what a minute, i was just hearing the radio and in one of those
thoroughbred collages after which they slam some song by Cher or whoever
i thought i heard Richard Nixon saying "and that's the way it is.." and
i'm thinking 'is this what made cronkite great?  did he quote nixon every
night?  why on hell did anyone care about walter and his dypsotic
post-salutations anyway?  is it because he mocked mr. richard, the only
famous person to whim i ever wrote who simply Would Not write back to me.
i wrote 20+ letters to aforementioned ex-pres, because i knew from a
friend of a friend that He lived in Cherry Hill, and all i wanted to get
from that most exalted Executive in Chief was a copy of the manuscript of
the only piece of music he ever wroe, because i learned in later days
that Mr. Richard Nixon wrote the theme song for this club he was in in
college, Whittier College in California, the club was The Orthogonians,
and i wrote letter after letter begging Mr. Nixon to please send me the
score to this music, to please help me out because i was putting together
a program of 26 pieces by 26 composers for every letter of the alphabet
(that's alkan, beethoven, cowell, davies, eisler, felciano..) and i did
not have an "n"  (i later settled on Nanes, wait no i didn't), and so i
wrote letter after letter to Mr. Nixon imploring his most exalted
ex-presidential buttocks to please just do me this one favor, and the
sunuvubitch never even wrote back, never nodded, never did shit to make
me think i was alive or dead or somewhere inbetween, and i shoulda
forgotten about it by now but i didn't, because the plot thickens, i mean
somewhere in 1992 i was sitting behind some desk hating myself for
this ridiculous piece of life id chosen to wheezle out for myself, when
who should call me on the phoe at work but soandso, the librarian at
Whittier College, RNs alma mater to which i had angered off a letter not
5 days earlier bitching about the way in which RN had ignored me and so i
was turning to Whittier in hopes that they would have some archival
interest in extending the RN name beyond the Obvious *.*Gate shit that
goes everywhereeverywhere, and they did, and what they told me smoltered
the stuff of my bones, because they told me tha they'd "sent you a fat
envelope of information about Richard Nixon's musical compositions" and
that they did not know why i had not received it, but i knew why, it was
because i moved from one armpit at 166 West 75th Street to another
asshole of the universe at 9 Cabrini way the fuck up in washington
heights where i sat drunk and poignant in the middle of riots and
attention-getting nonse which smashed my windows and made me really
scared for the first time in my pinkpink life, and somewhere between 166
West 75th and 9 Cabrini i lost the complete musical works of Richard
Nixon.  that librarian who called me, he said he'd forwarded my letter to
"mr. nixon" and soandso, richard nixon's best friend in college, and in
the weeks that followed i saw that mr nixon did not answer me, and i saw
that mr. nixon's best friend did not answer me, and suddenly the silence
was enormous, and i felt like the most giant asshole that ever lived,
because i was ignored by a president, and i knew for sure tat Richard
Nixon knew my name and he saw itand said "no."  he shook his head.  i
felt power, i felt like garbage.  i knew that Mr. President knew what i
wa thinking and i knew that he said "no."   i can't describe it.  it was
powerful and i feel it every day.  i wrote that bastard at least 100
letters.




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