Wayne F. Burke writes

Al Dugan (1923-2003)

when I walked into the

bathroom

he was drinking from a can of

Budweiser he shoved back into

his valise;

I followed the stench of his B.O.,

his brick red face

his corduroy jacket with

elbow patches,

up the corridor to the

classroom

where he had an argument with the

regular professor over the

quality of Joyce's poetry

(he thought "good")

and later

that night

Mahoney, my asshole poetry buddy

and me

went up to his suite,

where "guest lecturers" stayed,

and Al, Mahoney, and me

got drunk and

I shouted "long live Henry Miller!"

and Al asked

did I ever read Miller's essay

on money?

and I said "no" and

afterward

kept my mouth shut 

and listened to Dugan and

Mahoney rap

back and forth

like the pot pipe being passed

and Al, at one point

brought out a poetry manuscript

given him by the college's poetry professor

whom Mahoney called a "lousy Hebe"

and Dugan said "my wife is Jewish"

and Mahoney said "I did not know,"

and I blacked-out and

when I came-to

remembered nothing else of the

night

except

Mahoney and Al,

thick as thieves,

had agreed 

that the professor's manuscript 

was "shit."

[Alan Dugan was a teacher of mine as well as correspondent. His work won him the National Book Award, Pulitzer, and Prix de Rome.]

 Alan Dugan -- Raymond Elman