I know. I tried and failed. Nothing can beat Clay's description. . . I mean this is wonderful:

"Fire ant bites and stickers in bare feet. Picnic table collapses and goblets thrown in anger. A Benedick and Beatrice who couldn't stand each other, and didn't seem to care too much for their words at times either"

Wow. We, on the other hand, were all into love and peace. Let's face it. We were pretty boring. Or rather what little I remember. I'll go home now and have some warm milk and go to bed. . .

----- Original Message -----

From: Barker, Michael

Sent: Thursday, July 29, 2010 6:44 PM

Subject: Re: [Weeklong-l] New York Times

Hell, in '71, there was cannibalism! Well, not really, but we, well, we got pretty hungry sometimes and it was, you know, a long time to supper I remember once, and all we had was bread and mush, and gitlins, everyday, gitlins, okay, actually, we ate pretty good....but still, it got damn scary let me tell you. The sun was an angry god that year, my friends. Sticker burrs? - Ha! - I laugh at sticker burrs! Just look at our program cover from that year (attached) that I found in my old beat up complete works: Dark. . . Edgy. . . kind of a satanic clown?...maybe a little bit? hmmm, seemed creepier at the time.....Anyway, what did we know? . . just a bunch a crazy kids and a dream.. . .

----- Original Message -----

Sent: Thursday, July 29, 2010 4:25 PM

Subject: Re: [Weeklong-l] New York Times

At times, I have to say, it was a "ring of fire" and I felt as if I were walking on coals. But people pay good money to do that, I've heard. And Bruce is right, every summer had its coal-walking moments. Those make the best stories to tell years later.

Human beings can be difficult. O, what fools we mortals be.

Madge was there, her first summer, she can tell you more some evening...

On Jul 29, 2010, at 1:11 PM, Mike Godwin wrote:

On Thu, Jul 29, 2010 at 10:58 AM, Clay Stromberger <cstromberger@mail.utexas.edu> wrote:

What thuh...?

I was Doc's assistant that summer!

In the great imaginary competition that was going on a while back on these airwaves for Best Summer Ever, I thought about claiming a special category of award for this summer: Worst Summer Ever. None of you, I believe, can claim that title -- so there!

One of the things that surfaced when I met with Britt Block for coffee last weekend was that 1981, which for me was my worst, most traumatic summer at Winedale, was for Britt the best. And that in 1989, when Britt returned as Doc's assistant and I returned as (merely) an older student. Britt had a tough summer, and I had a lovely one. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if someone remembered 1990 as a peak experience.

By the way, Britt says a personal hi to all of us, and especially to Doc!

--Mike

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Clayton Stromberger
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