Thursday Housekeeping

I went to jury duty this morning. Got dismissed. Not for any major character defect or anti social proclivity mind you, they simply didn't need jurors today. Did you know that only ten percent of Americans report to jury duty, one of two duties required of citizens, the other being the requirement to pay taxes?

It was a yawner. Hung out for a couple hours and read. Laughed with the blind dude selling sundries who used to be on Overland in San Diego. I bought a hard boiled egg and he felt my dollar bill and gave it the real once over. Lost several hours of my life but it makes the whole legal system work so why not? Although I have a suspicion that things might be better if we went to a system of educated, professional jury rather than a so called jury of our "peers."

Mostly older cross section of potential jurors answering the call. Rasta white guy reading some weed magazine. I read a pulp crime novel from the Black Mask series. Nodded off. Performed my civic duty. Good to go for another year.

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They cut down the magnificent ficus tree across the street today. Didn't want the liability of the funky sidewalk, I guess. Shame, it was so pretty. Big hole in the view now.

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I have had some interesting letters recently that I think that I can share. First regarding the Paul DeGaston matter, I got this email  the other day. From a different Eric, from the other family. My DeGaston stuff is getting disseminated online again for some unknown reason, I need to create a one stop page with all of the information or write a damn book. Because the skeletons in both closets were so incredible, I feel like I have had to tiptoe a bit and might leave the writing thing for a more daring sort. Anyway here is the letter. It doesn't necessarily make things any easier because I was sure that there was two men and now I have a family member attempting to confirm my earlier suspicions that it may have been one guy leading a double life after all. But the pictures didn't jibe. The coincidences in the lives of the two DeGaston's are so incredible, the women named Violet that appear in both stories, the whole thing is just almost impossible to process. A family member is coming to visit soon who has put a down payment on a couple prints, maybe we sort it out.

I asked if I could publish this and never got a reply so here goes. Nothing too dramatic:

Hello

I see that the internet has become somewhat interested in my grandfather.   I don't really know if I can be of any help,  since I never had a reason (during childhood) to organize family stories into any meaningful order in my head.   Since I was born in 1978 to a 49 year old father,  most of his life stories were of no relevance to my young experience so I didn't spend much time thinking about them. 

Comparing the blog/article you've written with what I remember hearing from my dad (now deceased) and other family members, I'm going to suggest that all of the people you've identified as Paul de Gaston are probably the same person,  as just about everything you've uncovered sounds like a story I've heard.   It would appear he played his life as a very elaborate game.    According to my father,  his dad was 'the' Hollywood abortionist of repute for handling casting couch pregnancies that might affect young starlets' careers,  and the reputations of those casting directors who couldn't wait until the girls were 18.  

He apparently made decent money,  as one family story involves him buying a brand new Packard limousine,  driving to pick up his young sons,  loading the new vehicle with dynamite and pick axes and other prospecting supplies and then driving off to mine for precious metals (I don't recall where exactly, somewhere North of Los Angeles, perhaps Antelope Valley) with no regard for the pristine condition or high value of the vehicle.    Perhaps that's the story the way my dad remembered it,  and not the way it really happened.    

Paul de Gaston's father (my great-grandfather)  was August Hugo Bach de Gaston (apparently went by Hugh Bach sometimes)  and his mother was Anna Hermann 

My father was Raoul Hugh de Gaston(1929-2005) and his brother was Paul Robert de Gaston, Junior (deceased  around 1980) - they were children of Paul de Gaston, Sr.'s second (?) wife Grace.      Paul de Gaston, Sr's first wife was named Violet,  and they supposedly had a son who was also named Paul Robert de Gaston, Jr. (Raoul's older half-brother) - supposedly killed in action during WWII - but Paul Robert de Gaston, Jr. (Raoul's older full brother, died of lung cancer ~1980) also married a woman named Violet (deceased aorund 2001?) - and they had a son named Robert (living in San Jose, CA) and a daughter, Catherine.

So I don't know if I can be of any service to you.   My dad died 8 years ago and circumstances prior to that didn't exactly lead us to the closest of family relationships.    I don't really have much interest in any of the above information or people,  nor am I in any sort of regular or irregular contact with any members of the family beyond my sister and mother (Raoul de Gaston's only wife)  - but I'm willing to help with whatever questions you may happen to have - and if you have none, that's OK too.       Attached is a photograph of Paul, Sr's son Raoul from around 1977 (and my mother and sister)

Cheers

Eric de Gaston

http://www.blueheronblast.com/2012/02/tinker-tailor-soldier-spy.html
http://www.blueheronblast.com/2012/03/in-matter-of-paul-degaston.html
http://www.blueheronblast.com/2012/06/odd-story-of-paul-and-paul-de-gaston.html
http://www.blueheronblast.com/2012/03/continuing-story.html
http://www.blueheronblast.com/2012/06/friend-of-paul-percy-degaston.html
http://www.blueheronblast.com/2012/12/paul-percy-frazier-degaston-revisited.html

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I got another letter regarding my link to the new study analyzing proto languages that I found quite interesting and powerful.

