A Turd In the Punchbowl: The Human Eye With Cataracts by Peter Reum

For the last six years, my vision has gotten progressively more and more impaired due to the rapid advance of cataracts in both of my eyes. Unlike many visual impairments, cataracts insidiously sneak up on you and gradually blur your vision and eventually make your world an artificially dark world, even on a sunny day.  For several years, I did not realize that my  vision was headed southbound, and that my confidence in my own perceptions was being impacted by my vision's deterioration.

Something began to look wrong when I could not read a computer screen at a normal distance, even with glasses.  I found myself creeping closer and closer to the words on the screen, and thought it was due to my corrective lens prescription. I have always trusted my glasses, as they are a part of me, a tool I have used with 20/500 vision since I found I could not see the blackboard in first grade over 50 years ago. In the Disability Rights Movement, we have worked hard to help the general public to see that a wheelchair does not confine a person with quadriplegia, it gives that person freedom to move anywhere they desire, as long as the world is accessible.The Deaf Culture has fought hard to preserve American Sign Language, even though the cochlear implant has made aural correction possible for many people who are deaf.

So, what happens when a person with a disability has the chance to be "cured?" Would a person with paraplegia accept technology or medical intervention that would eliminate fully that mobility impairment? Would a "little person" be willing to accept medical intervention if they could effectively be of  "average height?" That was the question that was posed to me in my 2012 Annual Eye Exam when my opthamologist told me that I would gradually go blind, if I did not accept corneal implant surgery, I was caught flatfooted, as I did not know much about cataracts, at least until he told me that I had a moderate to severe case, and that I could see if I went through with the surgery.

In a sense, the human eye is a ball of liquid, nearly round, with light entering the eye through the pupil, then being focused by the cornea or lens, thereby projecting the image to the retina at the back of the eye, which then travels to the brain's visual cortex. The lens of the eye, due to several factors, including aging, will become gradually clouded, and changes from being clear at birth to opaque in later life, thereby creating a feeling of uneasiness and uncertainty of visual perceptions over time.

With the gradual darkening of the eye's lens comes blurred vision, and an inability to read subtle elements of facial expression and nonverbal communication through body language. Other domains of life are also impacted... I have not driven at night for several years, and my vision has deteriorated to the degree that I cannot read street signs during the brightest part of day.

Into this situation came the possibility of replacing my eyes' lenses with corneal implants. I had been approached with the idea during my 2012 eye exam, and had chickened out that year. In 2013, my opthamologist again advanced the idea, and I accepted his recommendation to have corneal implant surgery. We scheduled the surgery after a review of my health, and I looked forward to the surgery

On last Wednesday, I enter the Billings Clinic Outpatient Surgery Building, and with some mild temerity awaited my first eye to be changed forever. As an aside, I will say that I have been very nearsighted since birth, and have never had the experience of seeing the way ordinary sighted people see....until now. The operation was preceded by some very thorough preparation by the delightful Billings Clinic Staff, and each of them did their utmost to make me comfortable and feeling safe. Having spent the last year reading about corneal implants, I felt that the surgery was a wonderful experience, if a bit anticlimactic.

The operating opthamologist and the anesthesiologist came by and told me what to expect, and then did exactly what they said that they would do. I was under sedation but awake, and remember the surgery as an experience of lights hovering over me like a fleet of UFO lights. The time in the recovery room went by quickly, and they covered my eye with a taped patch, with my orders being not to touch it. I had no feeling in the eye, at least nothing felt painful. The next day, I went to the Billings Clinic Opthamological Department, and met with the operating doctor, who removed the patch.

What I saw in that eye was completely unprecedented and utterly fantastic. My vision measured 20/20 in the eye, and all that I have experienced since has been mind blowing but wonderful. Imagine walking without  a limp if your were born with a bad leg, or whatever metaphor works for you,  The interesting dichotomy that is my vision, is that I still have a cataract in my other eye for a few more days, and it is a contrast bordering on mind fornication....one eye functioning perfectly, the other dark, hazy, blurred, and shadowy.

Next Wednesday, for the first time in my life, I will see as others see, and it cannot come too soon. My sincere thanks to Billings Clinic, the Outpatient Surgery Staff, and Doctors Bell and Schmidt for their amazing work. Your work literally helps the almost blind see.

