E. C. (Gene) Ayres Blogspot

I never knew Ted Kennedy other than by reputation, but my first awareness of him other than as Jack's and RFK's younger brother came at the time he and I were both new in our jobs and working towards the same goal: justice for American minorities in terms of those most basic of needs: health, education, and welfare. I was working for Kenneth B. Clark at the Metropolitan Applied Research Center in New York City. It was 1969, and I was a young idealist and Conscientious Objector to the war in Vietnam, and as a birthright Quaker, had taken a position with an NGO for my so-called Alternative Service in lieu of military action. This required (and I received) permission from the office of the President, who at the time was Nixon, whose mother had been a Quaker herself. At that time Dr. Clark had hired another white person besides myself for his Harlem-based research and educational development programs: the indominable Jeanette Hopkins, one of two venerable, powerful women pioneers I...

I just couldn't wait. I love disaster movies. Or used to. NBCs miniseries "Storm" was pretty bad, though. Starring former Dawson's Creek hottie James Van Der Beek, playing stud-disguised-as-geek per usual, I hung in there for part I, mostly because I could relate to a scientist that resembled Elvis Costello meets Ken. Or at least, wish I could. Complete with thick black rim Buddy Holly glasses, James really knows how to stand out in the crowd when the LAPD gets after him big time. Van Der Beek's geek, Dr. Kirk Haffner, gets to play a smart pawn to Treat Williams over-the-top and out-to-lunch defense contractor wannabe, whose idea of national defense is to blow up the atmosphere. Never mind General So-and-So is totally in his pocket on this one, along with two really dumb young scientists who must have skipped class a lot, but sure know how to push those buttons. Complete with kewl 1950s retro FX, Dr. Kirk has come up with a way to control the weather, which the DO...

Last night I watched the first episode of an NBC miniseries called “The Storm.” This struck a nerve. My first mystery novel, Hour of the Manatee , was originally titled Storm Warning , and it was just that. The NBC movie was marginally about Global Warming and very exciting, and timely too, were it not for the ridiculous plot. The basic theme of runaway weather is real enough, as we speak. Bizarre mini weather phenomena have been occurring worldwide of late, and if not quite as dramatic yet as in the film, it is at least equally strange and perplexing. Even in Seattle, where I now live, the weather has shown a remarkable tendency towards the strange, pretty much since I got here two years ago. I also felt exonerated, too, by seeing a high level General as the prime heavy in this script. In my latest eco-thriller Cry of the Heron , an Air Force General is less than heroic. Weather as a weapon? Maybe. But it is Mother Nature’s weapon, not ours (which in fairness, is the underlying moral...

I believe there is such a thing as time travel. It is called 'Art.' It's music. It's film. It's paint. It's sculpture. It's what we do that makes us human. Art is timeless. You're there, at the moment of creation, every time. Have you ever wondered why it is that when you listen to an old song, one that got you viscerally that first time you heard it, it's that first time happening, at some level in your soul, all over again? Why is it that ten million people wanted to attend Michael Jackson's funeral? I was never a fan, but I always found him fascinating, and that Moon Walk was kinda cool. As a human being, he was a pretty spectacular flop. But at some level, he reached maybe a billion people worldwide, with those moves, those tunes, that beat. And even I, ever a non-fan, can summmon a moment in my past life when it got to me, and even I was sashaying across a floor in a club somewhere (I lived in L.A. back then) moving backwards, trying not to...

Lowell and Perry are out sunning, as usual. As usual it's late afternoon, to avoid the mid-day Florida heat. Perry is circumspect, as usual. Lowell is working on the brightwork of his perpetual rehab project, the schooner Andromeda . Keeping up the wood finish on a wooden boat in Florida is about like painting the Golden Gate bridge. By the time your done, it's time to start over again. "Hey, Lowell," says Perry, through a cloud of cannabis. He's been smoking more lately, and enjoying it less. "Don't you ever get tired of working on your damn boat?" "Sure. Every year," responds Lowell, slapping on a new coat of varnish on the stern rail, having finally finished re-sanding it. "Seems to me you spend about ten hours of varnishing for every hour sailing, wouldn't you say?" Lowell grins. "So few? I'd put it at more than a hundred to one. In fact, when was the last time we went sailing, like out on the Gulf?" Perry re...

Lowell and Perry have just finished a difficult investigation involving a former police officer who had taken the law into his own hands, and his wife’s life along with it. Perry is morose. “People keep killing each other,” he complains. "Over nothin'." “That’s because they have easy access to deadly weapons,” responds Tony, lighting his customary micro-dose of cannabis. Perry waves it off. “Used to be just fisticuffs, or a few sharp words. Now they use sharp objects.” “Or firepower,” admits Perry. That’s a big admission for him. He’s NRA all the way, and has a weapons depot to prove it, in his barn and basement. Which is ironic, as Tony Lowell often points out, because Perry was trained very well in Special Forces to kill with his bare hands. That said, he’s basically a very peaceable guy, he just loves his guns. He wants to show Lowell the latest. A Ruger .38, actually an antique, but in perfect condition. “It reloads the old fashioned way,” he boasts, proudly, popping ...

Lowell and Perry are at it again, sitting on the dock of the bay, Manatee Bay, having a toke, and Perry is morose as usual. This time it's about all the cigarette butts that have washed up on shore. "Leave it to Big Tobacco to trash the world," grumbles Perry. "You never saw a pot head who littered like this," he complains. "That's true," nods Lowell. "Unlike cigarettes, weed is au natural ." "I was down at Albertson's last week," says Perry, careful to stub out his joint and replace it in his pocket. "They have these Mexicans to sweep up the parking lot, but they miss a lot." "How do you mean?" asks Lowell, fishing out a netful of cigarette filters that have clustered around his dock piling. He's long since given up on catching any edible fish, but sometimes nets come in handy. "There was this stiff breeze coming in off the Gulf. It was blowing all this small stuff the sweepers miss up against t...