My Perfect Day

        Maybe there is something wrong with me, but I am a very simple man.  I hear folks talk about snorkel dives in Aruba, Vegas slot machines, or fancy cars, and I have to admit I’m too busy at home to take all that in.

        I read one time that Arnold Palmer had a golf game with a guest at his home club in Latrobe, Pennsylvania.  It was a one of those early fall days- crisp sweater weather but not too cold.  Arnold turned to the fellow and said, (paraphrased) “You know, I’ve been all around the world, but I’m just as happy to be here at Latrobe as anywhere.  This is a perfect day for golf.”  One thing about Arnie- he was world class, but didn’t get above his raising and forget his roots.  I admire that.

        I’ll never amount to what Arnie did, but I can identify with his sentiment.  My perfect day would be to see my favorite patients till lunch, play golf in the afternoon with Jacob and the choose-up boys, then eat supper with my family.   I’d say grace and be thankful for the good fortune that my people live in peace the way we do. Then I’d check in with my blog pals and write a few words about my day.  After that, I’d get together with Darrell and Summer, Moose and Warbler and all the gang and pick bluegrass music till two o’clock in the morning.  The next day I’d get up and do the same thing again.  I guess I am boring, but that is what I’d do if had to walk the green mile tomorrow.

        What would y’all do on your perfect day?  Write and let me know.

Dr. B

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Art of Sound Part Three- Mike Marshall

        On Sunday afternoon, Mike Marshall put on a concert with the Shelby High School Orchestra.  Schools used to do these things.  In fact, at the turn of the century, (the 20th that is) there were even mandolin orchestras all over the country. 

        It was an interesting mix.  Marshall grew up in bluegrass, but had a teacher early on who insisted on formal music theory and the ability to read music.  Because of that, he was able to teach these kids from both perspectives.  They not only did a Vivaldi Concerto, and a Concert Piece in G composed by Mr. Marshall, but learned to improvise and play bluegrass and other traditional music. 

        As Mike put it, music is like the wind.  It knows no borders or divisions, and blows freely across any artificial boundaries.   I liked the concept.  And I was moved not only by his virtuoso performance, but his ability to communicate with these high school kids and bring out the best in them.  If you have a child in high school orchestra, give consideration to a weekend with Mike Marshall.  For the kids I talked to it was an experience they’ll never forget.

        I was touched by his performance and went to speak to him.

        “Hi, I’m Tommy Bibey.”  We shook hands.

        “Yeah, we met the other night.  Good to see you.”  He looked me in the eye.  “You do have one blue eye and one green one.”

        “Yep.  It’s me.  Blue and green for bluegrass, I guess.  Thanks for working with these kids.  I’m an old mandolin guy.  I sense before you are done our favorite instrument is gonna make a comeback.”  I envisioned mandolin orchestra in my hometown.  “I hope you get there.”  

        “Thanks, Bibey.  I’m gonna try.”

        “My agent says there are only a few truths that have stood the test of time.  To me music is one of ’em, and the mandolin is at the top of my list.”

        “Me too, Bibey.  Good luck in your travels.”

        “Same to you, Mike.”  We shook hands and parted ways, but I am sure we have not seen the last of each other.  It is always good to make a new mandolin friend, and Mike Marshall is talented beyond my understanding.  There is much I can learn from him in my quest.

Dr. B

Art of Sound Part Two

        Saturday the skies cleared and it turned colder.  Perfect weather for the Art of Sound festival.

        A hot regional band kicked it off.  A fellow from Rock Hill, S.C. wore out the guitar, and a Dr. Dean Jenks blistered the banjo.  The lead singer was from Pumpkin Center.  It was a solid bluegrass band, FlintHill.

        There was Old Time and Cajun and gospel singers.  You know the festival is eclectic when you have Scottish guys in kilts who play rock ‘n roll bagpipes.  

        Nashville songwriters Rick Bowles and Phoenix Mendoza put on a songwriter workshop that drew a big crowd, and the Methodist Church hosted a mandolin workshop with four of the world’s top players.  Darin Aldridge, the melodic tonemaster, and Wayne Benson of iii Tyme Out, the definition of the second generation, represented bluegrass mandolin.  Young Thile style wizard Josh Pinkham and master mandolinist Mike Marshall delved into jazz, Brazilian, swing and chord melody work.  These four artists put on a clinic that both entertained and informed.

