Home Sweet Home—For A Little While Anyway

Kingston, Massachusetts
June ‘77

The house was originally built in 1720. Comrade Richard, the guy who
let us stay in the house, told us to make ourselves at home. Inside,
the place was pretty much gutted, but it had a roof and best of all,
it had a fireplace. Actually it had eight rooms and seven fireplaces.
The floor was rough wood and there were only a couple 5-gallon cans to
sit on, but once we got the fire going, it was "home sweet home."
After showing us the place, comrade Richard said we could spend the
night if we wanted to, and then he left. With that good news we hoofed
it back to where we had left our tents and bikes (hidden well off the
highway behind an abandoned house). Unfortunately, Richard had left
his bike lock key back at comrade Richard's house. While Richard broke
camp, I rode my bike back to get the key. The six-mile excursion (two
walking, four on bicycle) was in the wettest rain and windiest wind I
had ever done time in. It would have been a lot worse, however, if
there wasn't a warm fireplace at the end of the line.

I met Richard walking toward me upon my return. When we finally did
get back to the house, we restarted the fire and got out of our wet
clothes. Sitting by the fire, I even think we laughed as we reflected
on the hardships we had just encountered (the day before Richard's
axle broke and in Plymouth, Plymouth Rock was not all
that spectacular.) That night we ate hamburgers cooked over an open
fire, and washed them down with cold beer—a real treat. In the
morning, it was hot coffee, toasted hamburger buns, and pretzels.
Comrade Richard also stopped by to see how things were going. It was
still raining, so he gave us permission to stay another night. That
made us extremely happy. We had our castle for another day and night.
We spent the day relaxing. Oh, by the way, yesterday I started smoking
cigarettes again.

Comfortable

Crackling fire,
popping sparks,
black charred wood,
warm happiness.


Bicycling In Massachusetts

Morning rain:
brown pine needles,
wet nylon,
raindrop eyebrows,
water trough tongue,
and my sticky,
earthen tent.

Afternoon rain:
chilled to the bone,
cloud burst streets,
open anxiety,
faith,
and spun water
bicycle tires.

Evening rain:
night shroud victim,
stiff and rigid,
cold, damp, cold,
drowned fantasies,
yet, time forgotten.

Doing P-Town

P-Town Cat-house



June 9
Atlantic Coast Bicycle Trip

In the evening, Richard and I went to the cinema to see Sylvester
Stalone's movie, Rocky. It was a good flick. When we left P-town it
became apparent that, when it came to bicycling at least, Richard and
I had different agendas. We had to make an effort to coordinate our
daily schedules—food, biking-time, etc. We only made forty miles the
first day. I think things will come together in a couple of days.

June 11

Two nights ago we set up camp outside of Kingston, Mass. We were
still forty miles from Boston. At 2 a.m. the rain started. At 3 a.m. I
moved into Richard's tent. The following morning I paid homage to all
waterproof tents. It was still raining in the morning when we walked
into town for coffee and doughnuts. We underestimated the distance. It
was a two-mile walk. Wet and miserable, we stumbled into the coffee
shop. We had brought books with us because we weren't planning on
going anywhere. Neither one of us was into bad weather biking. After
an hour of sipping coffee, the waitress told us about the library down
the street. When we arrived, it was closed. We had a three-hour wait
before it opened, so back to the coffee shop we went. After we had
told the waitress the "whole story" about why we had returned, the guy
drinking coffee at the counter told us we could hang out in the house
that he was remodeling.

Provincetown, Cape Code

Massachusetts
June, '77

I arrived in Provincetown just as the sun was setting. On the map,
Provincetown was small, so Richard and I had not planed a meeting
place. We both thought it would be easy to find one another. Walking
my bicycle down Main Street, however, I began to have second thoughts
about that decision. It was already late, and the weather forecast was
not good—wet and windy, so I took an $8. a night, ($6. thereafter)
room at the Codder Boarding House. Once I got settled in, I went back
to looking for Richard.


