Groundwaters

Who are They? … the inside “scoop” on some of your favorite local writers

January 1, 2009 on 7:15 am | In Contributor profiles | No Comments

All Fables Have Wings – Gary “Spyder” Lewis
“Spyder’s Story According to Spyder”
By Pat Edwards

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“Every form of refuge has its price.” Quoting from a lyric from the Eagles’ 1975 hit, “Lyin’ Eyes,” Gary L. Lewis, aka “Spyder,” described his 58 years of “heartaches and good things, too.”

Gary was born near Coeur d’Alene, Idaho where his father worked as a welder in the Bunker Hill zinc mine. While Gary was a small child, the family moved to Coos Bay, Oregon.

Early on, Gary was a huge Elvis Presley fan. Music – or rather, rhythm – had always been a part of his soul. By the time he was in the 6th grade, he was forming his lists of spelling words into a rhythmic beat. He dreamed of playing the guitar, but in his head, he heard the beat of the music rather than the melody, so a set of drums became his instrument of choice. In the 8th grade, Gary and his friend, Jim, began “dinkin’ around” in the music room on their lunch break. Gary played his drums and Jim, the saxophone. Soon, classmates began to gather to listen to their music and others joined them and they formed their own rock ‘n roll band called “Logical Conclusion.” By the age of 13, Gary had written his very first song entitled “The Last Trip to Boston.”

Music took over his life. Soon, he was doing gigs with a new band with a different mix of members called “Hate’s Brother.” They named it after one of their band members, Jeff Haight, deliberately misspelling his name. As the lead guitarist, Jeff developed a flashy gimmick of spewing lighter fluid from his mouth onto a lighted flame during their wildest and craziest songs – long before Kiss and other rockers did the same.

During that time, Gary and Jeff began to experiment with drugs and alcohol. It was a pattern that followed Gary throughout his career as a musician and songwriter and for Jeff, it ended his life in an overdose. According to Gary, there’s a huge “not so hidden” underbelly to the entertainment industry – especially rock music. He estimated that 90% of those who were involved in the industry used drugs, and “the other 10% were liars.”

Gary wrote a lot of song lyrics in those days. When asked if he wrote them as a melody formed in his head, he said, “No.” The lyrics came to him as a rhythmic beat just as the spelling words had done in the 6th grade. They didn’t always rhyme and sometimes seemed disjointed, but they came from his own special rhythm. The melody came later when the rest of the band worked their music around them.

Gary hired an agent and eventually, some of the songs he helped write were recorded by the various bands he was with and added to playlists of local radio stations. In 1972, while Gary was with the band, Chisom, 2,000 copies of one record called “Give Me What You Got,” were released by Northwest Incorporated Records of Portland, Oregon. The flipside of the record was another song with Gary’s lyrics, “Little Boy.”

While touring, the band traveled in two converted 1951 Cadillac hearses with the band’s name painted on the side. One towed a homemade travel trailer and they conversed back and forth between the cars with walkie talkies.

In 1973, Gary began playing the chain nightclub circuit in Nevada with his band at the time. They began a series of appearances in the Pilgrimage nightclubs going from Lake Tahoe, to Reno, Winnemucca, Las Vegas and ending in Laughlin. Then they reversed the order, playing the same cities in the Fireside clubs. “Since we only worked nine months out of the year, the summers were mine.” This became Gary’s life for the next three years. He describes life on the road as, appropriately, “rhythmic… We always knew what time and where our destiny would take us.”

In 1977, Gary joined a group of gay female entertainers called “Ganhna” as a backup musician. There was also an Elvis impersonator by the name of Jimmy Ball who toured with them. Gary was offered and accepted a contract for $25,000 plus 10% of the gate and included the cutting of a record and a four-month tour with the group.

