On this ride, your hosts Steve and Mal hurtle from Point A to Point B while while metaphorically visiting Heraclitus’s river — you know, the one you can’t step in twice? Strap in for … The Ride to Redacted.
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Show notes:
In Memoriam
This episode is dedicated to Nadine (Nicky) Ollman (February 16, 1940 – June 27, 2026), of blessed memory.
Collage of Nicky created by Dragonmom:
Copy of that long-ago letter written by Nicky (plus recent transcription), surely one of her earliest works (turns out it was about the stork delivering babies, rather than the myth of the tooth fairy):
Remembering Rich Rath: Steve remembers his one-time college suite-mate and dear friend, the late, great Rich Rath. Here is an excerpt of an account of his friend that Steve updated on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of their college graduation.
Legacy?
I remember a childhood photo of Rich that I saw at his ranch in Healdsburg, California, when I took a trip out there to visit him about a year before he died, the second to last time I saw him. That visit would have been some 30 years ago; by that point, Rich had been out as gay to his straight friends for perhaps a decade.
When Rich showed me the photo, we both had reason to think I might not see him again — his boyfriend had died fairly recently but not before Rich had contracted AIDS from him. At the time of my visit, Rich was battling some awful sinus infection that had his sinuses packed with yards of gauze. He walked around his ranch house rolling an IV pole with him and was constantly administering medicines to himself.
He had recently unearthed the photo; he also showed me two notes he’d found with it. One was from his father, who had been a physician himself. Apparently Rich had not seen very much of his dad when he was growing up. In the note, his father expressed love and affection for him. The other was a note he had written to his father. It was a ten- or twelve-year-old schoolboy’s note, but for all that it was full of earnestness and a swearing of devotion to his father. I understood that the two notes constituted a rare correspondence between father and son; Rich showed them to me as you might show something precious to someone you hoped might appreciate it for the value it held for you. Although I was moved by the notes, the thing which made the greatest impression on me was the photo.
It captured my friend well before mortality would have been on his mind. In the photo, the child looks eagerly at the camera, his eyes bright, his expression hopeful. Viewing it, I couldn’t help feeling that that appealing little boy had continued to be Rich in some fundamental way, right on through to what we then had reason to fear might be his last days. The photo distilled for me the poignance and beauty and rarity of this odd creature I had known for so many years.
Not many weeks before he died, Rich asked me rather downheartedly what his legacy might be, what of meaning he would be able to leave behind. To make a point, he mentioned the architectural elements of his beautiful ranch. Sure, he said, he’d made some nice design changes to the place, he’d had some attractive molding installed here and there. Such things seemed to him so, as he put it, evanescent. My answer to him was what I thought would cheer him up and what I still believe — that his being was his legacy, the memories we would have of him. One could say as much of anyone, but so much the more so can it be said of Rich, who was such a dramatic and memorable character. As I told him then, he inspired me. In fact, as I now realize, in his company I felt wholly alive.
Are we not like stones dropped into a pond, sinking out of sight but leaving ripples that propagate after our passing? I write about Rich and he is with me still….
Ironically enough, one can still find online a rather fraught music video of “Bring Me To Life” by the goth metal band Evanescence. It was posted in December, 2009, but it lives on on YouTube. By now it has over 1.7 billion views. Nothing lasts forever, but…
In that example of Yale graffiti 50-plus years ago, the spelling was a big part of the charm:
“Nietzsche is pietzsche but Sartre is fartre”
As to the surprisingly dark history of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, see https://www.historyhit.com/john-harvey-kellogg/
A newly coined Malkahnism: skrunklier. Adj.: more skrunkly.