I passed some street musicians playing guitars by a city fountain.
The dog, also part of the group (I think), was doing the singing. Just
off to the side of that hilarious scene sat Richard, or should I say
reclined Richard—his rain gear for a pillow, and his lanky body
stretched out on a bench. He had book stuck in his bearded face—what a
sight! Leaning on the back of the bench was his ten-year-old K-mart
clunker of a bike. But, hey, it got him here, all the way from Michigan.

Our reunion went super—pizza, beer, and, of course, sharing the
stories of our respective trips. Outside the pub, the rain had finally
decided to fall, but inside it was warm and cozy. Provincetown was
definitely a good place to meet. Main Street was only large enough for
one automobile at a time. We were told that the seaside shops and
boutiques, on particularly stormy days, become the town's seawall.
Even so, the rising surf, on particularly bad days, managed to make
some of the streets impassable. In addition to the tourists, the
town's other contingent--the free spirited artist community, filled
the quaint shops, restaurants, and bars. Provincetown was also home to
a large gay population. A visit to P- town should be on everybody's
"list of places to go."

Rhode Island

Atlantic Coast Bicycle Trip
June 7, `77 pics James bridge, map

Rhode Island was pretty nice. At first, the roads were bad, but they
got better. The nicest part was where all the bridges came together by
the bay. I had to hitch across the Jamestown Bridge. I wanted to stay
and explore the history around me, but unfortunately, I was on a
schedule. Tomorrow I'm supposed to meet a friend at the tip of Cape
Cod. I got to know Richard at CMU. Before he became a college student,
however, back in Houghton Lake, he was the little kid brother of a
friend of my best friend, Mike. It was nice that we were able to hook
up and become friends once he reached college age. Richard was under
time constraints, so instead of doing the whole trip together we
planned to meet in Provincetown, Massachusetts, and from there we
would ride north together.

When I peddled into Dartmouth I was wondering where I was going to
camp. I stumbled across an old vacated Howard Johnson's restaurant and
although it was a little early to stop, I took that as a signal to
call it a day. Walking through the deserted building, I decided to use
the lunch counter for my bed (after I cleaned off the inch of dust).
Because I didn't have to worry about rain, I could leave my bike fully
packed, and that made it easy to get an early start in the morning. I
still had more than a hundred miles to go before I reached Provincetown.

There was time to kill before I called it a night, so I went over to
the near-by gas station and became friends with the attendant. Before
the night was over I had played a game of basketball with one of the
locals (in the schoolyard across from the gas station) and watched
Rhoda on TV with the gas station attendant. It was a good night! Sunup
found me back on the highway. It was cloudy with a little rain—okay
for biking, but that was about all.

Biking Along The Hudson River

Atlantic Coast Bicycle Trip
June, ‘77


After an hour of rest, water, and a peanut butter sandwich, I was
back on the highway, pedaling up the west side of the Hudson River. I
could barely believe that I had survived. The farther north I went,
the better it got. Unfortunately, while biking up the beautiful Hudson
River Valley, I had a flat tire. I fixed it only to have a blow out a
short time later. I had to hitchhike twenty miles into Nyack, N.Y.
where I bought a new tire and tube. After fixing the tire and getting
back on the highway I came upon a lake complete with swans, ducks, and
geese. It was a "no camping lake," but I was getting pretty good at
watching out for the people who watched out for me, so under the cover
of darkness I set up my tent, and collapsed on my sleeping bag. I was
a very, very, tired body.

In the morning, I went back to pedaling up the Hudson, and after
crossing over Bear Mountain Bridge, I found myself in the woodsy
rolling hills of Connecticut. There were no long highways to get me
across the state. I had to piece together my route using a patchwork
of about twenty roads. Actually, it turned out to be a nice way to go.
There were a lot of hills, and the ride was peaceful, quiet, and
beautiful, even though I was traveling along country roads that were
not your typical country roads; $100,000 homes were everywhere. I
guess it was the kind of country where "Mom's apple pie" was the
absolute best.

I met Frank yesterday. We were both being ferried across a river, and
we were both on bicycles. He was into speed biking. He would take
frequent twenty-mile bicycle trips and try to go faster each time. We
traveled the next thirty miles together. In fact, I camped that night
in the backyard of one of those $100,000 houses—his parent's place.
That's where I met his brother, Jeff. He worked at a bike shop, and he
gave me a biking cap and a biking t-shirt. He also lubricated my chain
and running gear. The whole family was really nice. I had two hot
meals and a shower--meeting people like that made all the "bad stuff"
worthwhile!

Burning Eyes, Choking Fumes, Intense Fear

Hudson River


Map Of Congested Traffic In New Jersey

The Only Bicycle Route Available
June 6, `77

In morning rush hour traffic, New York City was 25 miles away.
Bicycling was a nightmare, only I wasn't dreaming. It was impossible
to continue, so I pulled into a parking lot to wait out the congested
traffic. There was this guy changing his flat tire in the parking lot
and after I told him I was bicycling cross country, he told me that I
was going to be beaten bloody and robbed before I got out of N.Y.C.
That put me in a good mood! Actually, I thought the guy might have
been thinking about doing the dirty deed himself, so I walked my
bicycle over to the other side of the lot and sat down to read my book.

9:30 a.m. found me back on the highway, confronted by an array of
bridges that would not allow bikes to cross. I tried hitchhiking, but
found it impossible, also stupid. There was no place to stand, let
alone to get picked up. One route remained open to me. It was the
route that everybody told me would be absolute suicide for a pedal bike.

Burning eyes, choking fumes, deafening, incredibly deafening noise,
and intense fear; that was the madness that I threw myself into. I
expected it to be bad, but not that bad. I survived, but I don't know
how. For three solid hours I became a mass of concentrated energy. "I
gotta get out of here; I gotta get out of here;" were the words that
loudly echoed in my head. I stared straight ahead at the pavement in
front of me and pedaled as fast as my legs could carry me. I finally
collapsed somewhere north of Jersey City, my adrenaline depleted, and
my face totally blackened from the soot trailing from behind the
semi's—the same semi's competing for my survival space.

New Jersey Gets A Bit Strange

Cape May Beach



Atlantic Coast Bicycle Trip
June ’77

New Jersey highways were in rotten shape, I mean impossible in some
places. The potholes and separations made biking extremely unpleasant.
I even had to get off and walk my bike in a couple of places. I've
been told that the roads will get better, but if one thing has
remained constant throughout this trip, it has been the "bad
information" I get from the average Joe on the street.

For four days I had been wearing the same shirt, so it was time for a
change. When, in a little New Jersey town, I passed a rummage sale, I
went shopping. I had a problem choosing the right shirt from all the
ten-cent shirts that were in front of me. I didn't have a problem
getting rid of the shirt that I was wearing, though. It got trashed,
and since I liked the new shirts better than the only other clean
shirt that I had, I bought new shirts and donated my clean shirt to
the sale. As it turned out that was a good move because Don liked the
tank top that I contributed to the sale. He and his wife, Maryann,
invited me over their place for a shower and a hot meal. They were
originally from Michigan, and after some delicious fried chicken, a
shower and clean clothes, I said good-by to that very friendly couple.

As I continued on toward N.Y.C., the trucks (lots of trucks), buses,
and cars did not make for very pleasant biking—a bit of hell,
actually. I camped thirty miles out of N.Y.C. I figured it would take
another whole day to get through the city. It was pretty early when I
camped and as it turned out, I did not hide myself very well.
Fortunately, it was a friendly hippie kid who found me and instead of
kicking me off the property (his parent's property), he invited me up
to his house, a big old house surrounded by woods. Once inside, I was
greeted by two more of his long-haired friends who were sitting at the
kitchen table smoking Tai sticks. I was invited to join them, so I did.

Jay was 17 years old and living in his parent’s house with his 15 year-old girlfriend. As we were smoking dope his mother came into the room and got a beer
from the refrigerator. I wasn't introduced. I had become just "one of
the boys," I guess. The four of us (the girl didn't smoke) proceeded
to get really stoned while Jay's mother and father were watching TV in
the other room. All and all, it was an interesting afternoon.

