"Sheltering the Creative Spirit"
Taos, New Mexico USA
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"Sheltering the Creative Spirit"
Taos, New Mexico USA
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Newsletter, Vol. VII, No. 13 - November, 2000
Board of Directors President: Barbara Waters 1st Vice President: Imogene Bolls 2nd Vice President: Mark Rossi Secretary: Arleene Arnell Treasurer: Mark Rossi Arthur Bachrach, Nathan Bolls, Marilyn Luther, Tal Luther, Renate Collins
Table of Contents Please click on any topic below to go directly to it. A Frank Waters Reader: Tom Lyon Books Galore and a New Website Sale items from the JOHN GILCHRIESE COLLECTION
Back-Alley Boys: The Life-Long Friendship of Charles Hathaway and Frank Waters, by Charles Elbert Hathaway
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Early in the fall term of 1914, I became aware of a boy who one day was abruptly called from the classroom to go home due to the death of his father.
A few days after this incident in our classroom, I observed this same boy in short knee pants on the tracks ahead of me. He had a gangly stride and was wearing an intriguing Irish walking hat. I soon caught up with him and found his name to be Frank Waters. We became friends at this meeting on the old Santa Fe tracks. Frank was on his way home to his grandfatherıs big house on Bijou Street, and I was on my way to our High Street house. Instead of wading down the short bank of cinders at the Bijou Street bridge, we went further south to a steeper bank of cinders which scuffed our shoes as we descended toward Shookıs Run. On the way, we passed the corral of a Jersey cow belonging to Mr. Crawford, a colored man, who lived on the crumbling banks of Shook's Run. While I was in high school, Mr. Crawford was of much help to me, almost in a fatherly way.
To cross Shook's Run, someone had spanned it with a couple of two-foot square timbers, providing adequate footing about fifteen feet above the running water. After crossing, we would jog a block up the hill to my house, the second from the corner. There Frank would leave me and cross Corona to proceed up the alley to his grandfatherıs large two-story warehouse with an upstairs drafting room. Although there was a back gate, Frank selected a high board fence as the most interesting point for entrance. Frank and I scrambled over this fence many times, fortunately without snagging our knee pants.
We also made a few excursions to the main part of town together. One year, just before Christmas, we decided to go see the toys in the Tejon Street stores. After reviewing toys in the various stores, we wound up at Woolworth's. Frank had a dollar to spend on presents for the family: his sister, two cousins, mother, grandfather, and several aunts. Frank seemed satisfied with his selections, and I have always remained amazed at what he did with only one dollar.
On our walks home from school, we developed rituals of diversion from a straight path to make the walk more interesting. Two blocks west of the school, a fence extended from the yard to the sidewalk at the perfect height for a one-handed vault. Of course after we two had landed numerous times on the grass, it showed wear. One day, Frank took off with his one-handed leap. "Ouch!" he cried. The owner had driven brads into the fence, and cut off their heads. That ritual of diversion stopped abruptly.
Shook's Run always offered us a domain of tranquility and interest. It was our world. Frank remembered it as part of the area we had shared together in our youth by writing in my copy of The Wild Earth's Nobility, "To Chuck -- who with us has known as his own that domain from Shook's Run to Pikes Peak - Frank."
Shook's Run was a natural drainage course which meandered from north to south the entire length of Colorado Springs. The water flow varied with the amount of precipitation, at times leaving the bed with small water puddles among dry spots of sand sediment. At other times, it carried an ominous torrent of water which cut into the crumbling banks. This alarmed those with property too near the edges and as high as fifteen feet above the stream below.
Whenever I recall Shook's Run, a vivid memory of a rainy summer day comes to mind. We were in Frankıs house on Bijou Street; it was afternoon, which indicates we must have taken shelter inside from a quick deluge. I remember hearing a disturbance across the street; upon looking out the front window, I knew Frank and I had to be there, so I called to Frank to let him know we had to go across the street. Directly across the street from Frank's house, a grocery store occupied the corner lot except for a short distance of ground that extended dangerously near the bank where water was rising in a raging torrent down the Run. (The store has now been replaced by Frank Waters Park.) An old woman owned the store. She had false teeth that clicked when she called out orders to her son, T. J.
As Frank and I approached, we saw this hysterical old woman standing near the creek bank. Soon we could hear the clicking of her teeth as she repeatedly called out for T. J. to do something. T. J., a grown young man still under the bidding of his mother, of course was helpless to do anything about the situation. He stood near a light spring wagon used for delivering groceries and to which was hitched a thin little soaking wet bay horse with his head hung as long as he could get it. The whole situation radiated trouble, disaster, or worse, so we hurried over beside T. J.'s mother near the bank.