        Marshall and Pinkham also did a duo set that ranged from classic fiddle tunes to Bach.  Pinkham dubbed it country counterpoint. The spontaneous description was better than any I could think of overnight. 

        Country Counterpoint.  Ask Mike Marshall and Josh to play it next time you see them.  Josh is a precocious young man, but success and talent have not spoiled his kind spirit.  Mike has been on the road a long time but remains a humble mandolin genius, and not the least bit cynical.  Maybe some day music will change the world after all.  Like you, Mike, I hold to the dream.

        There was Jim Lauderdale, Jack Lawrence, Michael Reno Harrell, and the Harris Brothers from Lenoir, N.C.  You ain’t lived till you’ve seen Reggie Harris play slide guitar and the electric suitcase while his brother Ryan wails out the blues.  Reggie plays like Doc Watson, with a touch and soul few can duplicate.  Seek them out and hear them play.

        We grabbed a quick bite then went to the Farmer’s Market stage where the day had started out.  There the Darin Aldridge/Brooke Justice Quintet sang some of the best bluegrass gospel I’ve ever heard.  They just released a new Pinecastle CD, “I’ll Go with You,” that will be nominated for gospel project of the year.

          The Carolinas are lucky to have iii Tyme Out.  They are one of the premier bands in the business and there they were in little downtown Shelby.  They rocked the crowd with their trademark tight harmonies and the soulful lead singing of Russell Moore.  And I gotta say Wayne Benson, along with Darin Aldridge, is one of my favorite bluegrass mandolinists on the planet.  I’m gonna recommend they get my cousin from Pecan Grove one year too, ’cause he’s right there with them.

        It was a lot of fine music packed into one day.  I got home and realized I hadn’t typed out a word on my novel.  I gotta e-mail my agent and get back on it. I still have a deadline of Jan 1, 2009.

        And come Monday, I’ll go back to he office and be a Doc.  As much as I love to play, I ain’t on the planet as gifted as this crowd.  Y’all go support ’em wherever they play.  For me, the music makes me a better Doc.  I’ll be better prepared to sift through all the human troubles we have.  Because of music, I find myself energized and more thankful for my blessings.  Somehow it makes me more empathetic to my fellow human beings and gets me through another week in a tough business.  Someone said it takes a mandolin community to raise a doctor.  I like that, and I thank all the music and arts folks for your inspiration.

       So till the next gig- back to work.  I look forward to the next session, though, and I’m gonna practice more too.  I’m getting older and it’s gonna get harder to keep up with young’uns like Darin and Josh.  I better get at it.

Dr. B

www.artofsoundcc.com

Art of Sound Part One

        I’ve never been afraid to hop in the car and go to a festival.  Someone recommended one called the Art of Sound, so I took a break from doctoring and the novel, and went to check it out.

        We got there on a Friday night.  It seemed a quiet Southern Town.  A silent Confederate solider on the Square stood watch over the local bank.  A lady sat under a tent that served as shelter from the drizzle.

        “Where are they playing music?” I asked.

         “1st National Bank.”  She pointed to a light in the window.  “Take the back steps.”

        When we got to the second floor, we went back in time.  A big band was swinging through the Chattanooga Choo-Choo.  They rendered expert interpretations of Glen Miller, Benny Goodman, and Duke Ellington.  All of them were decked out in dark suits, except the band leader, a Mr. Frank Love, who wore a white jacket.  They had the little band stands like I used to see on the Lawrence Welk Show.  Man, this was a class act.  My foot was just a tapping.  There was ‘Mood Indigo,’ some light rock ‘n roll like ‘Locomotion,’ and then they did ‘Ain’t Misbehaving.”  I loved the cha-cha version of ‘Love Letters in the Sand.”  It was one of Marfar’s favorites when we were courting.  A Broadway kinda girl singer belted several strong vocals.  Where did this little town find these folks?

           I reached over to a table and picked up a schedule.  There was something for everyone in this gig.  Big band, Cajun, jam bands, old time, plenty of bluegrass.  Wow.

        After the Orchestra I went back down the stairs, and a fellow stopped me in the lobby.

        “Ain’t you Tommy Bibey?”

         “Yeah.”

         He handed me a phone number.  “John said to call if you got here.  Mike Marshall is gonna jam at his house tonight.”