Oh, I forgot to mention that yesterday, while I was biking through
Cape May, N.J., a photographer jumped out at me. He was walking along
the sidewalk, as I was peddling down the street. He asked me if I
would let him take my picture. He also wanted to know if I would set
for a short interview. His newspaper office was right around the
corner, so I agreed. The short interview turned into a long interview,
and after a few more pictures I was on my way again. I'm not used to
being so popular. It was a strange feeling. He said the story would
run in a couple of days. I should have had him send one of the papers
to my parent's place, but I guess I wasn't thinking very quickly at
the time.

New Jersey

Delaware Beach

Ocean City, Maryland

Atlantic Coast Bicycle Trip
June `77


The weather hasn't been good. The last time I saw the sun was back in
Virginia. Last night it rained. Ocean City, Maryland was kind of nice.
It was a tourist city, but somehow I liked it. Maybe it was the wooden
boardwalk along the beach, or maybe it was the huge beach with the
roving bands of people crowded everywhere. Whatever it was, I liked
it. All in all, though, it wasn't as good as that night I spent on the
beach in Delaware. I camped right on the ocean. At least there, the
sun came out long enough for the setting sunlight to wash over the
vacant ocean beach—very pretty. There was quite a bit of wind, but
being the only person on the beach made for a very peaceful evening.
It was just the sea, the sand, and the two beers I had earlier bought
for that occasion, a Coors and an Olympia. Together, the three of us
soaked up the scenery as the fading light brought out the stars.

Yesterday, I took the ferry over to New Jersey—immediate
civilization. The towns were close together, and I'm still getting use
to being around all the people. There was one benefit; I
didn't have to look very far for a bar. When I needed a break, there
was always one handy. I even found one that served draft beers for a
quarter (instead of dollar beers)--nice. Last night I camped off the
highway along a power line. It was good because I got to eat my
bologna sandwich and cold beans in peace, way away from all the hub
bub of civilization.

Today I'm going to end up close to New York City. Tomorrow I plan on
riding through the city. It's drizzling out right now; the flowers are blooming, though. It smells good.

Steak, Ribs, Hamburgers, Corn, Potatoes, Grits

Somewhere In Maryland
Memorial Day ’77 pic tent guy

Biking started out good, but soon the clouds rolled in, the winds
picked up, and the temperature dropped. By late afternoon, I was
straining at 80% output to make 20% distance, so I pulled into a
schoolyard. Tired, cold, and exhausted, I went behind the main
building and set up my tent in-between two outbuildings. That got me
out of the wind. I also felt safe there. After eating a bologna
sandwich, somewhere in Maryland, under cloudy, cold skies, I began to
feel a little bit better. It hadn't started to rain yet, but I was
sure it would. I was close enough to the parked school busses, so that
if it rained hard, I could probably find shelter there, provided the
doors were unlocked. My hope of finding a campsite where I could lay
over for a day in order to miss the holiday traffic was pretty much
dashed. I was not in the best of moods when I heard voices outside my
tent.

Eric and Ben had come to investigate. Both boys appeared to be just
under ten years old. They were eager to hear my story. Ben must have
been especially impressed because he returned after 6 p.m. and invited
me over to his parent's bar-b-q dinner. I wasn't hungry, though. When
the boys left, I opened a can of cold spaghetti and ate the whole
thing, and that was on top of the sandwich I had earlier, but I didn't
have the heart to turn the kid down.

It was a large black family gathering. After I introduced myself to
Ben's father, his mother handed me a plate heaped full of hot food.
There was steak, ribs, hamburgers, hot dogs, corn, potatoes, and
grits. (She left the grits off the plate. She probably figured the
white northern boy wasn't ready for the grits and she was probably
right.) There I was, in front of all that delicious hot food with my
stomach full of spaghetti. I did manage to eat the ribs, (but silently
I hated myself for not being hungry). I could only manage a bite or
two of everything else.

That was the most southern hospitality I had ever experienced and it
was very much appreciated. When I went back to my tent I was very
uncomfortable. Fortunately, I didn't have to lie down right away
because I had become a celebrity among the kids in the neighborhood.
Ben's friends all came over to see the tent-guy on the bicycle. That
gave my stomach a little more time to digest before I hit my sleeping
bag. Thanks Ben!