We instantly could see what was happening. Water had filled the creek runway from side to side, high up its banks; and it was constantly rising. We could see and hear segments of the sandy walls give way to become part of a rushing mass of tumbling water. Several feet of dirt ground stretched from the bank's edge to the rear of the grocery store. As we stood by the terrified old woman, her yard grew smaller and smaller as the water rose higher and higher. Finally, the water stopped rising about one and a half feet from the top of the arch. Being so close to this uncontrolled rushing of water was almost as scary to us as it was thrilling. - Charles Elbert Hathaway
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Charles Hathaway is a most unusual man. Imagine publishing your first book at age 98, in addition to publishing poetry in local newspapers, and painting watercolors for your friends! All of this after a noteworthy business career. Born in 1902, Charles grew up in Colorado Springs. While employed as cashier at Colorado College, he obtained B.A. and M.A. degrees in economics and business. Subsequently, he spent 23 years as Director of School Finance for the Colorado Department of Education. He was also Business Manager of the Denver Bureau of Public Welfare, a Colorado state income tax auditor, and a state health statistician. Alert and active, he now lives at La Posada Park Center in Green Valley, Arizona, not far from his daughter, Carol Raymond. His book is dedicated to his wife, Bernice, who died in 1988. An order form for this short charming memoir of his lifelong friendship with Frank Waters is enclosed. - B.W.
A Frank Waters Reader: A Southwestern Life in Writing, by Thomas Lyon Frank Waters found his great themes in his own life. Several of his books are explicitly autobiographical, but nearly all of them, in one way or another, derive from a lifelong self-examination, a patient exploration of his background, and an investigation into the importance of landscape and place. This anthology outlines Frank Waters's journey of discovery.
I have just finished reading proofs for the book, which should be out this year from Ohio/Swallow Press, and I must admit the experience has surprised me. Maybe it's just that when reading proofs, you have to be slow and careful, and pay attention. But I think there was something more profound involved, and the something came from Frank Waters.
It has been an unexpected renewal for me. Going through the excerpts from The Wild Earth's Nobility, Below Grass Roots, and the Dust Within the Rock, I began to feel somehow as if I were reading these old familiar books for the first time, and coming upon a whole new writer. Then with People of the Valley, The Man Who Killed the Deer, The Yogi of Cockroach Court, and The Colorado, I felt a kind of philosophical thrill, like being pointed toward a new, larger world.
How can this be? I'm an old jaded ex-professor! And I've read Frank Waters since sometime back in the last century. But I think there might be a secret here in this little personal encounter. It's all about freshness and discovery. The secret is that Frank Waters was a genuine learner, and he could convey the inimitable excitement of the moment when the eyes open on something truly new. He could communicate newness as a state of mind.
I'm afraid our usual, or so-called normal condition, is anything but that of a learner.
We're so caught up in strategic planning, day to day, and so judgmental (necessarily, we think) about absolutely everything, that there's no place for the simple freshness of the world. We accumulate tons of data, but we don't really have much openness.
One of the pieces in the book is a modest little editorial from El Crepusculo, dated May 11, 1950. It's about walking to work at the paper, probably that very morning, going past plum trees in blossom. There aren't many images, and the whole essay isn't long, but as simple as it is, it radiates the unmistakable beauty of free consciousness. Frank Waters was learning that morning, every step of the way, as alive and ready as a human being probably ever gets to be.
This can be, thank the Lord, contagious. This little editorial, with its so obviously beating heart, took me across the desert to Taos, to the bright air and the shadowed mountains and the yeasty feeling of a spring morning, when even going to town, to work, has something special on it. In Utah, where I first read Frank Waters, it would be the time of first plowing, when the dark moist ground is steaming in the sun and gulls flutter above the tractor. Here, it is southern California, and spring is something more subtle, but if you're in the mood - if you're for a moment at least, a learner - it can still work some magic.
Frank Waters, I think, lived a lot of his time at the edge of that expansion, that young state of learning. Two of his favorite words for opening out into this mysterious, larger, beyond-thought world were "apperception" and "emergence." What a good thing for us, that he was willing to be vulnerable as a writer, and sincerely try to communicate what was most magical and central in his life.
An Editorial by Frank Waters As often happens to the best of mice and men, our mind is not on our business today.
