In the days of my misspent youth (well . . . I was more youthful than I am now, anyway), I spent many an hour sitting in the infamous Blue Moon Tavern in Seattle's University District, bending my elbow, wetting my nose, and arguing vociferously with guy named Stan Iverson, who was a genuine card-carrying member of the Communist Party. Stan wore work clothes, a hard-hat, and carried a lunch-pail. Actually, he worked four hours a day in a used book store (the hard hat was in case a book might fall off a shelf and bean him, I guess), and he carried a stack of paperback books in the lunch pail. Stan and I talked, we argued, we pounded the table, and we shouted a lot.

During this same period and in the same dark, dank smoke-filled bistro, I also bent my elbow, wet my nose, and argued vociferously with Jerry Pournelle. This was while he was going to the U. of W. and before he turned his hand to writing science fiction. Jerry was (is) a Southerner and a conservative. Very conservative (actually, I think he's a bit more mellow these days than he was back then). Jerry and I talked, we argued, we pounded the table, and we shouted a lot.

Judging on the basis of people I associated with (drinking buddies with both ends of the political spectrum), I wonder what slot they have me in?

Of course, there was my folk music connection. That's pretty bad! But then, Jerry used to come to hoots and hang out with folk singers, whereas Stan did not (I don't think he liked folk music much). It didn't keep Jerry from, among other things, serving as Advisor on Space Policy to the Republican congressional leadership.

Must be confusing, trying to separate the sheep from the goats . . . .

Don Firth.