Remembering Gary Schmidt by Peter Reum

When I began thinking about entering Graduate School, it was after spending six fairly rowdy years in the Music Business. It was the Late 70s, and I had ingested my share of chemicals that made small into large and green into red. I had become a prodigious bong salesman, and pictures of me from that time of my life resemble the notorious werewolf on the Warren Zevon Werewolves of London Picture Disc. My Beach Boys Collection had gone from a hobby to hoarding, and I was questioning whether I wanted to be promoting the latest Leif Garrett album when I turned 30. Like many folks, I had morphed from a high school overachiever into a person who disliked the "straight world."

My acceptance to Graduate School was a watershed moment. It signified an E Ticket into the World of Straight, and my life pace went went from Amish hot rod to Chevelle SS 454 in a New York minute. I interviewed for the Graduate School, and they asked me whether I was interested in teaching Special Needs Children or working with Adults with Disabilities. Since my then wife was a teacher, I chose adults, so as not to step on her feet professionally. The program at the university I entered is still in existence, and like many higher education programs, it was overseen by some very educated men and women with strong ideas on what Human Rehabilitation Services was and was not.  I interviewed for a paid traineeship, and was accepted. This meant my tuition was paid and there was a small monthly stipend to defray expenses.

I walked into McKee Hall that fine September 1980 day in my Lowell George Memorial Bib Overalls and foot long beard, and met some of my fellow students, most of whom asked if I was Mennonite. Among them was a guy who was tall, handsome, and had a long white cane. We had all of our classes together that first quarter, and it was inevitable that I would become acquainted with this man who used a cardholder and stylus and took Braille notes faster than sighted people took notes, and faster in Braille than anyone I had ever met. In fact, if I missed notes, I ASKED this guy what he had heard. We eventually introduced ourselves, and he said his name was Gary Schmidt, and that he had lived in California most of his life, having attended primary, secondary, and Baccalaureate studies there.

My life experience with people with low vision and complete blindness had been very limited. Very patiently, Gary would field questions from anyone who asked him about his blindness, me included. His answers cut through the fears all of us newly minted Rehabilitation Graduate Students had, going out of his way to make US comfortable with HIS blindness. It was a pattern that happened again and again through the two years we studied together, and he became well known and highly respected by both students and faculty in the Graduate School alike. Many faculty unfamiliar with reasonable accommodations for visually impaired and blind students were amazed and educated by Gary Schmidt. His calm and easy way of asking for help and adjustments in information presentation made him very instrumental in pioneering a path for peers with visual impairments and blindness who came after him.

But that was just the veneer of the complex and fascinating man that was Gary Schmidt. He had grown up as the oldest of 5 kids, 4 of whom were stepbrothers and sisters, none of them having a disability except Gary. His parents split over his disability, which is more common than any of us want to admit.  His mother moved to Southern California, and Gary's dad raised him initially alone, and then with his step siblings. As we got to know each other, always over beers on the weekend, slowly the complexities that both of us lived with began to emerge. As Gary described it, his dad blamed him for the divorce between his father and mother. Gary was brought up in an almost quasi military disciplinary environment.  The physical abuse that Gary sustained was both harsh and frequent. He developed an almost detached reaction to it, he said, because he could never predict when it would happen, and, being blind, couldn't see it coming.

Because Gary grew up in the Fifties, there were no agencies to report the abuse to, nor did he dare report it, he said, because he did not want his stepbrothers and stepsisters to be beaten. Gary developed a self-discipline that was amazing to witness. Gary not only excelled scholastically, he graduated with honors from high school, a scholar with highest honors in his class of sighted students. He entered undergraduate study at The University of California-Riverside. His matriculation challenged the then Coordinator of Disabled Student Services, Ed Roberts, himself a person with quadriplegia, and the first student with a severe disability to graduate from The University of California-Berkeley. Ed Roberts went on to become the Martin Luther King of people with disabilities, the founder of the Independent Living Movement and the World Institute on Disability, and the Father of The Americans With Disabilities Act. His influence on Gary Schmidt was profound. The two men believed nothing they could imagine was impossible, and Gary Schmidt transformed services for people with visual impairments and blindness at UC Riverside, and eventually the University of California System.

Having served as a professional notetaker for students who were blind at UC-Riverside for two years taking Braille notes at astounding speeds, Gary decided to pursue his Master's Degree to enable himself to further transform services to individuals with visual impairments and blindness, this time in Colorado. I related to him the sexual abuse I had experienced as a boy, and together we made a pact to work for the expansion of rights for people with disabilities. We were not the only people thinking along that line, the entire disability community across the United States was full of people who wanted the same rights that other populations had fought hard for prior to the forming of the Disability Rights Movement.