We feel immune to the worthy innovations that are making Taos a more comfortable place to live in. We have no invectives to hurl at Labor, Big Business, or even the Chamber of Commerce. Nothing in the horrible state of world affairs could induce us to preach a tidy little sermon on the injustices of mankind to man.
In our distorted frame of mind, the world looks like the best possible abode for mortal man. Still we know that there comes a time in the Fat Forties when a man must resist the blandishments of nature, and look only at the facts of life seen through the myoptic gaze of middle age. Not at the thickets of wild plum blossoms heaped like snowdrifts in the sagebrush . . . crossing the pastures like a file of white-blanketed Indians.
That is probably what threw us off balance this morning. The deplorable necessity of having to walk to work through a country pasture instead of taking a city subway. . . And being inflicted with the unavoidable sight of that beach of white blossoms flanking the blue pine mountains all the way to the Pueblo.
It could be a touch of May fever. It could be us. But the safest bet is to blame it on those blossoms.
Another Gift, by Hugh Ogden The monsoons had not yet arrived in northern New Mexico and the early evening sky contained only a cluster of clouds over Taos Sacred Mountain as I drove my rented car up Route 150 to Arroyo Seco. I was coming for the first time to the Frank Waters Foundation. I knew only that I had a cabin for a month, that it was close to Pueblo land, and that I was arriving with the mishmash of a year's teaching back in Connecticut that needed to be sorted through and put aside to allow for new poems. I knew only that I was coming to a primeval valley enclosed on two sides by mountains and facing out on mesas, high plains, and the gorge that I had first visited ten years before.
As I stood there on the cabin porch after removing my word processor, printer, and one piece of luggage from the car, I sensed the expansiveness and connection that was to be given me through July. And the rhythms and landscape that I would carry with me back East. Upon my return, sweltering in a heat wave while remembering the rain and coolness, the web of friendships that had unfolded in my month in Arroyo Seco, my struggles with the clawed darkness of my psyche in the poems written there, I fully realized the blessing of what I had been given: a month of solitude, bell-clear morning skies, and afternoon and evening storms that brought water and regeneration to the land and to me.
Arroyo Seco is a special place. A whole mess of people from California and elsewhere have bought land and built houses back from El Salto Road, where the Foundation is located, thereby changing the textures and purity of underground streams. But a few working ranches, pastures, and hay fields remain. When the air is quiet, you can still hear the old cattle and buffalo sounds, mingled with the snorting of horses, baying of donkeys, and screaming of peacocks. How fortunate that Barbara Waters has placed some of the fifteen acres that her husband bought back in 1947 into a conservation easement. And how visionary of her to have established this Foundation so that all kinds of artists might come here to do their work and be nourished.
I, for one, left with a sheaf of new poems about such things as firing pots in the old traditional ways of pueblo life as well as inner poems I long had been carrying, about victimhood and pain. I worked and wrote at an old card table on the porch that looks down on an aspen-pole fence that stakes and separates a neighborıs house from the studio.
Afternoons I sometimes left to go to book stores and talks, or to meet friends on the Reservation or in town. But for the most part I stayed on Foundation property, where I learned all the gullies in both the upper and lower pastures and marveled at the water flow the Acequia Madre, running off of the Rio Lucero on Taos Indian land, under El Salto Road, and even under the little Arroyo Seco creek all the way to the middle of the mesa where it divides and nurtures Foundation land. Yes, I love protected land like this. I treasure water. And Iım thankful that there's a refuge called the Frank Waters Foundation at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
The challenge now is to complete more of their planned studios and to fund an adequate endowment that will allow for yearly upkeep and administration. And quite a challenge it is. If the blessings I received here are to be shared by others, and if Frank Waters legacy and Barbara Waters's faith and vision are to be honored, support will have to be forthcoming from the Taos community as well as from those committed to the arts all over the world. It's a worthy challenge. By meeting it, even in small ways, people will positively affect the quality of life of those who follow us, besides sustaining that crucial sacred spirit needed to make human culture and its relationship to earth more nourishing.
