September 1983

Readers Write


Many years later, a Catholic priest said quietly of the Germans who had held him in a concentration camp during World War II: “I might have done the same.”

By Our Readers


Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live.

Ruth Rendell

The Sun Interview

After Findhorn

An Interview With Peter Caddy

It is resistance that causes the pain; the less we resist the changes that are upon us, the less painful it will be. Earthquakes and holocausts need not happen on a physical level; they’re already happening in people’s lives on the mental and emotional levels.

By Howard Jay Rubin
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Sharing History, With Rufus

The first time I saw Rufus was in 1967 when she was just a puppy. She was actually just a dark waggle on the end of a leash in the hands of my friend Jerry. He and his new girlfriend, Dolores, were walking Rufus, their new pal, around the quad at Wake Forest. I don’t remember how they acquired Rufus but it had something to do with getting stoned.

By John Rosenthal


When the Indians came to town, Charlie Tabor, the barber, called old Dock Middleton and asked him to come by the barber shop. Then Charlie Tabor needed an excuse to keep the Indians at the barber shop till Dock Middleton could get there, so he told the Indians they’d have to wait until Pink Issacs came to town to give them permission to go out to Bead Mountain. Pink Issacs did indeed own Bead Mountain, but nobody needed permission to visit the place. Charlie Tabor called Pink and Pink said it was a curious story, but he guessed it was true. Bead Mountain was called Bead Mountain, after all, because of all the clay Indian beads that used to lay scattered about. Pink said he wouldn’t mind meeting the Indians and taking them, but he was, that day, too damn busy pulling rusty pipe on his windmill and he said to tell them to feel free to camp there if they felt like it.

By Roxy Gordon

Cement Sculptures

The fine work that Andy Fleishman began in wood a few years ago now continues in cement. This seems almost impossible to imagine. Cement? Where would the fluidity come from, the delicacy of connection?

Cement Sculptures By Andy Fleishman | Photographs By John Rosenthal

Selected Poems

These poems are included in Christopher Bursk’s Place of Residence, just published by Sparrow Press, one of the oldest independent publishers of poetry in the U.S. The Sparrow Poverty Pamphlets, of which this is No. 44, are $2.00 each. (Sparrow Press, 103 Waldron Street, West Lafayette, Indiana 47906).

By Christopher Bursk