Clara Sherley-Appel (CSA): This is Story Behind the Story. I’m your host, Clara Sherley-Appel,and my guest today is poet Kenny Garcia. Born and raised in New York City, Kenny’s poetry is influenced by hip-hop music, slam poets, and Langston Hughes. He has performed it in New York, Michigan, California, and Palestine. Kenny currently lives in Marina, where he works as a librarian at CSU-Monterey Bay. Kenny Garcia, welcome to Story Behind the Story! Kenny Garcia (KG): I'm really happy to be here with you. (CSA): Well I'm happy to have you. It was great — I saw you at the Monterey Poetry Festival a few weeks ago at Old Capitol Books, and it was such a great event, and such a showcase for local poetry, and so I'm really glad to have you here and be able to bring that to the audience. (KG): Yes, thank you. Thank you. (CSA): So why don't we start by having you tell me where did your interest in poetry begin? What kind of poetry appeals to you as a reader and as a writer? (KG): I got exposed to poetry as a kid. I started writing when I was maybe 10… 9/10 years old. I had an older sister — she's 6 years older than me. By the time she was in high school, she was reading poetry in high school. She's my inspiration to write. She was the first poet that I heard, so I just got to give a big shout out to my sister Wanda. She's still writing too, so she'll send me poems, I'll send her poems. So she was my first inspiration. I would write here and there as a 10-year-old; it wasn't until High School that I took a poetry class where I actually… it was, for the whole semester, we just read poets, and we were able to write a little bit in high school and get feedback from my high school instructor. She even organized some class trips to some different poetry sites, and so that was a really great experience. I just kept writing through college. I double majored in English and History, and my English degree was a concentration in Creative Writing, so I was able to take some creative writing classes in college. (CSA): Who were some of your favorite poets in those early days? (KG): Langston Hughes. Wow, there's so many. Langston Hughes is the one that sticks out to me the most. It was a class full of black poets so I was reading it in high school. I was reading Sonia Sanchez, Maya Angelou, and Langston Hughes. That was a real inspiration for me, and being that Langston Hughes wrote about being in New York, and the New York experience, that also stuck to me (CSA): Right, because you were in New York at the time (KG): Yes. (CSA): Yeah. You've been writing, like you said, since you were pretty young. How has your style and your poetic voice changed over time? (KG): I don't think I've saved anything from when I was writing when I was a kid, but I think being able to take courses and really study poets, and poetry, and structure, and different styles — And also listening to poetry — has really taught me different things. I think the important part of being a poet is writing, right? So I think as we continue writing and continue reading and revising stuff, we tend to pick up things here and there. One of the important things that I've learned early on is that we need to be reading poetry as we write poetry. It's hard to write just to let things out, but I think part of the revision and the process is to read poetry, listen to other people read poetry; you can pick up on style, on flow, on cadence — and so I really learned a lot by just continuing to read and listen. (CSA): Who do you read these days? (KG): I have a stack of books that I always carry with me. I just got a shout out my CSUMB colleague, Daniel Summerhill! (CSA): Daniel's great! (KG): Yeah! So I'm reading “Divine, Divine, Divine,” so that's the one that I have in front of me. It's just… he's an amazing poet. So if you haven’t picked up “Divine, Divine, Divine,” please pick it up — by Daniel Summerhill. (CSA): So one thing that strikes me about your poetry in general is the specificity of the imagery that you employ in it. (We'll talk more about this when you read some of it to us,) but you paint a very clear picture of your subjects, and of the environments that they're in. I'm curious how you come up with some of those specific images. Is it an iterative process? (KG): It is for me. Some of the poems that I've written, some of them are… I've been revising it for a very, very long time. For one of them, the current title of it is "Jackhammer Love", but I had called it something else when I first wrote it — and shout out to the voices of our nation's art foundation. I did a writing workshop with them in 2006. Folks usually do it for one week; I did 2 weeks, with two different instructors — two amazing instructors: Suheir Hammad and Willie Perdomo. Both New York City based poets. And not just the instructors, but the folks that were also in the writing workshop gave really great feedback.I workshopped it for both weeks — the "Jackhammer Love". It was…. and I still go back to it, and I make some slight changes here and there. I think it's something that I… it's hard for me to say that a poem is complete. I need to learn how to let it go once it's done. Part of the imagery, I just think about an image that I just want to reflect in the poem, and I try my best to show not tell. (That's something that I've learned