Colorado itself was a hotbed of Disability Rights agitation, and Gary Schmidt certainly was not the flaming radical that other people with disabilities in Denver were, with the more militant bunch of folks at ADAPT making headlines with their uniquely effective form of civil disobedience, gathering headlines almost weekly in the Denver Post and the Rocky Mountain News. Gary would say that he wanted to effect change one person at a time, and his approach brought many people to his side, including myself. At the University, there was one Statistics and Research Professor who used the blackboard to teach in a highly visual manner that made the abstract information he was imparting almost impossible for Gary to understand. I appointed myself as Gary's Stat tutor, and we would spend hours demystifying the formulas and precepts that encompass the world of Statistics. Gary did his work in a manner that was stunningly innovative in Stat, and took a "B" and the Professor's respect away from the experience.

Gary's ability to prepare astounding in-depth research papers at a time when every source was gleaned manually in a University library designed for the sighted, instead of being turned up by the Internet, was amazing.  Gary and I took a one week intense grant writing class in our program that put us together with a few other students as a team to write a grant. We developed an idea that was well researched and was eventually funded when Gary reworked it as a professional rehabilitation specialist and administrator. What was utterly stunning in this process was his command of the text of a complex and multi-segmented proposal encompassing nearly 25 pages of text. His perfectionism and pushing for precision and structure in this proposal hinted at the later success he would have as Director of Rehabilitation Services for People with Visual Impairment and Blindness in Colorado.

Gary had a wonderful woman who loved him and inspired him to strive for his full potential. He had met her in California before he came to our University for Graduate Studies. Janis patiently waited for Gary to get done with his program, which lasted two full years, the same as mine. My wife of that time and I invited Gary to live with us in Greeley, as we both had internships in Denver, and could commute together to and from our internship sites, a distance of 120 miles roundtrip. Needless to say, there were boundless chances to talk. Mostly, we spoke about Gary's prospects for a job with Colorado Rehabilitation Services for People With Visual Impairment and Blindness, his upcoming marriage to Janis, and perhaps kids. in both of our futures. His abuse as a kid led to him having a tendency to sleepwalk, with occasionally humorous results. One night, he got completely (and immaculately) dressed for work, walked out the door into the garage, opened the car door, and waited for me impatiently, all while he was fast asleep.

Gary was hired by Services for Visual Impairment, and would ride the Denver Bus System to every nook and cranny of the Metro Area. As time went on, he moved up in the system, eventually  becoming the Director of Services for People with Visual Impairment and Blindness for the State of Colorado. Gary would fearlessly get on a Greyhound Bus to Durango or Grand Junction, not knowing the layout of the destination city. When he would arrive, he would find a pay phone and use his flawless memory to call the local Rehab Office to get a ride there. He and Janis got married, and Janis had a distinguished career of her own as Teacher of Blind Students in the Schools in Jefferson County. They wanted kids, but couldn't have them. Gary made concerted efforts to forgive his father for the violence he experienced as a child, and worked hard to get to know his mother better, not holding her fleeing from his side as a baby due to his blindness against her.

The intensity of our friendship was diluted somewhat by my taking a job in Greeley, Colorado, first at The University, then at the Community Services Board for Persons With Developmental Disabilities. When our first daughter was born, we had a beautiful present from Gary and Janis. When our second child, a child with a severe disability was born, I could not think of a more fitting couple to be her godparents than Janis and Gary. They kindly came to Greeley and took part in our daughter's christening. Time marched on, and the next time I spoke with Gary and Janis, he mentioned that he had been diagnosed with a rare form of testicular cancer. I heard him express the determination I had heard so many times before, and believed him when he said he would beat the cancer.

About 9 months later, having spoken by phone many times, I was told by a mutual friend that Gary was being given a terminal diagnosis, and that it would be wonderful if I came down to take Gary to dinner and to have a "session over beers" like the old days. When I saw him at his office, I was grateful he couldn't see my reaction to his appearance, which was stunning. His cancer had spread to his lymph system, and he had a huge tumor sticking out of his neck, and his usual pale complexion was ghostly white. We spoke with each other over beers for as long as his stamina held out. I dropped him off at home, and gave Janis a hug.

I asked the Colorado Rehabilitation Association to give Gary an award that fall, which they kindly did, with Janis accepting the award in Gary's stead. By that time, he was bedridden, and could not speak. Janis read the award to him. He died that winter, and his funeral Mass was attended by close to a thousand people. I was honored to be a pallbearer. In death, he was honored by the professional association of Rehabilitation Teachers and Mobility Specialists with an award in his name given to the person most exemplifying the excellence Gary pioneered as a Rehabilitation Teacher, Counselor, and State Director.

