Dreams Of A Father

A Pirate Looks At 50

Dave Koch — Thu, 18 Aug 2011 00:52:08 +0000

Even (or especially) against where I was even a month ago, I see how lucky I have been. The past month has been very good to me. (Maybe this is why today is no longer filled with dread a small voice speaks). Continue reading →

Hey Joe!

Dave Koch — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 18:00:54 +0000

I sat down and played the Martin, and that sealed the deal. I plucked one note, a single string without pressing my fingers on the fretboard. As the string vibrated, the most heavenly note swirled up out of the sound hole. It held and expanded and filled the whole room. Overtones emerged, enhancing and expanding in the air like a good wine on the palette. I looked at the bronze string vibrating, and I played another. It rose in harmony to the first, then took over, bursting pure and free and full of joy. I was stunned. And awed. Continue reading →

Welcome Back!

Dave Koch — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 13:01:56 +0000

"Bill, you look amazing", I said to him as he passed by. He just grunted a reply, not so much from rudeness, but because he was used to sycophants; he expected everyone to say nice albeit untrue things to him always, so he was used to passing such comments off. "No, I mean it", I continued as a trailed behind him. "You look like a new man. You look healthy as an ox." Again, he could only grunt in reply; I was not getting through to him. I looked at him, I tried to look deeper than the tan. His eyes were more alert, the wrinkles gone from his face. And he had... "Bill", I continued, "Do you realize you have hair?" Continue reading →

Dream House

Dave Koch — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 14:24:34 +0000

I went deeper into the room as Lisa went to check out the master bath. She opened the door and there was a blood-curdling scream. It seems we were not asl alone as we thought we were! The owners were still there, one in bed, and his wife in the bathroom. "Out of my house!," she was screaming at us. Continue reading →

Inner Revolution

Dave Koch — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 14:32:09 +0000

The further down the path we went, the darker our world became. The clouds thicken and bruised the sky. We came to a point where the path was blocked. Side to side, they had strung razor wire across out path. We had expected this; we had a way around the wire: We went underneath it. As soon as we had cleared that barrier, we saw our next problem. Slowly, lumbering up the hill toward us was a giant rocket on a mobile launch vehicle. The white girders of the launcher were heavy and unwieldy. The weight of the rocket sunk the wheels of the transport into the soft earth, making progress slow. The diesels pushing the launcher up the rise moaned under the stress, the ground reverberating in sympathy with their laboring. Slowly, deliberately, the back end began to swing around as the pushed the launcher into its final position. Continue reading →

Wood and Strings

Dave Koch — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 14:12:38 +0000

We hopped in a golf cart, and headed along a path that fronted the course. The runners would start off through a gate and run in a park on the other side of the chain link fence. At the first corner, they would head to the right; we sat at the corner and watched them pass. The children were running past now; I recognized Clara as she waved and passed us by. While I had thought I had plenty of time- Jim had assured me I did!- I heard the call for my start. We raced back to the starting line in the golf cart. I went to where I had removed my race shoes, and they were gone. Continue reading →

Of Mice and Magicians

Dave Koch — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 18:20:56 +0000

He knew I was coming; he could see me and watch me at his whim. When I arrived, he looked at me hard. He was not worried about me, and not scared. He was not amazed, nor was he startled. He was not warm or inviting. Like the rocks around him, he just was. He nodded slightly to me, inviting me to follow; he turned and went into his home. The door was old, once red, but the paint worn and faded. In many placed the paint was completely worn through to the wood beneath. But the door was thick and solid. It would have to be to seal off the home from the ravages of the sand storms it was there to buttress against. Continue reading →

Scott Walker and Me

Dave Koch — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 20:02:48 +0000

Who is Dave Koch? At one time, I was a journalist. I cared about being accurate, and playing by the rules. Ian Murphy is neither. The ends do not justify the means in this instance. There was no earth-shattering facts developed from Mr. Murphy's deception, nothing Mr. Walker said (or was deceived into saying) justify Mr. Murphy lying, underhanded trickery. When you listen to the phone call, there were no wild surprises, nothing worth publishing, much less lowering your professional standards to the level Mr. Murphy did. All he succeeded in doing was creating more discord and disagreement between two parties that are at each other's throats. Continue reading →

The Show Must Go On

Dave Koch — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 14:24:02 +0000

The trek was proving harder than I thought. The ground was a viscous mud that held tightly to my shoes, stretching with me and pulling me back. The air was thick, so thick it also was keeping me from moving forward almost as much as the mud. Don't get me wrong, I could make forward progress, it was just a lot of work for very little gain. The light was waning, and time was getting late, so when the Magic Bus showed up, I hopped right on. I was in the front row, and had a great view out the huge windows. The bus filled up and we started to move; I felt sorry for the people we were passing, that had to trudge through the mud. Continue reading →

Lost Guns

Dave Koch — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 17:56:51 +0000

We never felt the need to venture out to the bars; the Guns brought their own bar into Denny’s with them. They did not need to prowl Oliver Twists or the Hideout, or ogle the girls at TD's. They just needed to let their hair down and relax. They played at being characters all day, they needed the time and space to be themselves at night. And so Mitch, Bob and I traded with the Guns, for a few hours at a time, every couple of nights. We all got to feel important, we played at being famous, and the Guns got to be ordinary. We had the times of our lives, and they got the come-down they needed. Continue reading →