throughout the years. [He says with a chuckle]) That's something that I'm still constantly working on, but it's usually an image that just pops up in my head that I try to show what it would mean to me. (CSA): I liked what you said about having difficulty knowing when poem is complete or when to let go. It feels like poetry is almost this living creature in that way; it can't end as long as it's still alive. Is that something — as you are approaching this collection that you're releasing in May with Boukra Press — is that something that you've been thinking about at all? That these poems have to be finished, or that they are finished, or you're going back to them. What is the way that you've approached that editing process with older poetry as you prepare for this collection? (KG): That's a really great question. It's something that I've always struggled with. For me, I guess a poem is… not necessarily complete, but finished at that moment, when it's put into paper. Cuz if it's on the computer, on the document, it can still be changed, right? But once it’s printed and out there, then it’s done to me. I still need to learn how to put things out there and to say, ‘This is done,’ and not keep going back to it, and then just keep writing. Because there's a lot more poems that we have. (CSA): I think there's something interesting, too, though, because poetry is not just written; Poetry is performed, it's spoken as well. You look at the history of epic poetry, right? Something like the Odyssey was spoken and was shared and evolved from speaker to speaker for so long before it was set down and written. I wonder if that's part of… I think that's part of what makes poetry unique and interesting; is that because it is so frequently spoken there's not that pressure to have it be complete and done, and always crystallized in this one form. (KG): Yeah, and that's a really, really great point. It makes me think about… I grew up in the 80s and 90s with hip-hop music, and folks would freestyle and they would just come up with these stories and images without having anything written down. Sometimes these experiences might be recorded, and then it might be put into some kind of record. But with poetry — I also grew up with slam poets. One of my favorites is Saul Williams, and he's also a musician. And I also find that really interesting: The links, sometimes, between music and poetry. That there's a lot of poets that are also musicians or singers. It's something that I think it's really unique to spoken word that's a little bit, like you said, about the performance. Slam poetry, some folks might not even have it written down. They're just performing at a poem, so that just adds to the change, in the way that folks experience poetry that I feel just adds more of flavor to poetry. (CSA): Well, I think it would be good for us to root our conversation in your actual work, so I'd like to have you read the first of the poems that you brought for us today. This one is called "Anniversary", I believe. And before you do, just let us know, is there anything we should know about it? (KG): So this one, this was a poem I wrote for my partner, and so I described what was happening at each month. And, I guess each month is a little different, so I put in different experiences in there. And so… it's called, "Anniversary". [He begins to read] APRIL I listened to Langston Hughes that night we spoke. It was music to my ears and my heart played a love supreme lead solo fluttering deep inside Like a sanctuary full of pine, cypress and eucalyptus. Feeling safe and loved again With Langston's “April Rain Song” — “Let the rain kiss you Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops Let the rain sing you a lullaby The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk The rain makes running pools in the gutter The rain plays a little sleep song on your roof at night And I love the rain.” MAY May I come over, a long weekend, to make love not war? To capture you in my arms, to kiss your bomb ass lips, to hold your shaking hips, to smoke through clips, to see you smile with my own eyes. May I come over you JUNE We were away but snuck in time in between summer flights I imagine my life with you Roaming Royal Street, I found a dancing Libra on a postcard I think of you everyday that I'm away from you JULY I miss you even more as I remember your kiss on my lips, wet, soft and full of love I want to hold your head n my hands forever as we chat through unspoken words on the phone I miss you even more than I realized AUGUST I love her In the Symphony Hall, after Hazel's, and before the open air view across the city I never knew a love like this Glory Softly in the night sky There's a light that shines special for you and me Loving you is loving me SEPTEMBER I sipped Brugal over a budded mind as I looked into your eyes You smiled and my heart was full Another day with you around the spinning Earth Grounded High on life I walked with your hand in mine, with my head high Your smile, and my heart spun and swirled, High OCTOBER Element of my life and soul That you nourish me full Around day Around the spinning earth Skipping over the concrete cracks, walking through the smoke, and inhale We celebrate you We celebrate life We celebrate We celebrate and inhale each other NOVEMBER We have