---------------------------------------- Note  11   PHILLY 
               *** A Story by Dr. Graper ***
 
         9/26/80   9:32 pm     healy / udps
Dear Mr. Healy:
 
        Only stopping in.  Will get around to meeting you
in two weeks or so.  I always come by on Fridays, return on
Sundays.  
        Currently living in Philadelphia.  Big rats.  Snotty
black kids, sitting on your doorstep, calling you names.
Drunks, sprawled spread-eagle on benches next to Orthodox
Jews waiting for buses.  Brutal police.  People trying to 
break in.  Fear.  
        Life as one of twelve white people on a city 
block of one hundred.  Voices in the night.  Loud portable
radios playing funk, funk, funk, oh, the drums!  on and on,
never ceasing, they're driving me wild!  can't the natives
be quiet on God's day at least?
        "You'll get no respect from these savages," the
governor said.  "Heathens, the lot of them.  Hardly a place
for a young student of communications like you."
        We sipped our brandies, looking out at 49th and
Pine Street from the veranda.  
 
---------------------------------------- Response 1 of 1
               *** A Story by Dr. Graper ***
 
         9/26/80   9:33 pm     healy / udps
        Subserviently, a black man dressed in white came
up behind us.  "Umm, bwana, people outside. . .spray 
graffitti on walls and cars. . .I fear. . ."
        The governor patted him on the back.  "Come on,
Buni-buni, you've nothing to fear!  You're one of us now!
Civilized!"
        "Umm, bwana, they say. . .they say he__ comes!"
        "He?" I asked.
        "A silly ancient inner-city myth," the governor 
said, waving his hand as if to dispell the matter.
        "No myth!  No, bwana, this no myth!  It true!"
        "What exactly is__ this myth, Buni-buni?" I asked.
 
        And so on.  Philadelphia.  A real trip, man.
 
                Your Friend,
                Dave