After the contract expired, he bought a ‘53 three-panhead Harley-Davidson and had it “fixed up with eight coats of gloss black paint.” Gary had a large metallic gold black widow spider painted on the gas tank and his nickname, “Spyder,” was born. His riding companion was a Native American woman named Sherry Longtree, and they traveled around the Northwest where Gary began playing impromptu gigs. In the early 1980s, when they learned that Sherry was going to have a baby, they settled down in the small town of Vernonia, Oregon. During that time, Gary became clean and sober and he took a job with the railroad. Tragedy struck, though, and Sherry and their unborn baby were killed in a car accident on an icy road.

Gary’s life spiraled downward as, according to him, he “went off the deep end.” He sold his Harley and went back heavily into drugs. “I was on a one-way street to nowhere, becoming a poor Howard Hughes.” After watching him live as a meth-addicted recluse, Gary’s parents and a long-time friend interceded. In 1986, they took him to Serenity Lane in Eugene where he stayed for 60 days, getting much-needed counseling and drying the drugs out of his system.

It’s been a long road back for Gary, but he hasn’t touched drugs or alcohol since.

“I very much miss the road. On-stage, there is something to be said about the spotlight. You can’t see past the first three rows, but the wild crowd says it all. Your relationship with your fans is the life-blood of an entertainer. It’s the rush of the crowd, the music and the people you meet. It’s the ride of your life on the wings of a song.”

Gary eventually settled down in the Cottage Grove area. He now lives with his fiancé, Linda, whom he met nine years ago through a dating service. “We’re still putting up with each other. She’s a down-home, out-going person – loves animals and even me.” Gary, Linda, and a mutual friend have become interested in crafts and they designed and merchandised decorative lighted garden stones which have become popular in the area.

Gary has been retired from the music business for many years now, but his song lyrics live on. He’s interested in putting them to music and would like to find a collaborator who would like to work with him. He’s shared many of his lyrics with the readers of Groundwaters and hopes to put them all into a book someday… in fact, there’s a whole Rubbermaid tub full of them. According to Gary, for him, one of them called “All Fables, They Have Wings” says it all.

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All Fables, They Have Wings

A feeling free, somewhat low-keyed
Scroll of melodies
All fables, they have been labeled
All fables, they have wings.
Distant dreamers by the dozen
Call it loyalty unspent
As a multitude of schemers do or die
Will not dissent.
Until the war is over
Until the smoke has cleared
Then we’ll count the four-leaf clover
When destiny is here.
When the strongest of survivors
Is the owner of his soul
Dead and gone, the eight-till-fivers
The rulers rock and roll.
A feeling free, somewhat low-keyed
Scroll of melodies
All fables, they have been labeled
All fables, they have wings.

~ Spyder

Gary L. Lewis aka “Spyder”

Gary can be contacted through the Groundwaters‘ contact address: contact@groundwaters.org

Who are They? … the inside “scoop” on some of your favorite local writers

October 9, 2008 on 11:12 pm | In Contributor profiles | No Comments

Jo-Brew

My husband, Ken, and I, both went to high school and then college in Southern Oregon and still have some ties there. My first writing was for a high school journalism class, then the school paper and school events for The Ashland Daily Tidings. I was paid for the school events column. A big deal in my mind.

We moved to Springfield when we had four children, one entering high school, two in between and one in pre-school. I taught elementary school in Cottage Grove and then Springfield while Ken was a band director in Springfield and then Bethel.

When the children were through school, I made a foray into the business world and became a Real Estate agent and then a broker. Through both the career in teaching and in Real Estate, I wrote as part of my job but not much beyond. It wasn’t the lack of desire that kept me from moving ahead with the writing, it was my terribly intense battle with the typewriter. I didn’t ever get to the point I was comfortable with it although I typed hundreds, or more likely, thousands of pages. The typewriter made no allowances for thoughts that came faster than the fingers moved.

Several years ago, a gift of a computer from a son who was upgrading opened the doors to a flood of words that still keep coming. I began with a small family history/cookbook project and then began taking classes through Lane Community’s Extension Service. I started with Women Write, moved on to Essays for another year, Short Stories and eventually novels.

