View of Riverfront Boulevard and Pittsburgh Skyline (Postcard Series)

A lot of changes have taken place in downtown Pittsburgh.

The William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh (Postcard Series)

LINK

Historic Pittsburgh

A View from the Top of the Cathedral of Learning (Postcard Series)

Webster Hall Hotel now the Webster Hall Apartments

Saint Paul Cathedral

December 15, 1973 (A Dream)

It was in the balcony of some auditorium. It could have been the old church, but the layout was not quite the same. I was ushering people to their seats. Denise Johnson was there and I escorted her to a seat halfway down the aisle. Each participant in the event or service was given a sleeping bag. Barbara Bruno came in while I was busy and seated herself next to Denise, to whom she was talking in the most strident of voices. I went down to give her a sleeping bag and ended up explaining to her how it was operated, where the zipper was and that kind of thing. I looked down to the main floor and sitting in a curved row of chairs was Val Franklin. There were two other people, both male, sitting with her, whom I did not recognize.

December 12, 1973

I'm sitting here not knowing whether to write or shiver. Yesterday Mike arrived to spend a few days. When I awoke I felt decent except for a slight sore throat. During the morning I drove to Squirrel Hill to do some shopping. Back home I read while waiting for Mike to arrive. I had to work for part of the afternoon, so Mike accompanied me. I felt giddy the entire time and noticed a flu sickness coming on. At 4:30, I told Mike I needed to take a short nap. Walking home, I was raped by the wind. I felt as wispy as gossamer. Back in my room, I fell to the bed and wrapped the blanket I had retrieved from the car around me. It was the blanket from Atlantic City and there was still sand in it. Mike started to read, but I knew he must have been bored stiff. Before I mentioned that it would best if he just left, Mike himself made the move. There was no other choice.

I was out of it for the rest of the night. I was physically unable to raise myself. As much as I wanted to change my clothes and put on my thermal undershirt and crawl underneath the covers, I just could not motivate myself. It was similar to the feeling that a heavy acid trip gave me, the mind and body totally spaced-out and magnetized to a certain sound or visual. The flu trip, though, is an agonizing one, while the acid trip is usually a joyful one. I remember the time I was sick in February of my junior year at UB. The day the sickness really hit me, I made the decision not to attend classes. My twelve "free" records arrived from Columbia and the sickness has wearied me to such an extent that I couldn't make the effort to listen to any of these new albums.

Mom called me about 8 and that seemed to take me out of a drifting course toward sleep. At least the call made me feel bereft of a much-needed and longed-for sleep. She instantly knew I was ill from the sound of my voice. She called me since I haven't written in some time. Doubtless, she felt guilty for calling me when I was so intent on getting some rest, but then how many times do I retire at 8PM. Eight AM has been my bedtime more often than eight PM over the past few years.

At 9 I resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be getting any sleep for awhile, so I did some reading. At 4:30 I was awakened by some hammer-like pounding coming from #5, that fucking weird person Milo. He was making frequent trips up and down the hallway, walking with what sounded to be a slight limp. Earlier in the evening, someone had knocked on my door, but I had been trying to sleep and didn't feel like getting up to answer. Maybe it was Milo, but what would he have wanted. Making all that noise at 4:30 in the morning convinced me that it must be attention he is craving.

December 7, 1973

Grayce and Bev

What a night! Where do I begin, so much has happened. Will I get it all down and will I carry through? Yes, yes, yes, I must. This time it is of the utmost importance. It cannot be only the quantity of wine that has made me feel bold, but rather the injustice that has been directed against my word. Yesterday I found evaluation forms in my mailbox with a note from Mary Ellen. They were for Kryzs' class and were to be handed out and collected by me. As I was passing out the forms, Kathy Reithmueller asked me if Dr. Kryzs would see them. I told her no, they would be going straight to the office where they would be complied and then made public. Kryzs agreed to my passing out the forms and left the room for 15 minutes. Tonight I learned that after class Kryzs plowed up the stairs to the office and demanded to see the evaluation forms. I should have been able to predict this from his initial remarks upon returning to the room. I am really infuriated at his lack of cool. His unethical behavior roused me into action. However the confrontation might have gone, I had the entire weekend to cool off; consequently, the incident was pretty much brushed aside, although Forsman was there to spur us on at the moment of frantic call to arms.

When I should have been staying around after class to observe Kryzs' actions, I was nestled in the otherworld of Mrs. Hodges' office practicing music for the evening program. That went on for nearly an hour, after which time I walked home, called AAA for a jump, wolfed down some lunch, and drove my car (once revived) to the VW garage on Allies Blvd. to get a new battery installed. I did spend some time in the library later on. I talked with Grayce for awhile and we giggled a lot as we always do whenever we're together. Like silly grade schoolers, but it isn't as ludicrous as it sounds, considering the scholastic environment we have been placed in.

December 3, 1973

Sue and Michael convinced me to sing with them in Mrs. Hodges' Christmas program for the GSLIS party this Friday night. I wonder if Foster will want to go. Nothing like getting sucked into something, but now that I have committed myself to this, it should be interesting, especially since the number of participants seems to be constantly growing.

My car needs a new battery. The cold weather is sapping all of its juice. When I went to start it this afternoon, the engine struggled to turn over. I don't want to keep calling AAA for a jump. Why didn't you get jumper cables, you stooge? Yes, I know, the money was better spent on an album. There is no way I'll make it through the winter with my present battery. I remember someone telling me those exact words. It must have been the guy at Hudson's garage in Falconer.

The Tuesday Before Thanksgiving 1973

On the way home, I picked up this girl hitchhiker on Bayard and drove her as far as Negley. It was a very humanitarian deed since it was getting uncomfortably close to five, and the chances of getting massacred in the 5:00 rush hour were rapidly increasing. During the day, Mel's fondue party was constantly on my mind; still, I was not inclined to attend. After a PBJ muffin, I went to GSLIS and put in my three hours for the day. I brought my radio along, and that helped to pass the time immensely. When I thought it to be nearly 7:00, it turned out to be twenty of eight, which left me twenty minutes to get to the Guild Theater for the two Fellini films, Satyricon and Roma.

I neglected to mention the impression of my drive from North Hills to downtown Pittsburgh in the early part of the afternoon. The effect was extraordinary in that I felt I was cruising down Harbor Blvd. through Costa Mesa heading towards Newport Beach. The same hill and slant of the roadway, the same gaudy strip of stores and restaurants. The similarity was far from identical but enough to cause a definite feeling of deja vu. Heading towards Pittsburgh, there was no ocean to be met, just a miniature Manhattan. During the afternoon I was in two places three thousand miles apart and really experienced the effect of their spectral presence.