become veterans Traveling between here and there and back again In bed, out of bed. Take a shower. In bed, out of bed, and back again I have found more of you each time I travel More of you in the palm of my hand, on my lips, traces of you on my fingertips I keep it all More of you Back again Wanting more DECEMBER You walked with your head high Your name, a source of pride Echoes from the speakers to the walls and into your parents memories The stories you've told will change us all The stories you've told will unfold it all The stories you've told, Horcruxes on higher education help us all survive and live another life You walk with your head on high JANUARY Streets spoke to us through tenements and train stations Through pregnancy and pigs, Through race and reparations, Through family, and false identity. We walked holding hands without a care in the world On concrete streets built and rebuilt and built over Trains and family and race The streets speak the stories in each gust of wind FEBRUARY Your love seems everlasting with care and with adoration With appreciation I found you through thick and thin Your lips, Your smile, your body, Your mind. You. I chose you, and you chose me Through the words on a screen I still can't believe you said yes to me. MARCH A la mar, without the sea You saw me We bonded over food, politics, music, movies, television, family, hopes, dreams, ambitions, love, love, love We will return eat a la mar And see each other again For more revolutions around the Sun With more love again and again (CSA): Thank you so much for sharing that reading with us, Kenny. ***AD BREAK*** (CSA): If you’re just joining me, my guest today is local poet Kenny Garcia, whose book, Recuerdos en Palabras, will be published by Monterey’s own Boukra Press in May 2022. So one thing you mentioned at the top that is, I think, very notable is that this poem is structured month by month, and so it captures the evolution of a relationship. The progression toward, presumably, the anniversary in question, in a series of moments and experiences strung together. Tell me about that choice. What were you trying to accomplish? (KG): I think I was just trying to capture the different experiences that happened, that there's something new that we experience. I hope relationships feel that way. That we're not necessarily always doing the same things, or moving beyond the day-to-day life, but trying to capture some unique moments that we might have together. And each month is a little different. And each month might be one of our birthdays. I'll just say in August, we went to go see Common perform at the San Francisco Symphony Hall, and so just trying to capture these moments that we had together. A part of it was also recognizing that, at this time, it was a long long distance relationship, and so it was a lot of… I missed her. So it was nice to capture the moments when we were together and the different experiences that we might have had. (CSA): What's really interesting is the sense of place, or I guess places in this poem. You have “the concrete streets built and rebuilt and built over with tenements and train stations,” and you have “a Symphony Hall” and “Royal Street.” Is that what it was? (KG): Yeah. (CSA): How do you see the relationship between your writing and the places that you've lived, or the places that your writing is rooted in? And how have the places you've been affected the way that you write? (KG): That's something that (just to go back to the June part) I was in Louisiana. What's the name… The French city. (CSA): The French Quarter? (KG): Yah French Quarter, Um… (CSA): …of New Orleans. (KG): Yes, New Orleans! Thank you. So I was in New Orleans. It was my first time there, and I definitely want to go back there. I was there for a conference and I was walking with a few folks, trying to check out the music scene and had a really nice an outdoor art market where different artists were there. I was just trying to capture my experience of being in New Orleans. I grew up in New York City, and the tenements are always there. I think it was a trip that we took together that was in New York City. So, just trying to think about being in a place where tenements are really prominent, and train stations, and… (CSA): Yeah, I mean, there’s a Tenement Museum in New York, right? (KG): Yes! I was born and raised in New York City, and so I really love trains; I love sitting in trains, and there's many reasons for it, but that was the time in high school that I would sit, and read, and write poetry. And then when I came back from school, when I was working in New York City, that's also the time that I took to read and write. It's a great place to observe other folks, too, and see what they're reading. And there was always a lot going on in a train (CSA): I love the way that the portrait of the person you're writing about (who I assume is your partner), and the relationship that you have with them: It builds over the course of the poem. So you were talking about that part in June where you were in New Orleans, and there's this line: “I found dancing Libra on a postcard. I think of you,” and then in October: “We celebrate you. We celebrate life. We celebrate.” — which is clearly a birthday of (what I would presume as) a Libra, based on the timing. (KG): Yes! (CSA): And