Arts
n the early 1970s, I was living in Washington, D.C., as part of CCNV, the Community for Creative Non-Violence. I would get gigs speaking at coffee houses, bars, and the occasional college or university. It was all part of CCNV’s outreach, attempts to bring awareness, first to the Vietnam War, and later in D.C. to the brutal conditions of the homeless population. Sometimes my appearances were only personal, reading poetry I had written either as a child or young adult or before, during, or after prison. It was at one of those personal times, a time when I was feeling overpowered with loneliness and confusion while reading in a coffee house/bar just off DuPont Circle, that I met Rachael. Rachael was a military brat whose dad worked at the Pentagon and just saying hello to me could have caused all kinds of problems at home, but she did say hello at a time when I desperately needed someone to say hello. I know at the time we both needed a friendly hello.