Now I write some of each, personal essays, a column for the Creswell Chronicle, the occasional short story and I have six novels published. All of my writing is based on women’s life experiences, even the short stories and the novels. There are elements of all of us in the characters and all our lives in the stories.

The first novel Preserving Cleo is the story of a young wife and mother who married into a farm family and has trouble finding her place in the family. The second, Cleo’s Slow Dance, is a sequel as an older Cleo is left a widow with a farm and teen age children.

From there, I moved to a young career woman making a decision between her desires and those of her mother in Finding Clarice. The last three are each based on women at retirement and they do all have satisfactory endings. What Next, Ms Elliott, is a widow trying to find a new future for herself after living years for her job. Marge, Back On Track, is retiring before she’s ready to take care of her second husband, a stroke victim. In Anne Marie’s New Melody, Anne Marie, the gourmet cook, musician, and childless wife in a fairly new marriage finds her future travel plans interrupted by her husband’s grandchildren.

The columns and personal essays are all drawn from my own life and often include family members, particularly grandchildren who have opened our minds to so many new experiences.

Family gatherings and events are important to both of us and have enriched our lives in countless ways.

With only two of us in the house now and no day job, I’m less confined with chores and can do more picking and choosing. I write several hours a day, garden a lot and take an active part in several organizations that are specifically aimed at helping women break down barriers or benefit education, AAUW, Mom’s Rising, I Stand For Children and the Women’s Business Network. Of course I belong to a few writing associations also, mainly Willamette Writers and Women Writing The West.

Jo-Brew’s “Favorite Place”

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“Anne Marie’s New Melody,” the latest novel by Jo-Brew is now available. Anne Marie, a musician, gourmet cook and a woman of the senses retires to spend more time with Robert. She had been widowed once and does not want to miss the opportunity to enjoy a traveling companion or more time for the activities she enjoys. Without experiencing children of her own, she was unprepared to contemplate assuming a parental role for Robert’s grandchildren. Nor was she prepared to give up her relationship with Robert. It takes a Disneyland moment of self discovery for her to find the road to the life she wants.

It is the last in the series of three northwest women and the retirement choices they make. “Anne Marie’s New Melody,” is available through some independent bookstores, from Jo in person, from www.bbotw.com or from www.Jo-Brew.com. For information about appearances and sources, go to www.Jo-Brew.com or watch for announcements.

Excerpt from Anne Marie’s New Melody

Anne Marie put those memories aside as she got closer to home and let herself move on to pleasant thoughts about the evening to come. Robert had suggested the two of them go out for a wonderful dinner. He’d probably have reservations in Eugene, at the Country Club or maybe the Marche. She’d love French. Flowers or a gift were almost a sure thing. She let herself think about fun private activities after dinner. All in all, a real celebration.

She’d need to be careful not to let him see the concerns she had about retiring. Marge was right. She was used to being a leader. The change would be hard. She couldn’t imagine how they’d spend so much time together. She’d always worked most of the year, even before they were married.

They’d had individual lives for the biggest part of the day. Nearly every evening they spent the first hour or so after she came home discussing their separate activities over a glass of wine. That exchange kept their marriage intermingled.

Now they’d be together all the time except for the occasional trip he made to spend a day working on his mother’s house and the one afternoon a week he played golf with his son Eric. They wouldn’t have anything to talk about, not even separate friends they saw on a regular basis. She was going to have to find new interests. She hoped he would also make an effort or they’d run into problems.

Then there was the cooking situation. The last several years he’d taken over the meals on weekdays while she worked. By the time summer came around and she was home, he was ready for a break. She’d want to do more of the cooking now, take her kitchen back. Her cookbooks were all tagged to mark new recipes she wanted to try and old favorites she wanted to repeat.

Who are they? … the inside “scoop” on some of your favorite local writers

August 19, 2008 on 10:36 pm | In Contributor profiles | No Comments

Herbert “Herbie” Medlin

Herbie Medlin has agreed to be first in a series of profiles on some of the writers who have shared their special talents with the readers of Groundwaters. I hope to include one profile a month, if possible — no promises, though!