then you also have in October, you're skipping over concrete cracks and in January the two of you are “Walking, holding hands without a care in the world, on concrete streets built, and rebuilt, and built over.” Tell me about the function of that repetition in those layers here. (KG): I think it — especially with relationships — It's something that we're always building from some place. It's not something that’s inherent in any relationship; It takes work. It takes… not necessarily losing something of ourselves, but we're not the same people that we were when the relationship started. It's something that we're constantly building and are working on. So I was trying to capture that, and like you said: when the relationship first starts, there's a lot of still getting to know you, still trying to figure out if this is going to work. And then over time it will lead to something that's a little bit more… not necessarily more set or more promising, but there's an expectation that it's going to continue, and it's going to do a little bit more revolutions. I just keep going back to the music of the record going 360, and the revolution of a song. (CSA): I like that, I like that. But let's hear another of your poems now. I'd like to ask you to read, "Belief and Technique for Modern Spoken Word." (KG): So this one is based off of Jack Kerouac’s "Belief and Technique for Modern Prose", and it — again shout out to [unintelligible] — This is a writing prompt that Willie Perdomo assigned to us, where we we read Jack Kerouac’s "Belief and Technique for Modern Prose", and he asked us to write in a similar style. (CSA): Pastiche. (KG): Yes,[He giggles.] And so this is kind of called a list of essentials, so the prompt was: what would be — and it was 30 lines — and so, what would be your… What are some important things that each person in the workshop valued? So this is "Belief and Technique for Modern Spoken Word." [He reads] 1. Accept loss of lines, stanzas or palms 2. Amaze blank pages with dazzling words. 3. Believe in sun falling and moon rising 4. Blast Warren G’s “Get You Down, part 2” over and over 5. Bookmark favorite passage in The Dispossessed 6. Bop head side to side to serenades with 6-year-old crush 7. Buy 3 ft black book without lines for self-portraits 8. Call El Reverendo Pedro’s Spaceship for a ride home 9. Describe heart in between lines 10. Eat rice and beans everyday 11. Fear silence in memory 12. Hurl rocky words in Palestine 13. Learn driving rules and crash car same night 14. Listen to story of mother passing away to son over telephone 15. Love, dead souls, and eulogized spirits 16. Mellow out over New Years 17. Memorize words for first and last love 18. Paint pictures of Justice on white t-shirts 19. Clan life revolution light years ahead 20. Poor ties, wedding bells of humble nature and self 21. Sketch lost ones smiles inside eyelids 22. Smoke weed once 23. Speak to closed ears full of wax 24. Stroke lover's hair before making love 25. Take aspirin for heavy weighted streets on shoulders 26. Tell Cha [unintelligible] roof jumper, to fall 27. Touch your naked body 28. Trace lines on thumbs to palms 29. Walk with ex-lovers, step-mothers, and song covers 30. Watch waves of memories slam against each other on shores of truth (CSA): I liked what you said about how this was an assignment based on a Jack Kerouac poem, and one of the things that I personally get from it is this deconstruction of the idea of influences writ large in general. Like, you can talk about how your work might have been influenced by Langston Hughes or by hip hop or by all these other things, but in a way, this is a list of (again) these mundane, everyday influences. And it's kind of saying all your experiences are what goes into your poetry; It's not just this big name, or this genre of music or whatever. It's all of those things. I'm curious what effect you think that tension between the everyday influences and this … I don't know… marketing pressure, to define some specific influences you can make your work in. What effect do you think that has on conversations like the one you and I are having, and on the way that people understand poetry generally? (KG): That's a really great question. I think a part of my writing — this is something that I learned from Suheir Hammad, where she said to me that I should write from my experiences. It's trying to bring my whole self into poetry. I mean, it's something that I always try to lean on. I grew up with many different influences — including “Number Eight,” Pedro Pietri, who’s a New York City Nuyorican poet. He was part of the Nuyorican poetry movement. I was trying to channel some of his poetry here, and so he definitely had a big influence on me. But just bringing in different parts of myself in here. This was in 2006. A lot of it was... I grew up in an immigrant household. My family's from the Dominican Republic, so rice and beans everyday. [He chuckles] I was able to take a trip to Palestine, so that was a part of me. And I was involved in different community projects, and so was trying to bring some of that out, too. As well as music and books. That's always been a part of my life and my influence... (CSA): And your makeup. (KG): Yeah. (CSA): I think, and this is true of the Kerouac original, too, right? A poem