ego at the door. Earning an advanced degree and securing part- or full-time
D-Day, 1944: A Black Veteran Remembers
We have lost one more World War II veteran. Richard L. Walker, born May 7, 1924, passed away on October 26, 2020. Son of William Walker, M.D., one of the first black physicians in Colorado Springs, Richard walked the body-strewn Normandy beach with his battalion on a forced march to Cherbourg shortly after D Day,
The Conscience of a Conservative
“Of course, you’re very conservative” Both sides of my family were lifelong Republicans, and approached their lives conservatively. By that I mean that they valued the contributions of the past to their current happiness, they took care to preserve their tools and other possessions (rather than throwing them out and buying new ones), they paid
A Bartender’s Guide
Kenny rang the bell and shouted, “Last call! Drink ’em up! You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” It had been a good night. He would walk with around $200 in tips and needed every penny of it for his annual trip to Key West. Plus, his girlfriend was always tight
Get the Message
A poem is an equation written on the wind, riding on memory from one seer to the next, ancient as the spoken word. I can see the last of the species scribbling away in a feverish dream as the sun burns the ground, furnace in the lungs, every color flooding the mind, recalled in silence.
A Bartender’s Guide
Kenny rang the bell and shouted, “Last call! Drink ’em up! You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” It had been a good night. He would walk with around $200 in tips and needed every penny of it for his annual trip to Key West. Plus, his girlfriend was always tight
Get the Message
A poem is an equation written on the wind, riding on memory from one seer to the next, ancient as the spoken word. I can see the last of the species scribbling away in a feverish dream as the sun burns the ground, furnace in the lungs, every color flooding the mind, recalled in silence.
Ode to the Great Black Swamp
The classroom rug was a little crusty, stamped with squared-off primary colors. At its far end, the beautiful Miss Chantry sat cross-legged in white stockings and a plaid wool miniskirt, while the rest of us sat “Indian style” upon the rug before her. From a stack of old favorites, she selected a crisp, clean book
The Amitabha Stupa
My visit to the Amitabha Stupa in Sedona several years turned out to be one of those epiphanies that shift the direction of one’s life. I knew little about Buddhist tradition and even less about Buddhist architecture. I learned from some research that stupas originated in India nearly 2,600 years ago, before the Parthenon was
Beyond Sight: A Vision for Inclusive Public Transportation
The contemporary cityscape presents a daily challenge for the blind and visually impaired residents. They navigate through intricate infrastructure with only the help of their sense of touch, hearing, and remaining sight, constantly aware of every movement and sound in their vicinity. The matter becomes particularly complicated when considering public transportation – a critical aspect
The Paladin
Oh my lady with waves of red,Thoughts of you race through my head. A heart of gold cloaked in snow, The fallen angel who lost your glow. Taken from you through devil’s rage, Soul entrapped in unyielding cage. Lured in by lover’s tender kiss, Betrayed by love in a secret tryst. Driven by pain and drunken mourn,Once again pricked by