When I recently "googled" his name, the only evidence I could find of Gary's life was the Award bearing his name. I became determined to ensure that the name of Gary Schmidt, my friend, my colleague, my daughter's godparent, and my hero, would not be forgotten. Every person should have a friend like Gary. His life was a story of love winning over evil, peace winning over violence, kindness triumphing over anger, and faith overwhelming and destroying doubt. His funeral service speaker said that Gary would not know blindness in his afterlife. I think Gary would have been okay either way, as his blindness was such a small part of his inspirational life.

Text Copyright 2014 by Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved

Let The Gang Know What Your Beach Boys Thoughts Are: Your Beach Boys Preferences: The Ultimate Beach Boys Survey!!!

Friends of mine who follow this blog who are Beach Boys Fans will want to complete the survey I put together at Tellwut. We have finished making edits, and the stats are beginning to accumulate.It may be found here: http://www.tellwut.com/surveys/entertainment/music/55494-your-beach-boys-and-brian-wilson-preferences-the-ultimate-beach-boys-survey.html


The results from 2067 respondents for the survey may be viewed here: http://www.tellwut.com/surveys/entertainment/music/55494-your-beach-boys-and-brian-wilson-preferences-the-ultimate-beach-boys-survey.html

I'm History--Van Dyke Parks New Single by Peter Reum

This month, Van Dyke Parks continues the productive pattern of releasing his new music as singles this month with a gorgeous new pair of tracks that offer a chance to see what is on his mind musically and lyrically. The "A" side, I'm History, presents a series of noble musings about the period from John F. Kennedy presidency to the present day. The grief many of us felt when that promising era was cut short is revisited, with a lovely syncopated track highlighted by beautiful accordian, flute, strings, and backing vocals recalling Discover America. I'm History is a track that has been in the works for a number of years, and a live version is available on youtube here...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvifW0pxvo0

The hallowed halls of government (or Venice CA 1903)

Van Dyke Parks Loves L.A....

The lyrics to I'm History are suitably  Parksian in their content. There are double entendres, puns, and a rough narrative forward of the 50 years since the assassination of Kennedy. I'm History tees off on several targets, especially Wall Street, Biblical Fundamentalists, and Tea Partiers. Parks makes the point that all things pass, and as a nation we will be judged by how we treated those of us who are homeless, elderly, children, and have disabilities. It is apparent that he is frustrated in his inability to communicate with Biblical Literalists, and he laments fundamentalists basing their Christian beliefs on The Old Testament.

The Maestro Himself With Inara George

The Maestro Circa 1968

The second tune, Charm School, is a lovely instrumental recalling Clang of the Yankee Reaper. Timbales, steel pans, guitar, and violins are mixed in a tropical gumbo that only Parks can concoct. The tune recalls some of the music Van Dyke has composed for cinema, and one can easily visualize credits to a tropically based comedic farce rolling over the music here. At times the guitar almost recalls the Rockford Files Theme. If you love Parks, his last album (Songs Cycled), or are curious about his work, this is as good a beginning as you will find. If you don't know where to buy the single, bug Van Dyke at bananastan.com. go to ITunes, or listen on Spotify.

Text Copyright by Peter Reum 2013-All Rights Reserved

The Death of American Naivety (and Heroes) by Peter Reum

There are a handful of news reports in my life that have frozen me where I stood and provoked complete disbelief. Fifty years ago, I was a sixth grade student and another student ran up to me and told me that President Kennedy had been assassinated. It burned my ears like no event ever had. In listening to PBS today, I was once again reunited with people my age and older who were much younger then, when we still believed that government's motive was the betterment of the American people. In Cold War Los Alamos, New Mexico, we were used to bomb drills, secrecy, and the idea of keeping the world safe from the Communists. President Kennedy's rhetoric matched the Soviet Union's as the two rivals careened through the Sixties, oblivious to almost anything else except each other. John Kennedy had visited Los Alamos the previous December, and half the town covered the high school football field to hear his remarks.  He had come to hear about a classified nuclear rocket engine that would enable interplanetary travel in the future.