like this, that starts with this kind of formulaic structure: it reads a recipe, or a how-to article in a certain way. It's interesting because it really does turn that on its head. It's using structure to deconstruct the way that structure is used in poetry and in other forms to give us something that is more vibrant. It's saying this can't be collapsed down. A person can't be collapsed down, or poetry can't be collapsed down into these component parts. I think you've talked a lot about what you are going for here, in bringing in all of these different parts of yourself; And by giving these 30 different pieces of yourself, you are, in some ways, refusing to sum yourself up — (KG): Yes — and it's something that's, even if we try to compartmentalize ourselves, it's impossible to do. We bring in different pieces of ourselves, whether it's what we like to do, what we hope to do, some of our mistakes, some of what we would want in life…. It's coming all together, and there's definitely more than 30, right? But I think I was just following the structure, like you said. If we had to come up with a list of 30 essential things, and this was 2006, so these are the essential things that I was at that moment. And that's something that I've thought about in putting my collection together, in that I'm trying to bring in older poems with stuff that I more recently written, and where I was in 2006 is a different place than I am now, but it's still a part of me. It still had a really big impact on who I am, and so again, like you pointed out with the “concrete streets built and rebuilt and built over,” we’re still building ourselves in the present time. (CSA):) So I actually want to do a little compare and contrast with this and "Anniversary", cuz both of them have a pretty linear, well… maybe “linear” is not quite the word. They have a very clear structure; they're very set out: “1, 2, 3…” “April, May, June” — but you seem to be doing two very different things with that structure in these two poems. Can you talk about that a bit? (KG): The first poem was looking at it from a timeline, and so it's much more linear and it's much more about the experiences at that time, whereas the “Belief and Technique…” isn't necessarily my number one essential thing. (CSA): Right, it's not prioritized. (KG): No, not at all. And so what I tried to do was… I actually put it in alphabetical order, so if the line started with Accept, I started with ‘A’, so it goes from A through B to C to D, so there's that kind of structure to it. But it's also very… it's not linear, or it's not ranked in any way. (CSA): So you're using the ordering to take away whatever hierarchy people might try to impose on it. (KG): Yes, yes. (CSA): I like that a lot! ***AD BREAK*** (CSA): If you’re just joining me, my guest today is local poet Kenny Garcia. Well, I think we have time for just about one more poem, and I think this is one of the ones that you read at Old Capitol for the Monterey Poetry Festival. Could I get you to read “Grandfather” for us? (KG): “Grandfather” I wrote in honor of my maternal grandfather who had passed away. He was older in life, but he had a few different medical conditions. One of them was… it wasn't a concrete medical diagnosis, so there were those little bit of you know… not sure of what he had, but there were markers that he had Parkinson's. I just wanted to write about what that meant to me, and what he meant to me. And so this is “Grandfather.” [He begins to read] Orphan Child Elder Father of my Mother You walked through park to watch men play baseball alone My cousins and I watched you smile as aluminum slapped leather across space guy This is how I remember you, Grandfather Orphaned by TB mother decades ago Brother, days ago Death is daily Grandfather and Tau protein Metal chair in hand Walk down steps to sit on stoop Outside projects With cigar in mouth To drink Cafe Bustelo Grandfather, with amyloid Beta protein Now Your eyes stop dreaming of returning home Stopped asking when you will walk through platano tree canoco field again Grandfather and amyloid Beta and tau protein When you pass, take time and questions Leave memories behind Play one last prank Pretend you are alive Dream through my eyes Remember canuco's and walk with me. [He finishes reading] (CSA): See, you mentioned that your grandfather had a couple potential diagnoses, and there are hints to that in this poem. References to amyloid beta and Tau proteins. For example, you mentioned trying to tie them to specific experiences. Can you maybe deconstruct a couple of those references for me? So when you say, “Death is daily, Grandfather, and tau protein.” Help me understand. (KG): Sure. I think... He was a man that grew up in the Dominican Republic. He lost his parents when he was a small child. He lost both his parents at TB (tuberculosis), and so it's something that's… coming from a country that didn't necessarily provide medical, or appropriate medical services, or access to that…. My family came from what we would call [unintelligible], or country folks that farm the land, and so not having the appropriate medical services available to them, it's something that I know my family struggled with. Both my parents lost siblings at a young age that might have been preventable if they had the medical services