HIST:List
- Subject: HIST:List
- From: w*
- Date: Sun, 24 Feb 2002 10:15:19 -0600
- Content-description: Mail message body
- Priority: normal
During the slack time on iris-talk in early February, I thought of
". . .the three men I admire the most,
The Father, Son, and The Holy Ghost,
They caught the last train for The Coast,
The day the music died."
But it didn't die completely as it did for awhile in June of '98 when
iris-l ceased for good. There was a rebirth in the form of iris-talk.
I fondly recall some of those iris talkers who caught the last train for
the Coast the day their music died:
Dahila Man, aka Starlord. No more stories of planting irises in
parking lot potholes or views of the heavens from his telescope or
posts pecked out with missing letters on a Commodore 64.
Irisborer. No more enthusiastic news of what thrives at the Stately
Guest Manor. No more 'live' reports from AIS Convention gardens.
She was never a bore.
Chateauwhitehall. Reviews of Richmond back alley irises will
never grow old, nor will lore on Easter peeps, and yet I fear the last
of the peacocks has been released for the spring fertilizing to be
seen no more.
Each of you could now be a verse to the classic if I had the rhyme
and rhythm. I hope to see you around sometime. Bye bye,
American Pie.
Walter Moores
Enid Lake, MS USA 7/8
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