As I write this, I think of the Colorado granite boulder engraved with Frank's words from The Man Who Killed the Deer. I think of my creative friends in Taos: Soge, Bernadette, Imogene, Nate, Skip, Liz, Sally, John, Barbara, and so many others. But most of all I think of how a Foundation such as this one in Arroyo Seco supports our effort to make an art that touches and enriches people's lives. Hugh Ogden has written several books of poetry, including Natural Things and Gift. He teaches in Connecticut and was a writer-in-residence at the FWF in 1999 and 2000. On the Death of Ginger, Her Horse Earth, we gave you foot-paths and walked singing beside the mountain. We laughed together and in a wisp of dream you lay the ground for tomorrow. Barbara came and the morning and she placed a wild iris on the ear of Ginger who had returned to you, the magpies cackling and not yet plunging for her eyes. She knelt and put her hand on Ginger's white forehead and you cradled her body and she heard hoof-beats.
- Hugh Ogden FWF Resident June 2000
by Imogene Bolls
Smoothly is not the way book publishing is supposed to go. Especially when the press is a smaller one, the editor is over committed, and he wants the book out ASAP.
But that's the way my third book of poetry, Advice for the Climb, came into being - smoothly. From initial acceptance of the manuscript to disk copies to hard-copy galleys, the forward process was interrupted only a few times.
One concern was use of the word "advice." Advice is not recommended for most titles; it sounds a bit pompous. After Editor Larry Smith and others at Bottom Dog Press realized that the "advice" in the title was clearly advice I was getting instead of giving, this problem dissolved. A second problem was cover design. Asked to offer input, I provided one of my pueblo ladder photos from among many photographs taken annually in Taos.
Then came the need for an interminable mailing list of potential buyers, and my chagrin at having to put friends and maybe enemies alike on the spot. I would never make a good salesperson; I don't promote anything easily, much less myself. Cover color? I didn't know what it would be until the book arrived. Blue? Tan? Happily, the editor had hit upon a superb sage green that perfectly blended the black and white pueblo ladder with my outdoor Taos poems.
Endorsements from fellow poets were next. Fortunately, the top four on my list replied, "Yes." I am thrilled to have on my book the praise of master linguist X. J. Kennedy, as well as that of premier Irish poet Eavan Boland; the sensitive comments of nationally respected Ohio poet David Citino; and those of esteemed western poet Pattiann Rogers.
The first shipment of completed books finally arrived after a long wait, and visiting friends remarked that they never had seen me so hesitantly eager as I was when the UPS truck pulled into our driveway. I must have resembled an expectant puppy coveting a milkbone. Of course they didn't realize I didn't know what color to expect, nor if the three typos on the final page proofs had been fixed.
All of my fears were assuaged when I took a copy outside onto the deck in the shadow of Taos Mountain. There were the ladder and that delicious sage green, the book blurbs clean and tight, the right picture of me. Inside, my book is divided into three sections: "Advice from the Self," for often we know more than we think; "Advice from the Others," since we canıt live without learning from others; "Advice from the Universe," which knows us better than we know ourselves. Readers will have to judge for themselves the quality of these poems.
Much positive reader input occurred during an Ohio book tour highlighted by readings and signings at Wittenberg University where I was teaching; Yellow Springs, home of Antioch Writers' Workshop; and the prized Books and Co. bookstore in Dayton. Smoothly it all went, in spite of this endeavor that postponed for a short while the permanent move of my husband, Nate, and me from Ohio to Taos. Now to our great joy it too has been accomplished, if not quite so smoothly as the creation of this book. Imogene Bolls, first vice-president of FWF, is the author of Glass Walker, Earthbound, and Advice for the Climb. She has published more than 600 poems in national literary journals and anthologies, and has won numerous awards, including two Ohio Individual Artist Awards and the Ohioana Library Association Award for lifetime achievement in poetry. This latest book of poems is available through FWF for $10.95, including shipping.
To place an order for the book, CLICK HERE.
by Barbara Waters My book is meant primarily to be a celebration of survival, a celebration of life - our greatest gift. And it celebrates some of those persons who have gracefully created the ups and downs of their lifetime into works of art, such as my late husband Frank Waters.
By gracefully I mean that they have landed on their feet as clever coyote most often does in myth and fable, instead of lying around moaning and groaning about their ill-starred fates.
Elie Wiesel, a survivor of the holocaust, wrote in his autobiography that survivors of a test must tell their stories. In telling my story I have added, "Survival is a celebration of mortality or immortality. It is a celebration of the enduring coyote in our beloved coy-dog Trickster, in Frank, in myself, in all of us."
In celebrating the coyote we are celebrating that volatile spirit which exceeds intellect or rationality. Psychiatrist C.G. Jung called the trickster coyote our "shadow" side, our repressed secret side. The more we recognize and acknowledge it, the more positively powerful it becomes, just as the legendary Trickster has gained stature as mankind has advanced. Frank, an honorary member of the Hopi Coyote Clan, possessed a great deal of this volatile spirit. And so it was not always easy to live with him. But it has been much harder living without him since his death in 1995.