        I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to play with Marshall.  If David Grisman chooses a man to play mandolin along side him in his Quintet, and Chris Thile does duets with you, there can be no doubt about a man’s qualifications.  I had heard Marshall play and knew he was great, but I’d never had the opportunity to sit in with him.

        When we got there I was greeted by John and a young man named Josh Pinkham.  I had seen Josh around at festivals and knew he was a player, but I was unprepared for the level of expertise.  He handed me his mandolin, a very nice Red Diamond varnish model.  I played a few notes.  Sweet.  I got out mine.  We swapped mandos for a moment and traded licks.

         This kid could REALLY play.  Thile ain’t got nothing on this boy.  Josh might be young, but he is an old soul on the mandolin.  After supper, Mike and Josh went through some duet numbers for their show the next day.  Effortless work.  They communicated with their mandolins, and had to speak but a few words to convey their emotions.

        Mike pulled out a mandocello, and we all sat down and jammed in the living room.  It was one of those magical opportunities- a chance jam session you don’t wander into every day.   When he did ‘Wayfaring Stranger’ on that thing, I thought I’d died and gone to mandolin heaven.  I played along, but preferred to listen.  Mike Marshall is a mandolin genius.  If you get the opportunity to hear him, GO!  He is playing the festival today, Saturday, Oct 18th.  You can be sure I’m gonna stick around.

        After the Marshall session, we went back by the bank and down the street to the Farmer’s Market.  The Fire Marshall checked his clicker, and said we were the last ones he could let in.       

        Inside a band called Acoustic Syndicate was a house a fire.  (To the Fire Marshall- not literally)  It was rock ‘n roll bluegrass at it’s best.  The lead singer Steve McMurray was soaked in sweat and all the kids danced in the aisle.  They played two encores.  

        It was midnight.  We found a room, and I tapped into the wireless.  I couldn’t sleep and had to report to you.  I am going back first thing Saturday morning, and will let you know.  But, don’t wait on me.  If you live in Western N.C., get in the car and go to Shelby, N.C.  I believe I’d go see for myself.  This one is extra good.

        The schedule for the festival is on the Net at:

        www.artofsoundcc.com

Dr. B

Saltillo Mississippi Part One

        The sign said, “Like Coming Home.”  If Saltillo is any indication, Mississippi means it.

        It took some doing to get there.  We left Atlanta and wondered if we’d make it.  A gas shortage on the East Coast meant you had to get fuel at twenty bucks a pop, but forty dollars of gas and twelve bucks worth of catfish and chicken later, we were there.

        We no more than got unpacked and headed for Saltillo Methodist to play a Hee-Haw show.  Talk about enthusiasm- as soon as I laid eyes on the place I was inspired.  This was a beautiful old church (the first paved road South of the Mason Dixon line runs right by it) with a modern family center in the back.  The steeple was destroyed by Katrina, but they had fixed it.  The stain glass windows weathered the storm intact.  I was glad- I am sure they would be hard to replace.

        I found Smitty and went back stage.  We had time to run through a couple of songs.  I was familiar with the tunes, and the folks were bluegrass friendly, so I fit right in.

        They say there are 3,8000 folks in Saltillo, and I bet 2,800 were in that gym.  The excitement was palpable.  I’ve played enough of these to know.  When the house is packed, and everyone hangs out in the aisles, they are there to take it in, and our job is to give them our best.  All the kids sat down front in anticipation- a sure sign it’ll be a good show.

        The lights went down, the spot light came on, and a blond girl fiddler/singer kicked off ‘Love of the Mountains.’  It rocked.  We cruised through old standards like ‘Power in the Blood’ and ‘Sunnyside.’   It was a tight band.  The girl could sing and fiddle.  There was a fine Scruggs style banjo man, two guitar player singers, and the bass player kept perfect time.  Me and Smitty mirror imaged twin mandolins- he is a lefty and I play right-handed, so it was excellent visual symmetry as well as fine music.

        For the most part Smitty directed traffic and nodded when it was turn to take a break or sing some harmony.  The banjo man signaled the end of the tune with a lift and a shake of his right leg.  I see the old time people do this a lot, and my friend who came in from England one time used the same code.  Bluegrass folks is the same everywhere.

