I remember Ashmore, but vaguely. I was a kiddo in tow to a party at his Brookside house. The bathroom was finished in aluminum foil, but I don't remember that. I remember the volleyball, the party atmosphere, the strange site of my Dad and his friends cutting lose a bit.
Jack moved to Boston not long after that.
He's the teacher who painted his windows black when he couldn't get blackout shades from the district. Well, he couldn't until he showed them he was serious, Sherman Williams style. We need more teachers like this.
He also famously biked across Kansas. Not on a motorcycle, pedal power only. He'd biked across I don't know how many other states.
Anyway, this poetry prize was named for him even before he was in need of a memorial. The current trophy is a replacement for one he actually saw before AIDS took him.
The deal is, besides my Dad's name (which is also on there for 1983), Dad has to add something to it. The things that are on it include a partially full airplane bottle of Scotch, a bicycle, and a Writer's Block. Among other things.
How cool is this?
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