President Kennedy, December 7, 1962 with Dr, Norris Bradbury (left), and Dr. Glenn Seaborg (right)

After the assassination's verification, for roughly 72 hours, the tempo of the town stopped dead, as it did in most communities around the country.  The drama played out in an almost Shakespearean manner, with the accused assassin being apprehended after shooting a police officer, further compounding the tragedy. We witnessed the deplaning of the Air Force One passengers and crew, the unloading of Kennedy's casket, and the minute by minute commentary by talking heads on television. The tragedy was extended when a Dallas nightclub owner shot the accused assassin in front of millions of viewers that November weekend. We had been fast forwarded into the era of mass media reality television without realizing it happened. 

You may view an 11 minute Los Alamos National Laboratory Video of President Kennedy's visit to Los Alamos National Laboratory and excerpts from his speech at Los Alamos High School Football Field here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xkx-KLZN-N4

In Los Alamos, even though later accountings of Kennedy's Los Alamos visit revealed that he was deeply skeptical of nuclear weapons and their utility in international relations between superpowers, and felt that  the "Los Alamos longhairs" were out of touch with reality as Kennedy viewed it (see below), we deeply mourned a man who had recognized our patriotism, sacrifice, and contributions to American Life. Through the years that followed, details of Kennedy's sex life emerged, and his star stopped shining the way it had for a few years after his murder. Kennedy's trip to Los Alamos placed him in a unique esteem that still is held today by many of us who had never been that close to a sitting U.S. President before the amazing day he came to visit us.

A part of us as a nation also died that day. Kennedy was a man of privilege, well educated, impeccably dressed, Ivy League educated, and quite young compared to his predecessors. Many authors have made the point that he was the first of the generation that served in World War II to be elected President. His successor, Lyndon Johnson, also was in Los Alamos that day in December, 1962, and was relegated to a minor supporting role. Despite that fact, Johnson subsequently held Los Alamos in high esteem, and gave us the chance to own our homes and modify them, after having paid rent to the US Government since 1943. But President Johnson  was a different man, older, with a Texas twang that most New Mexicans found objectionable. Texan jokes were de rigeur in New Mexico. It was as if we had our national leadership had morphed from an urbane, witty "modern" guy to a countrified rancher who flashed people with his gall bladder operation scar.

For the Kennedys, the mantle of leadership shifted to Robert F. Kennedy. For Los Alamos, the Cold War was a bonanza for every sort of defense technology the "longhairs" could envision. Los Alamos became the preeminent place for most of the future defense needs of our country. The assassinations continued, and the Vietnam War became a form of national quicksand which destroyed our national unity. There was no chance of restoring the faith in government that the Kennedy Era had ushered in. As his star became tarnished, it was almost as if we accepted the premise that heroism was temporary,and subject to a form of investigative journalism designed to find every hero's unsavory past. Worse yet, we relegated the assumption of honesty in our public servants to the ash heap. The Watergate Era let every American see what had always been there, but had been off limits by common agreement between the Presidents and the Press.....their private life.

When Kennedy's sexual addiction became well known, it was free range muckraking. Nothing began to surprise us as our heroes  became tarnished, slowly but surely, one at a time. We built people up, then tore them down. The list of true heroes has become quite a short list.....especially post Kennedy assassination. Two that come to mind are John Glenn and Neil Armstrong. Both of these men are direct products of Kennedy's Cold War goal of beating the Soviet Union to the Moon. Martin Luther King's legacy is another story closely intertwined with the Kennedys. Yet the press has exposed his sexual episodes with women outside of his marriage as well. The bar has been lowered to the point to where very few people want to seek public service as a career, except narcissists and sociopaths.

But....I remember December 7, 1962 as my one close encounter with a U.S. President, and although he was taken away prematurely, his presence that cold day in Los Alamos is something I will always treasure and remember.It was the biggest day of my nearly 10 year old life, and still thrills me to this day, 51 years later.

Note below: For some perspective on Kennedy's private reaction to his Los Alamos Laboratory visit, see the Kenneth O'Donnell and David Powers book on O'Donnell's years with John F. Kennedy-"Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye" Memories of John F. Kennedy (1972 Little Brown and Co.)

Text copyright 2013 by Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved

The Kids-My First by Peter Reum

On this occasion, my oldest daughter's 29th birthday, I remember her birth by my first wife vividly. Her coming into this world was difficult. Her mother and I had taken Bradley classes, and we decided to try to do things without medication. We had delayed our children by 10 years, which was a wise decision, as neither of us were ready for kids until then. It seemed that I sowed many wild oats in my 20s, and by 31, I had earned two graduate degrees, and money was flowing more substantially than ever before. We had bought a home, and I really thought it would be our home lifelong.

