http://www.cuug.ab.ca:8001/~stevensh/Phoenix.html (Einblicke ins Internet, 10/1995)Carlos has just arrived after 24+ hours enroute from Uruguay. Henry and Larry had flown into town the night before. David had been hanging around Arizona for a few days on a story. Piled into David's rental car, we plan lunch. We carefully consider our options. The only criteria is that it be completly devoid of nutritional value. When pressured, Jerry admits that the Lone Star barbeque joint is a likely suspect. The sign outside the restaurant (see picture below) provides all the proof we need.
Inside, we down Lone Stars at $1.75 a bottle and order burgers, creamed potatoes and french fries. All except Carlos who, with gallstones, struggles to find something, anything, on the menu he can safely eat. David plugs some quarters into the jukebox, and soon the corner booth, filled with guys all wearing the same t-shirt, bursts into song.
"Crazy......crazy for feelin' so lonely. I'm crazy.....crazy for feelin' so blue...."
Carlos has smuggled a box of Cuban cigars into town, so we break 'em out and light up.
Sated, squinting in the sun as we emerge from the bar, we enlist the bartender's services to capture the moment for posterity. A Nieman moment.
The day dawns at about 11 a.m., having spent the previous evening sending e-mail to everyone we can think of, phoning Bill Kovach in Nashville, throwing each other into a freezing (relatively speaking, of course) hotel swimming pool and warming up in the nearby hot tub.
Dan and Milica, who have been vacationing in the area, find us by following the yelps and splashes at the pool, and Alan flies in late Friday night, in time to catch the final few hours of the First Poker Game.
Jerry is playing Host Supreme, having taken the early arrivals for a two-hour hike up (and down) Squaw Peak just outside of town. Today, we head north an hour or so, through Saguaro (cactus) country, to Wet Beaver Creek. We stroll along the red earth path, throwing rocks into the bushes to mimic the infamous Arizona Hoop Snakes, which Jerry swears lie in wait for the unwary Nieman who dares venture off path to answer the call of Nature.
It's time for a group shot (see below) and for once Larry, (that's him peeking through at the back) does not point off into the distance as the shutter clicks.
Time has been sucked up far too quickly. It's only a few hours until the group begins to disperse. We avoid talking about it, and concentrate instead on the task at hand. A "touch" football game.
Carlos goes out early with chest injuries. (Confirmed two weeks later as two cracked ribs). Late in the game, Alan jams his thumb ("That's going to hurt later"). A few minor disputes ("You were offside" "Nice tackle") but it's all in fun and we all manage a smile for the group photo.
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