Although my grief over his death frames this story and gives it structure, it is by no means the main story.
I thought Frank was the main person in this story. I meant him to be. I intended to honor him and to promote his work. To my amazement, MacMurray & Beck's executive editor said this book was about me. If this is true, buyers get five books for the price of one: an autobiographical memoir, a biography of sorts, a marriage manual, a positive grief process manual, and a how-to directive on renewing oneıs depleted energy through absorbing that of the departed as well as helpful energy from friends, warm memories, animals, and nature. My whole book is a ceremony celebrating my exchange of energies with the universe. Some may call this "New Age" thinking. It is really wisdom of the ages preserved by sages like Jung and Frank Waters.
Books Galore and a New Website Since books always have been our top priority, it is not surprising that we devoted the past two years to them instead of to writing newsletters. But with things simmering down, weıll be back on track again regularly turning out newsletters for the FWF.
First came the editing of Frank's posthumous memoir, Of Time and Change, republished this month in paperback. An excerpt was featured in the September Santa Fean. Next came editing my own book, Celebrating the Coyote, for which an order form is enclosed. Beginning to write another book followed, as well as writing a foreword to accompany Tom Lyon's introduction for a new edition of The Woman at Otowi Crossing. Swallow Press/Ohio University Press will have Tom Lyon's most recent book, A Frank Waters Reader: A Southwestern Life in Writing, in bookstores by early December. Treasurer Mark Rossi and I worked hard on bringing to fruition a dream of self-publishing as a major FWF goal. Believe me, it's a lot of work! And without Mark's dedicated help, it would not have been possible, nor half as much fun. Typist Sandra Miller was another big asset, and continues to be a godsend on numerous projects. Our first publishing endeavor, Back-Alley Boys by Charles Hathaway, is featured in this issue along with an order form. His short memoir about growing up with Frank Waters will be out near the end of November, when we expect to have a book signing near Charles' home in Green Valley, Arizona.
FWF vice-president Imogene Bolls also writes here about her third book of poems, Advice for the Climb, available through the Foundation. Two FWF writer residents this summer were working on books: Hugh Ogden on another book of poetry, and Stephen Kress on one about the political environment. Stephen formerly published Cross Winds. See Hugh's article and poem in this issue. Although we haven't yet firmed up dates for the next Frank Waters Southwest Writing Contest, the last two winners are going full speed ahead with their writing careers. The University of New Mexico Press published Jim Sanderson's winning El Camino del Rio with great success and is about to release his second mystery. Clint Trafton's intriguing novel You Canıt Push a Rope about activist Reies Tijerina can be purchased at: www.trafford.com/robots/00-0002.html or by calling 505-829-9195. Another big Foundation project has been establishing an extensive website at: http://www.frankwaters.org
Just as Frank always wrote of the general public for the general public, we have aimed our site primarily at the same audience, rather than at academia, which as a college dropout was never his first love. There's something for everyone, however, and room for all to contribute. We still have a long way to go, particularly with detailed write-ups and critiques of each of Frank's 27 books as well as final proofreading, but it's a wonderful start. All due thanks for this go mainly to new Webmaster William Farr, who was Frank's favorite doctor in Tucson and dedicated himself wholeheartedly to making this a topnotch presentation. In our next issue you'll hear more about him in detail, along with fellow board members Marilyn and Tal Luther.
We hope that this Christmas you will all support the Frank Waters Foundation, its projects, and its workshops by making generous donations, renewing memberships, or joining us for the first time. Though never short of creativity, we are short of funds after all this concentrated effort, without requests for contributions. Merry Christmas! - B.W.