That first home had 3 bedrooms, plus a room for my ever burgeoning record collection. Insanity by vinyl multiplied. We searched for names, and Kalinda, a word from the ancient language Sanskrit meaning sunlight, was our choice. She was born in the Greeley, Colorado Hospital, and her Apgar Score at 1 minute was only 2.  Having been trained in Early Childhood Development, sirens went off in my head. Her mother was still dealing with the afterbirth when Apgars at 5 minutes were 5. By 10 minutes, she had "pinked up" to 8, and at 15 minutes, she was a solid 9. Her screams rang out as she discovered her world, and she calmed down when placed with her mother. Those first few weeks were heaven, as we learned her rhythms and she learned ours. My father asked me how I liked being a father myself.

She was always inquisitive, always spirited, fiercely independent, and wanted to do things herself. More than most of my other children and step-children, my first was observant, and learned by watching. Her mother's intellect was prodigious, and she inherited it. Friends of mine and her mother's dubbed her "Kalinda the Wonder Child." She was expressing her needs clearly by 7 months and walked early.   She loved being read to, and I read her stories nightly for her first 4 years. Preschool was a good experience for her, and she enjoyed the company of other children. By 4, she had developed a sensitive temperament, which she hid well.  From me, she developed a wonderful sense of rooting for the underdog, a quality she retains to this day.  She does not suffer fools who discriminate against others well, nor do I. She had the unique experience of growing up with a sister with cerebral palsy, and loves her sister dearly.

It must have been  hard being the sister who is "gifted" in a family with a newly diagnosed little sister who was a special needs child. Kalinda accepted this role, and, to my knowledge, never showed a bit of jealousy about the amount of time her parents spent with her younger sister in various therapies, special education programs, and other forms of intervention designed to help close the delays her sister had developmentally. As Kalinda entered school, she developed an interest in horses that she kept for most of her elementary school years. She became an accomplished rider, and despite a few falls and broken bones, kept on riding. She also developed a love of singing that she maintained all the way through her secondary school years. She has a beautiful soprano voice and a great ear.

When Kalinda was 10, her mother asked me to leave, and the pain she had in her eyes as I packed and moved out is seared in my soul forever. Her mother and I had grown apart, and we had a painful and protracted divorce that only hurt Kalinda more deeply. She expressed her anger to me, and presumably to her mother as well. I don't know, I was not there. I remarried on the rebound, and my second wife clashed personality wise with Kalinda.  They never really were able to tolerate each other, making Kalinda's relationship with me even more distant. I take full responsibility for this. It was a mistake I will always regret.

I moved to Montana, and Kalinda visited me the first two Christmases I was here. My second wife had died, and I was devastated. To this day, it is hard to determine whether the divorce or my second wife's illness and death was most shattering. I still could not see Kalinda's pain, and I wish I could have. Her mother remarried, and her second husband was a true gentleman. He did not try to win Kalinda over, but simply respected her feelings for what they were. This was a lesson I hadn't learned, and it hurt Kalinda.

Fast forward into the post high school years, and Kalinda went to college. She was absent from my life, and had good reason to be. I had been arrogant. Her mother helped her as best she could,
and to Kalinda's credit, she got through a rigorous undergraduate program in 3 years. She met her future husband, and they ended up getting married and went to graduate school in Montreal. Kalinda got her M.A. in History, and the couple had the first of two children they have today.  The children are beautiful, and have the delicate features their grandmother had.

They live an ocean and a half away, and when Kalinda visits, she comes to see her younger sister. Last time, she generously spent time with me for a few hours, and shared herself with me a little. Her talents are many, and her husband appears to be a generous and attentively loving man. For this I am very grateful. When her mother died, I couldn't help but wonder what things might have been like if I had gotten my act together and stayed, instead of selfishly being self-occupied.  I wish there was a way I could have made amends in a manner Kalinda and her mother could hear.

They say the "woulda, shoulda, couldas" will eat away your soul. I believe it. My beautiful first born is a woman, a mother, an artist, a wife, and a citizen of the world. She has embraced the cultures of other countries, using her camera and her inquiring mind to learn about things I only dreamed of learning. Her mother rests at peace in Colorado, and my Higher Power has seen fit to give me a second chance to be a dad with her sister, now 23, and 3 stepdaughters and 2 children with my wife. My "second family" is a blessing, a chance to make a difference in the most important job a man can have, being a father and stepfather.