that is available to folks now. It's something that he, you know, he survived that. But then, hopefully folks will reach an age where… he died when he was 86, and so that's a really long life. But the medical conditions really hastened his wellness, and so I was trying to capture the buildup of when… like, when a condition like Parkinson's hits, it's a gradual … (CSA): Those build up and they can't be deconstructed (KG): Yeah. (CSA): My father Father has a Parkinson's condition so… (KG): Yeah, yeah. So it's something that folks are living with, but it's something that, over time, it just keeps building up. And he always had coffee and a cigar. (CSA): Right! That's the other part you say. There's this very specific description of him, again, as somebody who smokes cigars; who drinks not just coffee but Cafe Bustelo; who carries a chair with him when he goes to sit on a stoop; And I thought that was so interesting, too, because there is this theme of memory in there (and maybe a little bit of erosion of memory), at the same time as you have this very specific description of this person who was obviously very important to you. It feels yeah, almost a reconstruction of him. (KG): Yeah, and it's a memory that his neighbors had of him, too. I remember attending his wake and there were neighbors that would be like, ‘Yeah. we're going to miss him. He made sure that everyday he would take down his… he would walk downstairs with his chair, and his coffee and a cigar,’ and that's what he did everyday. And having that routine that your neighbors recognize you, and it's something that really stood out to me, that I will always remember him in that way. Whenever I would go and visit him, I expected to see him in the stoop, and if he wasn't there, he was upstairs eating. I was trying to remember the fond memories that I had of him. The other image was, he's coming from a farming community and then moving to New York City; it's that shock of, New York City is not country! (CSA): ‘Where are my Platano trees?’ (KG): Yeah, yes! He spent most of his young adult and adult life working the fields, and then coming to the US and finding jobs here and there, but it wasn't the same. I think his way of making sure he had that cigar was… He planted and harvested tobacco leaves and I thought maybe that was his way of…. (CSA): Yeah, keeping that part of his life with him (KG): Yeah, Holding that. (CSA): Can you walk us through the last stanza? (KG): Yeah, so that last one, I'll just say that he was a really big prankster. He's the one that instigated different things, and he would always joke with all of his grandkids, and even his kids. A part of it is like, trying to come to terms with his death. Just hoping for that last time that you would play that last prank, and I just remember his Spirit. And he didn't necessarily have an easy life, but he always found ways to find joy in every day. He would bring that to the family by playing pranks; Whether it was waking us up in the middle of the night; He would surprise us and show up at our door asking if the coffee was ready, just to let us know that he was coming and he would just… I remember one of his favorite things was tapping someone's shoulder and just turning away quickly. Trying to find that last… I know he's with us in spirit, and my family carries him with us, but I think a lot of my poems have to deal with memory, and remembering experiences, remembering people. And trying to keep that connection and to my family and where my family comes from. I still remember walking through conoco fields which are just… it's a Dominican word for fields where folks would plant different things: platanos and coconuts… And I would walk through these fields, and it would always remind me of my grandparents and trying to imagine them continuing to walk these fields, and trying to hold on to these memories. (CSA): Well, we're getting pretty close to the end of our time, but before we do, what can you tell me about the collection that you have coming out in May? (KG): I'm really looking forward to it. It's going to be my first published collection, so I'm really excited to bring in these older poems that I wrote a while back along with newer poems. Some of it will be New York style, and some of my newer poems are going to be tied or related to living in the Monterey Bay area, so I'm really looking forward to it. I hope it'll have that bicoastal impact, cuz I am going to try to bring in different things from different experiences. It's going to be a short collection, but it should be done in March or May. So I'm looking forward to it. I just really want to thank Old Capitol Books and Boukra Press for guiding me through the process, and helping me edit the collection. (CSA): Well, Kenny Garcia, thank you so much for joining me today. (KG): Oh thank you! (CSA): Kenny Garcia, thank you so much for joining me today. To preorder a copy of Kenny’s upcoming book, Recuerdos en Palabras, visit boukrapress.com. Catch Story Behind the Story the first Friday of every month from 5 to 6 p.m. on KSQD 90.7 FM, or on KSQD.org. To share your thoughts on this or other shows, drop me a line at Clara@KSQD.org. The Story Behind the Story is produced for KSQD 90.7 FM by me, Clara Sherley-Appel. Our sound engineer is Lanier Sammons; He also wrote our theme.