Preface: A Reflection on Process
PrewriteSitting here in Alderman Café, counting down the minutes before a multimedia
mega-spectacle (relatively speaking) on the psychedelic sounds of the Sixties begins,
seems as good as time as any to write down thoughts and feelings on a thesis not yet
written. It is meant to be a thesis somehow about politicization of popular memory of the
Sixties era American counterculture and how these viewpoints inform, adjust, and are
reaffirmed through presentist mass media representation. Yet the number of qualifiers
embedded within the preceding sentence should betray the enduring flux in which this
project remains, at the moment at least. The act of writing this history will inevitably
itself have a history, consisting of uncontrollable events, conscious choices, and an
infinite myriad of roads not taken which ultimately (we hope) gel into a stylish yet cogent
argument which is interesting and might even be true. At the (in the?) moment now I can
understand historical contingency as never before; there is a real chance this thesis may
not get written, an historical possibility that at any moment might become the case. If it
does it will be only because of the encouragement of those involved with the program
and my project who will doubtless continue to provide the necessary combination of
criticism, support, and humor to help me through the trough times. Brian Balogh has
guided me and grounded me and told me I could do a project I have already myself often
doubted. In theory (the way, according to Homer, that Communism works) this
guidance, along with the tough love only Tico Braun can provide, will be enough to point
me in the direction of historical literary success. Should they fail I can always count on
the Alderman thesis crowd, loudly boasting about the work we haven’t done, in pseudo
obnoxious grad-student fashion, trying desperately as best as possible to collectively
endure (and even enjoy) the delicious pain of sixty pages due in sixty days.
RewriteIts over, the deed is done. I still cannot believe that these hands, which once
fingered blooming lilac bushes and dug through soft sand for crawly creatures, could
have done such a thing. I never thought myself capable of such an act, until it was done
and too late to take back. By which of course I mean I’ve finished the first draft of my
thesis. Reading the previous paragraph, completed before a single substantive sentence
found its way onto the page, I am struck by several things. Firstly, sixty pages, ha.
Naivety is a trait not so easily abandoned I suppose. So now nearly a hundred pages are
done, but the content is complete, the themes explored, and the argument advanced. And
now it can only wait for critique, revision, and final completion. I earlier cited Tico’s
tough love as helpful. In retrospect I wholly underestimated the impact which his words,
his caring, and his faith have had in a process that almost petered out innumerable times
along the way. Its fair to say that I would not have written this were it not for him. And,
to paraphrase Forrest, I don’t know that there’s anymore to be said about that. Additional
thanks goes out to those many friends who’ve encouraged me, chain smoked cloves on
the windowsills of Alderman with me, and above all helped me through one of the most
tumultuous times of my personal history. Too many to name of course, though they
should know who they are and how much their friendship has meant to me over the past
few months, even as I now try to prepare to leave this place where many of them also will
not longer be. To quote a song from my high school senior days: “Closing time, you
don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.” But of course I’m not done yet, so …
PostwriteWow. So in life I suppose a lot of things don’t quite turn out the way you’d planned
them. Like this semester for example, when I set out to do three things and basically
failed at all of them. But I suppose too that depends on how one defines failure and
success and happiness and truth and the good. Or whatever. But here I sit as the last
draft of my paper prints itself out, since it has that much agency and all. And I will long
maintain that it is a good piece of work, though in retrospect (that thing that one should
learn to have a few minutes, rather than days, after having the initial terrible idea) it is
much more of the American Studies ilk, as I suppose I am, than it is standardized
scholarly history. Which I don’t pretend to quite understand, nor really to want to at this
point, since I’ll be looking to obtain my PHD in AS. Shortly. Since I was rejected from
so many people places and things this semester. Well I suppose just one or a few of each.
In the quick retrospect. So rather than dwell on the big bad, of which there has been a bit
this semester, I’ll look forward to the unknowable if perhaps not too distant future. But
I’ll miss the academic lifestyle, and the camaraderie that comes with discussing 5 page
English papers in Alderman most of all. But I’ll be back, from outer space even,
hopefully more committed than I’ve been of late, and eager to learn and have new ideas
again. Which is of course what got me into this gig in the long ago time. As for last
thanks, that goes out to all the women in my life this semester, Buffy and Mary
especially. And Lolita too. They all taught me how to write, how to think, how to stay
hopeful, and how to keep hangin’ on. Towards the end of my favorite film, Beautiful
Girls directed by Ted Demme, one character comments on how he ended up where he
was in his life, and how he’d never thought it would be quite like that. I think I finally
understand what he was talking about. And I think I get that its not necessarily a bad
thing. Because god never closes a door without opening a window, c’est la vie,
crisi-tunity, and so many other thoughts about coming to terms with the past and the
present, looking forward to a new tomorrow, and being happy just for the sake of it.