Chesapeake Bay Bridge—Welcome To Maryland

Atlantic Coast Bicycle Trip
May, ’77

Well here I am again, writing in my journal twenty-four hours after
being interrupted by the two girls who had also stopped at the Dairy
Queen for a respite from the afternoon sun. The girls asked if I
needed a lift and I accepted. I put my journal in my bicycle bag, the
bicycle in the back of their pick-up, and we were off to the
Chesapeake Bay Bridge. It was already late, and without that
thirty-mile ride I wouldn't have made it to the bridge. The bridge was
mammoth. It connected South Virginia's coastline with the peninsula
reaching down from Maryland. The bridge was sixteen miles long with
two of those miles tunneling under the Chesapeake Bay. I stood for two
hours hitchhiking before Greg picked me up (no pedestrians or bicycles
were allowed on the bridge). I was offered a beer and shared a joint
with him. As we crossed the bridge we listened to good music on his
stereo. It was a nice ride, indeed!

As it turned out, Greg was vacationing with friends and he suggested
I spend the evening at their campsite. I accepted. After a ten-minute
ride, we pulled into a Virginia camping park, and I met Gary and Ray.
That evening I enjoyed good company, beer, and smoke dope. I was the
first to call it a night, though. In the morning, the fellows wanted
me to stay on. It was Memorial Day weekend and they said it wouldn't
be safe biking anyway. At first I thought that was a good idea, but
after a couple hours of drinking, smoking, and girl watching (most
weren't even weaned yet), I decided biking was an even better idea. I
thanked the lads and headed for the open road. I knew I had one full
day of biking ahead of me before the vacationers started migrating
north from Virginia Beach.

North Carolina--Outer Banks

Ocracoke Beach And From The Air

Hatteras

Atlantic Coast Bicycle Trip
May, `77


Things weren't quite so gloomy today. Once I left Beaufort, the
weather cleared a bit (over 5 inches of rain in two days), and the
highway became bicycle heaven. Cedar Island was nice. The ferry over
to Ocracoke was especially nice, probably two hours over to the Outer
Banks. Ocracoke was sand, ocean, and people, that's all—very nice! I
met some good people on the boat and again that night in the park.
After everybody had crashed, looking at the moon, and listening to the
sea's lullaby, I thought to myself what a great day I'd just had.

The next day I boarded a ferry to Hatteras, a much more
commercialized island. The ride lasted about an hour. The Outer Banks
were beautiful. I met a lot of quick acquaintances, all nice people.
I'm really glad the Outer Banks happened. Maybe now my tolerance level
for ill tidings won't be so low. Ocean swimming, sunshine, biking, and
lots of nice people have a way of reinforcing everything that's good
in life. In fact, what else is there! To be continued…

Little Steve Asked What’s A Custodian

Carolyn's House, Beaufort, N.C.
May 26, `77

Morning came and with it more rain, not torrential, but consistent. I
decided not to ride in it; instead I found a spot under an overhang
and stuck my thumb out. Around 4 p.m. I was about to give up and go
back to Mikes to rent a room for another night, when Carolyn
approached me. "This is the second time I have passed you by today,"
she said, "You look like you could use a hot meal." She didn't live
far away, so I followed her on my bike.

After I arrived at her nice middleclass house, Carolyn introduced me
to her husband, John, a psychologist, her son, Steve, and her teenage
daughter, Lenore. Carolyn was a music teacher. She was in the kitchen
making spaghetti when she told Lenore to take me in the other room and
play something on the piano for me. Lenore was a little embarrassed,
but she did what she was told. We went into the drawing room where I
sat down, and listened to her play a beautiful piece of music. A
friend of the family composed it, and as far as I was concerned it had
the flavor—almost to perfection-- of the countryside I had just
bicycled through. Lenore giggled when I told her that because, as she
informed me, the piece was entitled "North Carolina Reflections."
After Steve had his turn at the piano, all of us were called to dinner.