        The skits and joke were polished well beyond the showmanship you’ll expect in such a small community.  There was a Conway Twitty, and Loretta Lynn was so spot on I almost went to to the parking lot to look for my old ’57 Chevy.  The only thing I couldn’t figure is why all 3,800 residents didn’t turn out.  If you live in Northeast Mississippi for heaven’s sake don’t stay home and watch re-runs on T.V.  Get out and see the Saltillo folks play when they put on another show.  It’s a good’un and for a good cause too.

        While I was in Mississippi I went to visit Saltillo High.  It was my primary purpose of the trip.  I wanted to meet the kids in the Bread Loaf program.  We were pen pals last year, and they were a major inspiration for me to write.  I read over their e-mails the night before the visit.  I was amazed how their advice mirrored my agent’s as to character development, dialogue, and how to constuct a tight story.  Their teacher, Ms. Turner is a gem who has taught them well.  

        When I met all those kids, I sure was struck how old I have become, but my heart is right there with ’em.  I hope they realized your opportunity to learn never goes away.  Here this old guy shows up at High School, but is still digging.  They were way ahead of the game, though.  I think part of it is this Bread Loaf program, and I plan to learn more about it.  Ted Lehmann has told me it is very big up North.  Next year on my New England tour, I’m gonna go see for myself.

        We also talked about some tough issues like age old human problems of greed and prejudice.  There just wasn’t enough time.  Like one of the students said, we coulda gone all day and it’d been too short.  Thanks to all you guys- you are an inspiration.

        The students bought cookies and smiles and told me of their dreams and plans.  It made me want to be a teacher.  As a Doc and a writer I like to think I am to some degree, so I appreciate being teacher for a day.  My mom was an English teacher, and a big influence on me, so maybe with this whole writing gig I am reliving my youth.  Old guys do things like that, so I thank you.

        There is much more to tell you about our trip to Saltillo, so I’m gonna post on this over several days.  I just can’t type fast enough to tell it all at one time.  When I was in High School, my typing teacher was old and had cataracts.  I sat in the back of the class and we’d slip out a window and go to Popeye’s store to pick the blues on the guitar.  (Kids, I don’t recommend this approach)  I pay the price to this day, as I am a lousy typist.  That is why I never do long posts, and my book is will take two and a half years instead of the six months it should have.  But I am about there.  One more revision and a bunch of prayers and maybe a publisher will look at it by the first of 2009.

        Of course they might read it and decide, like the first agent who rejected me did, that I ain’t chick litty enough.  If they do, and knock me out, I’ll get up off the canvas and try again though.  I can’t stop now.  

Dr. B

Indian Summer Gig

        We had a gig down on the river today. 

        I think I told y’all, but Indie’s Cabin washed away in the great Eastern N.C. flood.  Well, I knew they had a cabin down there a lot like Indie’s old place, so I got a notion to check him out of the Nursing Home and take him with us.  We carved his name in an old tree stump and told him the bluegrass folks dedicated it to him-  ‘Indie was here,’ it said.

        Indie loves the fall of the year.  Always has.  He says the autumn air is crisper and his lungs fare better.  Besides, fall always reminds him ain’t nothing permanent.  After Blinky died Indie was a bit more melancholy, and fall suited him better than ever.  He’d lived eight days a week anyway but after Blinky was gone, he seemed to make even more of an effort to do so.

        He had a big day, a large time as he says.  He sat in his lounge chair and smoked cigarettes and greeted old music friends who hadn’t seen him out in a while.  He got inspired and fiddled a slow one with us- ‘The Kentucky Waltz,” and rendered it pretty, too.  I don’t think Indie had played in public since he wound up in the Nursing Home.

        He drank a Coors or two, and when we played the second set he went to the river and helped the kids with the ‘Rubber Ducky Regatta.’  Indie ain’t nothing but a big kid anyway.

        After the gig I took him back to the Nursing Home, and got him tucked in.  Ms. Jenkins is gone now, and all he has left is me and Barney the skeleton.  And his roses- he stops to smell them every day just like he tells me to do.

        The other day I found some old sketches of Indie I thought you might enjoy.  I should have dated these- I think they were about mid-way through the Mandolin Case.  It was a pressure cooker, but except for the fact his pal Blinky was gone I don’t think it changed Indie too much.  You know how it is – some things never change and them bluegrass folks are like that.  And Indie was bluegrass people as much as anyone I ever knew.