A Frank Waters Reader ( A Review) The author of 27 works of fiction and non-fiction, Waters (1902-95) is best remembered for his depiction of Native Americans and the American Southwest. Editor Lyon (The Literary West: An Anthology of Western American Literature) here presents Waters' best writing, including chapters from 14 of his books, from Fever Pitch (1930) to his posthumous Of Time and Change: A Memoir (1998). Waters is at his best when combining memories of Western life, passionate descriptions, and a sense of the natural beauty of the environment. He seeks a compromise between the technological and the spiritual world when, in The Woman at Otowi Crossing, for example, he confronts the conflict between Native American culture and the development of atomic weapons. Much of Watersı work is an expression of his emotions, mystical beliefs, intellectual consciousness, and perceptive insight into humanity and nature, all of which merge with a tumultuous intensity. This compilation is a delight, effectively sharing the authorıs life and lifelong passion for the American West through his prose and a selection of photographs. Recommended for all libraries. - Review by Cynde Lahey, Library Journal
For Sale: For the Benefit of The Foundation
- FOUNDATION MEMBERSHIPS - Notecards photographed by Judith Bronner, $2.50 each. Frank Waters' Adobe; Three Black Lambs (next door); Under El Salto (more sheep with mountain backdrop). - Taos Landmarks and Legends, text and 115 pen-and-ink drawings (including the Frank Waters Foundation) by Bill Hemp, clothbound $34.95, softcover $19.95. - Sundays in Tutt Library with Frank Waters, introduction by Joseph Gordon, softcover $20. Frank's speech given in Colorado Springs in 1985. Last available copies. Book collector Tal Luther says, " . . . a valuable collector's item." - "Early School Days in Colorado Springs: with Frank Waters and Charles Hathaway," video tape, $30 + $3 postage. - Signed Frank Waters posters, $35 + $5 postage. Unsigned, $20 + $5 postage. - Fechin's Frank posters, framed, glass, $500-each. - Notecard packs (6 cards) featuring Fechin's portrait of Frank, $10 + $3 postage each. - Luhan-Waters trastero (cupboard) replica, $5,000. - First editions of Brave Are My People, Flight from Fiesta, Frank Waters: Man and Mystic, Terence Tanner's bibliography Frank Waters, and Imogene Bolls' Advice for the Climb. - Bronze Bust of Frank, $2,500; Bronze Sculpture of Frank's Hand, $250; Bronze Mask, $750; Bronze Plaque, $1,000 (all bronzes by Mark Rossi; shipping not included).
From the John Gilchriese Collection: 1. 1 copy: Frank Waters: A Bibliography, Terence A. Tanner (HB/Dust Jacket/Presentation/Signed) - $100 2. 3 copies: Frank Waters: A Bibliography, Terence A. Tanner (HB/DJ) - $90 3. 1 copy: To Possess The Land, (PB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $25 4. 1 copy: Cuchama and Sacred Mountains, W. Y. Evans-Wentz (HB DJ/Pres/Signed) - $25 5. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/No DJ/Pres/Signed) - $120 6. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/No DJ) - $100 7. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/DJ/Signed) - $130 8. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $140 9. 1 copy: Mexico Mystique, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $40 10. 1 copy: Mexico Mystique, (PB/Pres/Signed) - $20 11. 1 copy: Book of the Hopi, (Uncorrected Proof/Spiral Binding/Wrapper) - $1,250 12. 1 copy: Frank Waters: A Retrospective Anthology, Charles L. Adams (PB/Signed) - $25 13. 1 copy: The Man Who Killed the Deer, (PB/Pres/Signed - 1970) - $50 14. 1 copy: The Colorado, (PB/Pres/Signed) - $25 15. 1 copy: Brave Are My People, (HB/Pres/Signed) - $60 16. 1 copy: Pike's Peak, (PB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $40 17. 2 copies: Pike's Peak, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $55 ea 18. 1 copy: Pike'ıs Peak, (HB/Dam DJ/Pres/Signed) - $50 19. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (HB/DJ/Signed) - $40 20. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $45 21. 3 copies: Flight From Fiesta, (PB/Signed) - $30 ea 22. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (PB/Signed ³Frank²) - $25 23. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (PB/Pres/Signed) - $35 24. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (HB/Slp Cov/No. 12/Signed) - $150 25. 1 copy: Writers' Forum: Frank Waters Issue, (PB/Signed) - $30 26. 1 copy: The Dust Within the Rock, (HB/No DJ) - $40 27. 1 copy: Leon Gaspard, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed/Fenn Ed) - $160 28. "Studies in Frank Waters," Charles Adams, Ed.: 1 copy Vol. V - $20; 3 copies Vol. VI - $20 ea; 1 copy Vol. VII - $20; 9 copies Vol. X - $20 ea; 2 copies Vol. XIII - $20 ea; 2 copies Vol. XVIII - $20 ea; 2 copies Vol. XIX - $20 ea; 2 copies Vol. XX - $20 ea.
29. One Bronze Bust of Frank Waters, by Mark Rossi - $2,500 For more information, please contact: The Frank Waters Foundation 505-776-2356
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