Kalinda has a gift for photography that is truly remarkable. Her site, attakat.com, is a collection of photographs that I love immensely. Every few months, I go there to see what my oldest has found wonderful about the world in her travels. If I live long enough, my hope is that one day, I will be privileged to meet her family. In the meantime, once a year formally, and hundreds of times informally, I celebrate her life and her gifts, which are many. She is unique, my first, and nothing can take her place in my heart. You only have your firstborn once, and today, I celebrate her and her life....Kalinda.

The Brian Wilson/Alan Jardine/David Marks/Jeff Beck Tour 2013 by Peter Reum

There are disadvantages to living in Montana. The biggest one for me has been the dearth of top tier concert tour stops here. The Wilson Band/Beck Band tour has been one of those lost opportunities. There are people who contend that Brian has been touring often enough that people may have lost the impetus to catch shows Brian and his band play. Well, having listened to a live recording of the tour, I am certain that people like myself who didn't go have lost a great opportunity to see two titans from the Sixties play their music.

The first thing to say is that Brian and his band continue to be masters of whatever tunes from Brian's palette they choose to play. Those of us who caught the Jimmy Fallon Show got a tiny sample of two hours of great music. Our Prayer/Danny Boy is a sample of the encore the two  bands have been playing. The combination, on first blush appears unusual. The tunes side into each other beautifully. As with Surfs Up, Jeff Beck's ability to make a guitar sing is astounding.

Brian, Alan, and David's set with their band recalls the best of Brian's music, with Alan's incredible voice adding power and honesty to what is already some of the most emotionally honest music ever written.  I was blessed with an audience recording of a concert from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania that is a terrific document of this tour. The show consisted of a little over an hour of Brian, Alan, David, and he band, followed by roughly an hour of Jeff Beck with his band, with the final 25 minutes of the show devoted to a unified set by both ensembles.

This show begins with a chillingly beautiful acapella version of Their Hearts Were Full of Spring, Brian's signature vocal tribute to his Four Freshmen mentors. The band then begins the introduction to California Girls, with Brian singing lead. The version here is playful and bouncing. There is a pretty 12 bar vocals only break near the end of the song. Do It Again is next, with David Marks playing perfect surf guitar over the complex vocals that come in during the choruses. Paul Von Mertens plays what sounds like a bass sax, which holds the bottom together. It rocks, and that is what great surf music should do.

Alan then does Then I Kissed Her, and just like the C50 Tour, he nails it. The version here could have come from Summer Days (and Summer Nights). There is no other Beach Boy who can sound so authentic, so true to the original Beach Boy recordings.  Don't Worry Baby follows, with  nice backing vocals and a pretty lead from Jeff Foskett. A tribute to Dennis Wilson follows, with David Marks telling a great story about Dennis chopping down a tree that David at age 6 fell out of and broke his arm. David then does a splendid version of Little Bird with backing vocals eerily true to the original Friends album recording. Probyn plays some banjo behind  David.

A concert segment follows that highlights American Music. It begins with Brian's arrangement of Ol' Man River, which then segues beautifully into Cottonfields. Again, Alan's incredible vocal brings the authority of the original recording by The Beach Boys into a live performance. The pedal steel in this version helps replicate the single version by the Beach Boys perfectly. Til I Die is next, with its wistful organ and vibes behind a suitably solemn group vocal effort. Brian echoes his backing vocal part on the record. Sail On Sailor is sung by Brian, with this version sounding more blues based than usual. The banjo is faintly present in the background. Brian's versions of this tune the last couple of years have allowed him to reclaim this tune as his own.

Brian loves Heroes and Villains, and has also reclaimed that tune as his to sing in the last two tours. The spooky bicycle rider keyboard part is very audible in this version. The acapella break eats their lunch at first here, but they pull it out and then go into the waltz time cantina section.  Brian then returns to sing the final verse. Probably my favorite tune that this band plays live, Marcella, is next, with a rocking backdrop and some suitable harmonica from Paul. The version here is less guitar and more keyboard based, with a nice bridge. As with some of the other tunes in this show, the sound is a little closer to the original recording than in the past. There is some great guitar work, presumably from David.

The title track from Pet Sounds follows, with the band shining. There is some lovely guitar and Nelson Bragg and Mike D'Amico really stand out on this tune. Paul's sax break here again highlights the jazz roots of many of Brian's compositions. Brian does God Only Knows, singing it more sweetly in the style of Carl's original vocal than in the past. In all, Brian's vocal is loving, sensitive, and tasteful. Sloop John B is next, with Alan taking Brian's first verse. Brian's doubling of Alan on the chorus shows that nothing is lost. Brian takes the second verse, The acapella break is spot on. Alan returns for the third verse, with Brian doubling. Concluding the Pet Sounds segment of the show is Wouldn't It Be Nice. The lead sounds like Alan, with Brian doing the bridge.  The vocals are simply beautiful.