        Here he is:

Fine Doc and Master Fiddler

The George Plimpton of Bluegrass

        You remember George Plimpton?  He’d pitch for the Tigers or be QB for a day with the Lions.

        Well, now I’m the George Plimpton of bluegrass.  Not long ago, I went to a show by the Circuit Riders.  Boy are they a hot band- strong in every position, great singers, the works.

        At the break I went up to shake and howdy.  I had talked to them at MerleFest, and one of them had read my weblog, so they knew I played the mandolin.

        “Hey, Doc,” Greg said.  “I’m gonna fiddle a few in this set, and Darin is gonna switch off and play guitar.  Did you bring your mandolin?”

        “Don’t leave home without it, Mr. Luck.”

        “You wantta play a few tunes this set?” he asked.

        “Do I wantta play!?”  I didn’t give him a chance to change his mind.

        And so it was.  I got up near the end  of the show and we did ‘Sally Good’in,’ ‘Ashokan Farewell’ and then closed with this set with one called ‘John Riley’ something or another.  I might woulda tangled that one up, but when they kicked it off Darin Aldridge turned to me and said, “It goes to the seven where you’d think it’d be the five Doc,” so I got through it fine.  (That’s some more music theory there.)

        I’ve played in regional bands all my life, but now I can claim at least for one night to be a professional mandolinist.

        And I’m gonna tell tell you it was some kinda big time.  That was as tight a band as I’ve ever sat in with.  Pretty cool for an old Doc.  The George Plimpton of bluegrass was fun.  I hope they let me be him again.

Dr. B

Rich Person’s Hootenanny

        Neuse River played a rich person’s Hootenanny this weekend and it was a real nice gig.  These can be identified in several ways.

        For one the parking lot ain’t pick-up trucks and Honda cars.  It is more like Lexus and Mercedes.  There are neat little checkered table cloths with perfect silverware settings fit for a debutante party.  No one’s gonna eat catfish stew out of a VW hubcap at these gigs, you can count on that. 

        Everyone dresses up in plaid shirts sort a like what those young fellows model in L.L. Bean or the Sears catalogue, and have red bandannas tied around their neck.  Some of ’em wear some nice boots made outta snakeskin.  It costs a lot to be a real cowboy these days.  

        And the chow is always- yep BBQ.  But they ask, ‘Do you boys ever have barbeque at your performances?’  instead of ‘We’s gonna cook a pig.  Y’all wanna come pick?”

        The pay scale is good too.  Once some well-lubricated patron wanted us to play Rocky Top.  Warb told the fellow we had just played it, and the man slapped a hundred bones on the sound board and said, “I said I wanted Rocky Top.”  Warb looked at the hundred dollar bill, put it is his pocket, and broke into the tune, “We spent hours on old Rocky Top…… Up in the Tennessee Hills….”  Another difference here:  In regular gigs we do requests for free, but in a rich person’s hootenanny, we take ’em on twenty dollar bills, especially if they yell at you like that man did.  Besides, he didn’t understand.  For a hundred bones, we’d a taken a stab at ‘Free Bird.’

        Then there is the money back guarantee issue.  One time we played a Christmas Party for the Lance cracker route drivers.  (By the way, for my money Lance is the best cracker in the South.  I am a Doc, but I suspect at least for me Nip Chee crackers and a Co-Cola might cure cancer.  The crackers are still the best even after they took the lard outta of ’em years ago.) 

        Anyway, this was a pass the hat gig for the drivers.  They fed us some fine slabs of steak, roasted corn on the cob, and baked potatoes.  As the evening wore on they had a nip or two and got more liberal with the donations.

        The next day they’d all sobered up and one came by the office.  “Doc,” he said.  “Honest to God, I didn’t mean to put all that in the hat.  It was my wife’s Christmas money.”

        “How much didja throw in Ronnie?”

        “Forty bones.”

        I reached in my wallet and fished out two twenties.  I felt sorry for him, and besides, I didn’t want his wife to hate bluegrass music. 

        And that is the other difference in a regular gig and a rich person’s hootenanny.  If that man who asked for ‘Rocky Top” were to have come by the office and wanted his hundred dollars back, I’d a told him we don’t have a money back guarantee.  After all, it was a rich person’s hootenanny.  They can afford quality entertainment.

Dr. B

On T.V. for Mom

        I was off for the holiday, and it’s a fine Labor Day weekend- still rocking on, and it ain’t over yet.

