So Sarah said to me today, "this is the anniversary of my fall." This referred to the day 5 years ago when her body gave way to an as up to that point undiagnosed cancer, and she fell to the ground, and became "almost paralyzed." That's when she found out she had cancer.

That lead to her being told that she had a few months to live. So here she is, 5 years later. Those 5 years have been a combination of the highest levels of accomplishment, difficulty and pain.

I had recently given her this book by Dr. Sandra Steingraber, called "Living Downstream." This book, written about a decade ago (or more) by a young female medical doctor battling breast cancer herself, explains a lot of the environmental issues surrounding breast cancer. Sarah said that she didn't realize what the book would mean to her when I gave it to her until she started reading it. It isn't really pleasant, though.

The author, a midwesterner, incredibly intelligent and sensitive, hails from Havana, Illinois. Havana is a town of between 5 - 10 thousand along the Illinois River in central Illinois. In another lifetime, (circa mid 70s) I drove the Western Illinois University student newspaper, the "Courier," from it's office on the square in Macomb, Illinois, to Havana to be printed. It was a little more than a half hour drive.

The "Courier" had been kicked off campus for being too radical and was being published from a second floor office on the southeast corner of the square. There was, however, enough support in the community to keep the Courier going, thru all of this. Afterall, the Courier is "the" official student newspaper. It had to survive and be independent. I worked there for a time, had a car, and one of my jobs became driving the layout sheets to Havana. I also wrote a nutty column called "Bacon Fat." I have no idea what I wrote about, but I'm sure it was political. I've always written about politics.

That was around the time that WIU student president, Neil Stegall, who looked a lot like Frank Zappa, was elected homecoming queen. And let's not forget that when what is now Wetzel Hall was built, the administration, swept up in the spirit of brotherhood from that time of the 70s, held an election to name the new behemoth dorm. I guess they thought Lincoln or something like that would win. They probably were surprised when Hendrix won. That was quickly the end of that flash of democracy. At least that's what the scuttlebutt was.

Also, it was about that time when 10 or so young, very liberal teachers from the English Dept., one of which was Julie Grainger, my favorite teacher during my time at Western, were fired after just one or two years. Julie's husband, (I think his name was Dan) long hair, beard, bluejeans, was faculty sponsor for the white panther group at Western. They were probably on the left of the group, but 8 or so others who also were young, aware, active, and progressive also were fired. It was a wholesale gutting of a Department of the best liked teachers. The reason: they weren't making "sufficient progress" on their phd. How obvious can you get? A bunch of students held protests and a sit-in but to no avail. It was like having your leaders ripped away from you. It was demoralizing, and I didn't last much longer at Western.

Other strange happenings occurred. One of the first Editors of the Courier that I became aware of was Paul Reynolds, who also played lead guitar player in local bands, even for awhile with Ken Pitlik, who later became Ken Carlisle of Caddilac Cowboy fame. Reynolds wrote an editorial column called "Reynolds Rap" and apparently had an unfortunate gunshot wound to his leg keeping him from being drafted. ouch! Another of my friends took the more painless path of starving himself to a toothpick. I just won the lottery and never had to worry about it.

But then my off campus roommate and singing and performing partner in our duet "Donham and Chaffee," Rich Chaffee, who never was really an "activist," found himself as the first college student to ever address the Illinois state legislature during statewide anti-war protests. And I would have to mention the famous Blues Concert, Bukka White, Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters, and BB King. I think that was Bill Deutch's accomplishment, if I remember. Oh, but that's another lifetime. But the mind doth wander during reflection.

Back to Havana. I love Havana. It's a cool town. It's an Illinois River town. There's been some great music bars in Havana. There is so much native American culture around there that one of the music clubs in Havana, and I wouldn't be surprised if it is still going, pretty much as it was back then, had most all of the walls covered with displays of arrowheads and other native American artifacts. I mean like thousands. Of course, every place has it's issues, but as far as towns go it is in an interesting location and has preserved much of it's historical character.

But the coolest thing about the Havana area is the sand dunes. There are these areas, overmanaged but mostly preserved, managed by the IDNR, that have natural communities that are completely different from anywhere else in Illinois. It's sort of like the great lakes sand dune communities, but it has a bit of the Florida panhandle dunes to it also. Right in Illinois!

We have this clump of sand phlox that is blooming right now in our back yard near our house. We got a start from a piece that had been uprooted by a road grater on a sand road up in the Havana area. Now it is a huge clump, and gorgeous. We love it. I'll try and get a photo of it posted. So I have positive feelings toward Havana, Illinois. ! I always felt close to Dr. Steingraber because of my familiarity with Havana and that part of Illinois. That's why I wanted Sarah to read the book. But the collage of her reading the book with her "anniversary" has been a powerful combination. All of this really has my mind going.

Back to the Courier. Even before I came to Macomb, The Courier had begun to speak out against the government. For God's sake, it was the late 60s and early 70s. College kids didn't like being drafted and sent to Vietnam. Some of the leaders of the local student white panther group, such as central Illinois writer and activist Bill Knight, got into key positions on the Courier.

Macomb, however, at that time, had a very entrenched and powerful local conservative faction. They were funded primarily by the cornerstone bank on the square, I think it was City national or something like that. These local conservative interests, including the churches, were and probably still are deeply entertwined with university economics and politics.

Those interests were outraged that a university funded paper could speak out against the government in such an irreverant manner. And, you have to give them credit, because I don't think this happened very often, (although I don't know for sure) but they put their money where their mouth was, and actually funded an alternative paper - the "Catalyst," which also had an office on the other corner of the square, competed for ads with "local" businesses, and put out a pro government position, particularly on the Vietnam war. In the aftermath of the worst of those tumultuous times, the Catalyst quietly went away and the Courier has since returned to campus. I don't, for the most part, keep up with it, although I do get emails from friends in Macomb.

Anyway, I digress. I don't know why I'm thinking about Macomb tonight. I was talking about my day today, and now I've been on a time trip back to another lifetime of Mark.

Back to today. On my myspace page www.myspace.com/markdonhammusic I undated my status and mood this afternoon. I basically said that my status was that I hoped that I could take my long underwear off once and for all this spring. I think my mood was pretty good way back then. I'm not sure what it is now.

I like to be told things that make me stop. But I don't like to be told things that make me cry. I do a lot of crying inside. A man's not supposed to cry, at least that's what the song says. And I am very vulnerable to a good song. I think the lesson is, that an anniversary isn't, in and of itself, a cause for celebration. But it is a time for reflection.