Robert,

After reading your last blog on the subject of languages and attempts by sophisticated programing to decipher sounds of protolanguages etc.  It reminded me of my encounter with "protolanguages" and I thought I should share this with you.

Several years ago while hiking in the Patagonia region of Chile I had a heart attack. Perhaps something that could have been handled more easily if I was at home and close to medical help.   As it was, and because of the remoteness of the area and the fact that no one (including myself) recognized the symptoms it took over 20 hours to get me to a clinic to the nearest city Punta Arenas located in the Strait of Magellan.  The only land beyond was the island of Tierra del Fuego and then the Antartic.

I was in critical condition with an effective ventricular ejection factor of about 18% ( normal is over 60%).  If I survived that first night at the clinic there was hope for recovery.  I clearly did survive and there was a dream I had that night  that maybe somehow had to do with the survival  and also how close I was at the edge of death...or maybe just on the other side of the edge.

The dream was in fact that I had a heart attack and I was in critical condition.  It was something I just knew but I could not say it or express it in any way  because language had not been invented yet, only a few words in english did exist and also few words in french but no way to connect these random words into a thought or a phrase, kind of a protolanguage or pre-language .  Since language did not exist then nothing existed.  I was consciously alive in an ancient past beyond the memory of mankind and before creation, all that existed was just BEING and nothing else.

Did I cross to the other side? Maybe, maybe not, but the dream has stayed with me all these years just as clear as that night.  When the morning
came I remember clearly understanding that I was back in the world where language exists, and it did feel a little strange to be alive.

If language does not exist, the world cannot be described, therefore the world does not exist.  (?)

E

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I had a similar experience that I may have recounted once before regarding a post psilocybin dream where I seemed to contact a centuries old Cahuilla Indian tribe that existed outside of time. I can in no way reject the verity of E's experience. The Blue Heron Blast - Mining the holes in life's swiss cheese since that first 0range sunsh1ne trip in 1970. I looked around for the story and I must have pulled it. Bad for my image, I guess. Maybe I will give it to you one day over drinks at the Moose Lodge. There's a 40 year statute of limitations on these sorts of youthful indiscretion things, aren't there?

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Got this from Hilo today. New Opening. Might be my secret Hilo correspondent in there somewhere but he hasn't been around the blog much lately. I'm betting top right. Am I right? Maybe it's the kid...

Hilo Fine Art Center is proud to present:

COOTS in CAHOOTS

Jim Rhodes and Joe Hampton

Jim Rhodes is an artist and patron to artists. He has been deeply rooted in the Hilo art community for some time and is roundly admired and respected. He will be showing photos from his Green Chair series, along with various Found-object and Assembled sculptures. Jim knows a thing or two about 2x4's.

Joe Hampton - a Graphologist so you don't have to be - is a treasure. Entertaining and thought-provoking, his works display his play with words and their concepts. Joe knows a thing or two about typeface. He is also shy, so please, no sudden movements.

The gentlemen have collaborated on a number of projects over time, and are pleased to finally exhibit together. Presented for your enjoyment.


Opening reception, Friday, March 1, 5:00 to 7:00 PM  @HFAC.
Music provided by Isaac Nahaku'elua. Slack key guitar, taro patch style.

Exhibit dates, Friday, March 1 to Saturday, March 23.
Gallery hours, Tuesday thru Saturday, 10 to 6.

E Komo Mai!

Hilo Fine Art Center
224 Kamehameha Avenue, Suite 104 (entrance on Haili St.)
Downtown Hilo
808-966-9995
gallery@hilofineart.com

Les Perhacs brought over some photos of his new sculptures. Incredible artist, Les. Student of Moholy Nage and Fuller, brilliant metalsmith. Been working on the chaos series for decades, top flight artist. Now at the Gerald Peters Gallery.


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Lena sent the following link:

These photos are incredible.
Extraordinary Photos From LAURENT SCHWEBEL
Sad loss of this special photographer.
French photographer Laurent Schwebel, 52 years old, was stabbed and killed and his camera stolen while he was taking pictures in Buenos Aires.
A naturalist photographer, he was born in 1959 in the Alsace region of eastern France and killed on February 8, 2012, in Plaza San Martin, Retiro,
Buenos Aires. He worked as a geologist, naturalist and photographer guide of a French travel agency specializing in travel naturalists.

Fotos de Laurent Schwebel by

Great photographer. Tragic. I have a few more things to say today, totally off topic but they are somewhat political so I think that I will wait for another post. I know how so many of you hate it so.