I was fortunate to run into the Mead family. When Carolyn asked me to
dinner, I had already made up my mind to stay at Mike's Hotel, and it
would have been easy for me to excuse myself, but
uncharacteristically, I agreed to go with her. I remained "centered"
the whole time I was there which means I did not let myself fall
victim to expectations, familiar or otherwise. I did not become
anxious. I did not feel out of place. At dinner, John asked me what I
did for a living and I told him I was a custodian at a university.
Steve spoke up and said, "What's a custodian?" I told him a custodian
was just another name for the janitor who cleans the floors at his
school. Everyone at the table except Steve felt the embarrassment. It
wasn't a big deal for me, though. I just let it go. I didn't even feel the need
to talk about my university studies.

When I left to go back to Mike's Hotel, I felt high. I was pleased
with myself for not getting caught up in the judgment and evaluation
game. In fact, it was especially gratifying because the Mead's were
the classic "name dropping" family. I wasn't sure if they were vying
for status for themselves, or for North Carolina, though. When I
settled back in old #7 (my room), with a beer and a bag of potato
chips, I was still high. That night, I watched another good TV movie.

Lake Superior For A Friend

Gill’s Answer To Locke--Science Is About Method And Logical Structure—Not Facts

The Catholic Church condemned the heliocentric view of the universe as “false and contrary to Scripture” (1616) and Galileo, after publishing his most famous work, “Dialogue Concerning The Two Chief World Systems,” was found guilty of heresy and spent the rest of his life under house arrest.


Action And Knowledge Shared A Natural Unity
The Real World--The Subjective World

In order to see how scientific results were produced through the
application of method and analytical thought, "one only had to look at
how Kepler" according to Gill, "cast his solution to the problem of
Mars in geometric form, or how Galileo extended the methods of
Archimedes (his work in hydraulics and mechanics) to the dynamics
dealing with momentum and gravity." Newton's Principia was also
written like a geometry text, and that also was an instructive example
of how method and analytical thought worked together to produce
scientific results. According to Gill, knowledge meant structure;
"systematically ordered structures originating in social or
mathematical milieus." The formal sciences with their axiomatic
deductive arrangements demonstrated that idea. But, so too did human
behavior.

According to Gill, action and knowledge shared a natural unity.
Actions expressed knowledge, not as the "sum of accumulated facts,"
but more as a form of developed action. "Education," Gill was fond of
saying, "totally over estimated the importance of gathering facts."
The empirical disciplines were based on the mistaken assumption that
their methods were scientific. Because of that assumption, the "hard
sciences" became separated from the humanities by bottomless abyss. By
throwing out the worldview of "common sense," Dr. Gill was
reestablishing science and the humanities on same "playing field."
Once all was on equal footing, he was free to pursue his pet
project—applying analytical tools to ethical behavior. His mission,
academically speaking, was to take ethics and morality out of "the
circus sideshow antics of the moral relativists," and put them
squarely back where they belonged—in the rarefied air of logical
necessity.

Well I'm not going to settle that debate here. Whose morality are we
talking about anyhow-- the guy's with the "biggest stick," or the guy
promising eternal life? Most likely our ex-President, Mr. Nixon, would
say, "Hit first, and be ethical latter!" Dr. Gill would say that
doesn't make sense, and would jot down a few theorems to prove it. The
debate goes on!

Objectivity Is An Internal, Subjective, Developmental Discovery

Real World--Subjective World Continued
May ’77


The science of mechanical determinism weeded out all teleological
explanations of purpose in nature. Any explanation that had anything
to do with purpose became bad science. Following up on this reasoning,
Locke developed his theory of knowledge. All knowledge, according
to Locke, came from sensation. Consequently, according to Dr. Gill's
interpretation of Locke: "In order to produce science, three different
kinds of reality were involved. A fact consisted in 1) the material object
as it sent out rays of light that 2) struck the sensory organs that communicated
with the brain that in turn, 3) created an idea corresponding to the original
object.Truth consisted in a point-for-point correspondence between the mental idea
and the original scientific fact." With that set of conditions in
place, Locke gave us our empirical understanding of the "real world."
The difficulty with that view, however, was that (as we now know from
today's physics) the first step in that process has been eliminated.
The real object--the material out of which objects are made-- as well
as the space in which they are located, are all constructs. In this
new reality, facts are known only in terms of the highly developed
theories of which they are part. What that meant for Dr. Gill, (as far
as I can tell so far), was that when things were seen correctly, they
were seen scientifically, but seeing things correctly did not
necessary mean seeing things the way they actually were. It simply
meant seeing things in the most informed way possible. Gill
believed objectivity was itself "an internal, subjective,
developmental discovery, as was the real world out there." In other
words, Lock's "common sense" notion of science and scientific
discovery, according to Dr. Gill, "had blurred, on a significant
level, our lived interior and exterior boundaries."

