Journal, August 17, 1977 PM

The king is dead . . . Elvis Presley died yesterday at 42. I find it incredible and sobering, though I was never a really avid fan.

If I die at 42 that means I have 17 more years to live. Sobering, yes, sobering!

Another thought: During my three years in Peace Corps and outside the U.S., I have missed many landmarks. Nixon was still President when I left. I missed the whole Ford presidency, the 1975-76 recession, several grand international incidents . . . and now the untimely death of rock & roll’s undisputed monarch. What great changes in my native land. Presley was a symbol of something, but I haven’t got it defined yet. Perhaps it was the emotional shout in the dark of his largely un-political, un-vocal generation (emotional but not political).

On the other hand, Ronald Jimenez, a fellow worker at CIGRAS and recent visitor to the States, says college students still crowd into dormitory TV rooms to see old, old reruns of Star Trek. The more things change, the more they stay the same!

<Is this the month Sofia will turn out to be pregnant?> In the past month we had no grave accidents with prophylactics, but even so my most beloved woman will soon be a week overdue for her period. President Carter has said (as did President Kennedy and who knows how many of us peons!) that life isn’t fair. <If Sofia really is pregnant this time I will never again question the inherent injustice in human existence.> I may cry also!

No comments: