It was dark of the first night of my Pennsic bardic circle this year, people sitting around a fire entertaining each other. Someone came in, sat down, started to play something on a guitar. For a moment I thought it was Leslie, long a regular at the circle. Every Pennsic they burn a longship carrying shields painted with the devices of those who have died during the year. Leslie had no device but I could paint a fish, with luck a fish with a guitar. When I got to where the shields were being painted Morgan was there and offered to do it for me. I first met Leslie and her partner Mary more than fifty years ago. I was a graduate student at the University of Chicago, a libertarian anarchist, on the right insofar as the right/left classification applied to libertarians. They were folk singers, political activists, Wobblies, members of an IWW band, left anarchists insofar as ' . We shared a fondness for Kipling's poetry, much of which they had set to music, felt more like allies than...
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