Dr. Gill told the class that that method of seeing—scientific seeing,
was first discovered by the Greeks, most notably by Pythagoras and
Plato, and then reached its fruition in the geometry of Euclid of
Alexandria. Later, Archimedes of Syracuse also made some important
contributions. And, when Medieval artisans and craftsmen, in the
pursuit of artistic growth, combined geometry (theorems and axioms)
with their own experimental methods, the scientific method as we know
it began to take shape. That method matured in the work of Copernicus,
Galileo, and Kepler.

The Real World--The Subjective World

Newton And Locke

Beaufort Hotel Room
May, `77

I think I understand better now what Dr. Gill was
aiming at when he told the class he didn't believe in common sense.
Back then, however, I didn't understand him at all. To me, back then,
he even sounded like a space alien. What he was trying to get into our
heads was that a large part of what was being taught in school was
wrong. In particular, the "common sense" notion that John Locke
popularized was wrong.

Locke, who was a member of Sir Isaac Newton's inner circle of friends,
popularized the work of astronomers and physicists of his day.
Newton's discoveries showed that the planets moved by mechanical
principles. And, since mechanics characterized the objective world at
the time, Locke was able to make the distinction between the "real
empirical world of objective reality" and that much more
individualistic world of our subjective impressions. Locke turned this
empirical worldview into his theory of knowledge. Not only did Locke's
theory account for the celestial mechanics of his time, it also
produced enlightened ideas on religion and politics—the same ideas
that later served as the foundation for the American Republic.

Locke could not be faulted for his conclusions, especially the ones
that followed directly from his conception of a deterministic
universe. After all, he was only drawing conclusions from the science
of his time. Religion, for Locke, became a personal, individual,
subjective matter, while science dealt with objective fact. The
science of mechanical determinism weeded out all teleological
explanations of purpose in nature. Any explanation that had anything
to do with purpose became bad science. Following up on this reasoning,
Locke developed his theory of knowledge.

Nixon Frost Interview

My Philosophy Professor, Dr. Gill




My Room, Beaufort Hotel
May 25, `77

Morning coffee, and I didn't have to bicycle to get it. Great! It
was a good movie last night, too, but the highlight of the evening was
David Frost's interview with Richard Nixon. I was glad I at least
caught one of his interviews. I couldn't believe Nixon was our
President, or maybe I should say that I did believe the office of the
presidency concealed the man. Unless the President wanted to reveal
himself, he could remain completely obscured by the pomp and
circumstance of the office. Nixon was a rheumatoid. He lived in a
make-believe world. He told Frost the reporters on the news program
Sixty-minutes were out to get him. He said most of their reporting was
fabricated, but he also said that he had only watched the program once
in his life. What a jerk! He lived in the dark ages. He probably kept
Machiavelli's book, The Prince, at his bedside. I once told my
Philosophy professor, jokingly of course, that I thought Nixon was
from another planet. After listening to him last night, that joke was
not so obvious. But, then again, as I remembered it, I thought that
that old Professor of mine was from another planet, also. He talked as
if he was, anyway.

Dr. Gill didn't believe in the practice of "common sense," or at
least that was what he told the class. Maybe he was right! If Nixon
could get elected to the most powerful office in the world, and in the
process, rain terror down upon all those he labeled un-American, then
maybe we didn't live in a world that practiced common sense after all.
To be fair, though, I think I understand better now what Dr. Gill was
aiming at when he told the class he didn't believe in common sense.
Back then, however, I didn't understand him at all. To me, back then,
he even sounded like a space alien. What he was trying to get into our
heads was that a large part of what was being taught in school was
wrong. In particular, the "common sense" notion that John Locke
popularized was wrong.