The ending of this first part of the show begins with Help Me Rhonda, with Alan killing it. As on the C50 tour, he owns this tune. Jeff does a nice falsetto backing vocal. I Get Around, with its complex arrangement is next. David's solo on the bridge is short but tasty. Brian sings Carl's part on Good Vibrations, and the tune has the ethereal feeling that the studio version has. Some of the mid range theremin parts are done vocally, which is unusual. The cello triplets are reproduced using synthesizers. Fun Fun Fun is moved to being the end of this segment, and sounds out of place there. Despite that, David plays some cool guitar and the harmonies are perfect.

Jeff Beck and his awesome band do the second segment of the show, beginning with Eternity's Breath.  His five piece band is sufficiently versatile to do virtually any type of music, and I found this part of the concert not just enjoyable, but in some instances, transcendent. One is reminded of the best playing that Weather Report did with Jaco. Jeff's guitar is part improvisational, part literal. The drumming and bass here are tasteful and not only keep time, but amplify and complements the other instruments. Eternity's Breath segues into Stratus, a jazz fusion workout that cooks.

Jan Hammer's Even Odds follows, which combines some classic rock drumming with gorgeous guitar work from both guitarists in Jeff's band. The central riff plays off a descending chord pattern reminscent of Layla in some ways. The violin and guitar play beautifully in sync with each other in the last 90 seconds of the song. A tune entitled You Know You Know is next, with the violin and Jeff Beck's guitar again playing off each other. Time signatures go out the window as the band flies through the tune with the aplomb of a unit who intuitively know where each other is going next.  The sophistication of the violin as a progressive fusion instrument is both unexpected and inspiring.

You Never Know is a tour de force of guitar, drums, and synth. It rocks and swings simultaneously, and is perfect for a band of instrumental virtuosi like Beck's. Where Were You is turned into a sad and mournful blues workout, with Beck's guitar quite literally crying. I have not heard a guitarist be able to do this since some of Jesse Ed Davis's work with Indigenous poet and visionary John Trudell. Big Block is next with a menacing beginning out of Mancini's Peter Gunn Theme. The tune evolves into an unusual almost 12 bar blues feel with a machine gun speed guitar workout over it. Again, this band knows exactly where everyone is headed, but the route can vary from night to night. The time signatures again go out the window.

Beck and his band are then joined by Brian, Alan, David, and their band.  They promptly do Our Prayer perfectly, which then is followed by a segment of Smile's Second Movement, which includes part of Child Is Father To the Man segueing into Jeff Beck's astounding version version of Surfs Up on guitar with vocals by Brian and company. What is cool is that the violin plays the intro to Child live. Beck's subtle and restrained guitar throughout Surfs Up is elegant and it is easy to see why Brian was knocked out in 2005 at Music Cares.

Brush With the Blues is next. It showcases Beck at his best, recalling his finest blues rock workouts. Perhaps improbable, but not surprising is the combined group doing Les Paul and Mary Ford's How High the Moon. For those of us who love their work, it is a piece of ear candy. Beck's version of Day In the Life begins in the restrained world weary manner of The Beatles' version, then escalates into a loud arpeggio which fades back into the world weary theme of the first part of the song. The orchestral crescendo is replicated incredibly by Beck, leaving the listener breathless. His final number, Rollin' and Tumblin' recalls Yardbirds days with a great blues rock interpretation of the old Hambone Willie Newbern blues recording from the dawn of recorded blues.

The two bands played an encore, beginning with the best live version of Barbara Ann that I have heard in awhile. Jeff Beck's solo is short but flaming.  Surfin' USA follows, simple, yet profound in its Chuck Berry roots. Beck's slack key guitar on Danny Boy is so evocative of the great Hawaiian guitarists, especially Gabby Pahinui. The vocals are so splendid as to be spiritual. Thus, an Irish song is morphed into a beautiful Hawaiian hymn.

There are so many highlights, and it is hard to identify just a few moments. Suffice to say that for this brief tour, two of the best bands in the world united to create an experience unique, yet probably overlooked by rabid fans of both bands. Two men who admire each others' musicianship synergistically created an experience that anyone who caught this tour will remember with great appreciation in the years to come.  I can barely wait for the album that Brian is cutting with Jeff as a guest artist. Congratulations to everyone who made this tour happen....

Text copyright 2013 by Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved