Chapter 38
Keep tossing those pages friend," he thought. "I'll clean up after you. What a team. . . ." Chapter 3
I was working on a Muse entry, reviewing entries for future uploading. I came across Joe David Bellamy’s name. Joe was a professor at Mansfield University when I was a student and reporter in the late 60s. He was one of a small group of young English professors, all of whom were bright, committed to their field of study and to teaching. Joe taught creative writing among other courses. I cannot remember one thing he taught me but he’s among the most influential teachers I’ve ever had. At the time I was sure I was going to be a famous writer. I was going to write novels, short stories and poetry. I was going to win the Pulitzer. Joe was patient and listened to my dreams and my frustrations in his cramped, book-filled basement office in Belknap Hall. Joe had reddish brown hair and a beard. We all had longish hair back then. I had a beard, too. Joe lived for writing. It was Joe who brought Allen Ginsberg to campus. It was Joe who hosted parties and treated students like adults. One day he told me a story about a man he knew who wanted to be a writer. “He wrote everyday. He was totally committed to writing,” he said. “We lost touch with each other and I never heard from him until 25 years later I came across an article he wrote for Reader’s Digest. He’d been working all those years and finally made it.” Twenty-five years seemed like a long time to me. I graduated. Joe stayed on and edited a literary magazine for a few years, then left Mansfield . I lost touch with him. Tonight it finally occurred to me to look him up on the Web. I found him. It was a page listing his accomplishments. The photo was from 1984. He looked as I remembered him. But I wanted something more recent. I finally found his personal home page and stared in disbelief at the aged man with white hair and gray beard. In the space of one minute he’d aged 20 years! But this was only the beginning. . . .
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