        Saturday I played a political rally with folk rocker Al Donnelly at the local gun club.  I forgot what party it was, but we are an equal  opportunity band- weddings, divorce parties, funerals, whatever.  The chow was BBQ.

        Sunday one of the McCurry boys got married, so there was some fine picking there.  We had BBQ there too.

        Then Sunday evening I played with Darrell at a church supper.  The food- you guessed right.  BBQ and bluegrass go hand in hand.

        When I got home my mom had left a message on my phone.  “Tommy. Darrell’s on T.V. playing down at the First Methodist Church.  Turn on the T.V.  Then just ten minutes later was a second message from her.  “Why Tommy, I didn’t know you were going to be there.  You are such a handsome boy, (mama needs her cataracts done) but you are looking a bit woolly.  (That means I need a haircut- she’s been saying that since the Beatles got here.)

        I tell you what.  I am closing on on being an old man, but I still dig it when my mama checks in on me.  It makes me feel like a kid.

        As soon as the holiday is over I better go get a haircut.

Dr. B

What I Did on Summer Vacation

        We were off all week on summer vacation, and it was an overdue break.  I guess you might think this is gonna be like one of those dang newsletter Christmas Cards where I tell you all about how I snorkeled in the Caribbean and mingled amongst the dolphins and the rich and famous.  I ain’t making fun and there’s not a thing wrong with that, but I guess y’all know me well enough by now to know that’s not my ticket.  By the way, I missed all my patients and my blog pals too, so it’s good to be back, but we did have fun.

        I guess our vacations would bore you as much as those cookie cutter Christmas cards, but we thought it was special.  My watch battery went dead Tuesday and I didn’t bother to replace it.  Ain’t no point to time how long to float around in a mountain lake on an old inner tube or see how often the bass break the water’s surface.  And I sure warn’t gonna set an alarm clock to tell me when to get up, but I have been an early riser so long you can’t break the habit in just a week.

        I got in one round of golf in with my boy, and my reign as family champion is about over.  When some kid hits a ball 330, and knocks it by you fifty yards your inclination would be to break his ankles, but when he’s your own, you can’t help but bust with pride.  I turned to the man who we were paired with after his first drive and said, “That’s my boy.”  I will brag and tell you I barely squeaked by him for the round, but my day in the sun is about over.  Don’t matter, I’m gonna play golf with the boy as long as he’ll have me.

        I was on assignment for part of the week, but I wouldn’t call it work.  The Laurel Magazine Editor Paul Howey wanted me to to check out Helm’s Barber Shop in Hendersonville, N.C.  This is a bluegrass barber shop where they jam every Thursday morning.  Everyone sits in a big circle for a jam session while folks get their haircut.  As you can imagine, I was a pig in mud.  The write-up will be in the September issue of the Laurel Magazine.  (They are on my blogroll)  Mr. Howey took pictures and everything, so y’all check it out.  By the way, is you read the Laurel tell Mr. Howey you visited them ’cause of Tommy Bibey.  He’ll be making staff decisions at the end of the year and I don’t want to be a line item in the budget if I can help it.

        On Saturday night, we got lucky.  David Grisman was at the Orange Peel in Asheville.  For those of y’all who don’t know, Gris is a master mandolinist who has been around a year or two now.  His style is more of an acoustic bluegrass jazz fusion nowadays, but last night was his bluegrass experience.  His group is well worth the listen and at times is a bluegrass history lesson.  Here is a bluegrass trivia question for you.  My guess is the English Professor will get this right, but y’all let me know if you got the correct answer.  Remember, we are on the honor system, but if you get the question right I’ll give you a Tom Bibey mandolin pick next time I run into you.

        Q:  Who was the banjo picker David Grisman became friends with in California as a teenager?

        A:  Jerry Garcia, who went on to play guitar with the Grateful Dead.  Before Garcia ever invented Dead-heads and neckties, he was a very fine five string banjo picker.  After he was famous, he collaborated with Grisman on the classic bluegrass project, “Old and in the Way.”

        Well, into a phone booth and jump out as a doctor.  Gotta go to work in the morning.  I hope everyone got thru the week O.K.  Like one of professors said, “Son, don’t take too much time away- they’ll figure out they didn’t need you.”  I can’t have that, ’cause I need all of them them too bad, so I better hustle back to the office and try to look important.

Dr. B