Last night, it was as clear as can be here, and I could see the moon turn orange and then become a sliver. But it wasn't the same. I recall living on 85th, back in the city, and lunar eclipses being a big event. There was one summer, maybe 1973, and the event didn't occur until 1 AM. But all the neighbors came out and mingled, drank beer while the kids goofed off with bats and balls. The Gendusas and Millers, the Petersons and the Schmidts. We stood at the corner house, by Doris and Art Morisette, for the best view. It was a different time. Art Morisette died years ago, he always knew I'd be a writer even when I was in high school. I still have his Chicago Police hardback three ring notebook, Star#8658. One of my proudest posessions. The other families are gone, moved away to Joliet and Las Vegas, the neighborhood now a haven for thugs and crack houses. Last night, I watch the moon turn orange with just my collie outside, Buddy the Mitch keeping busy sniffing for rabbits as I thought back to 1973....Wayne