Herbie first submitted his poem, “Once Upon a Dream” to Groundwaters for the Fall 2007 issue. Actually, he submitted a number of poems at once and has allowed us to print them “as needed.” We’ve since published one or more of his poems in each issue, my favorite being “Winter Rose” (Winter 2008) and I have become his biggest fan. There is a gentleness to his writing that reveals a quiet respect for life and the people who live it.

Herbie grew up in the Bethel-Danebo area of Eugene and graduated from Willamette High School in 1972. He spent his childhood on a farm – milking cows, gathering eggs, feeding livestock – and he earned money for school clothes in the bean and berry fields and walnut orchards. He joined the local fire department as a volunteer when he was 16 and remained a member for 16 more years. After graduation, Herbie joined the U.S. Army as a firefighter/crash rescue specialist and was stationed at Fort Stewart, south of Savannah, Georgia. He was assigned to the 238th aviation attack helicopter unit.

“Most of our time was spent 20 miles from the main post at a heli-pad in the swamp – not much to see there but snakes and opossums.” He earned his EMT certificate while there. Nineteen months later, he was transferred to Puukuloa Training Area on Hawaii.

Herbie has worked a lot of jobs since then, trying to find something that he really enjoyed doing, but allergies and a permanent wrist injury have limited his options. His favorites over the years were horse logging and auto body repair, but he had to give up both eventually. He is now driving a dump truck for Delta Sand and Gravel.

When he is not working or taking care of his elderly father, Herbie enjoys spending time in the Coast Range, picking mushrooms, camping, hunting and relaxing.

“There are some days I just drive from Horton all the way to the coast on the mountain roads. The serenity and beauty always refresh me.”

The stress caused by his inability to do the work he loves and an unsuccessful marriage have turned him inward and his “scribblings” over the years have been therapeutic, providing him a much-needed outlet for the stress and resulting depression that began to build.

“A friend gave me a copy of Groundwaters and said I should submit something. After much thought, I did and have been surprised and humbled at your response. Groundwaters is the only place I have submitted anything to so far. You have spoiled me with your kindness.”

Be assured, Herbie, we’ll continue to do so as long as you want to be a part of the Groundwaters family.

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Winter Rose

There is nothing more vibrant than a winter rose.
Its shear existence is a thing of beauty defying time
with its strength and grace.
More so even in the morning light with frost as a
veil trying to hide what lies beneath.

This is not so only in the garden, but in life as well.
The most vibrant, colorful women I know are no longer
of the spring but of early fall and on into late winter,
yet showing no signs of wilting or fading –
defying time with such grace that one forgets
winter even exists.

~Herbie

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In Honor

Somewhere today
A mother cries
Trying to show pride
Through her pain

With feet like clay
And red-rimmed eyes
She takes the long ride
To where her child will be lain

For her Soldier she prays
Who paid the ultimate price
In war they died
From the rockets rain

Taps will play
The salute will fire
As the Soldier’s final ride
Ends in a stone-filled plain

~ Herbie

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The Hawk

As I sit in my truck and watch the miles roll by, the boredom and loneliness are a constant com- panion. Once again I find I am not my own best company. Although the heavy fog and ice- covered trees make for a wonderful sight.

Hawks with their own beauty soaring in their false free- dom looking for the next life-giving meal reminds me of the homeless, with their signs asking for help or the ones in a daze with the terrible weight of life showing in their bent shoulders – not seeing or caring about the surrounding beauty, for the cold damp is one of the enemies itself. They are the faceless and nameless legions, that those such as myself are maybe one step away from joining.

Their plight splits my emotions into shards of pity, hope, shame, happiness and most of all fear for the future of these legions and selfishly for me, as I know I am not strong enough to survive if my fate is to join them.

So for now the lonely boredom of my own company is still a dazzling diamond compared to the ones with the signs and the bent shoulders of hopelessness, lost in the beauty of trees of ice crystals and soft white fog.

As for the Hawk it just disappears into the mist adding punctuation to the loneliness and fear within me.

~ Herbie