As a kid, when I visited Visalia, I spent most of my time at Aunt Lulu (my dad’s sister) and Uncle Frank’s. They had three daughters, and I was very close to them, particularly Gloria (or Jo as she was known), who was a year older than me. We used to take walks in the evening, holding hands. We talked about getting married, but Jo said that couldn’t be, we were cousins. I told her that President Roosevelt married his cousin; I didn’t say they were fifth cousins! I think I learned that from a movie newsreel.

Uncle Frank and Aunt Lulu at the Blue House. 

Aunt Lulu and the girls went to the Methodist Church, and one time a church group took a trip to the Cincinnati Zoo and invited me to go along. That was my first visit to a zoo, and I thought it was the grandest place I had ever seen. The highlight of that trip was seeing Susie, the most famous gorilla in the world.

Susie was captured when she was 6 months old off the west coast of South Africa and taken to the Riviera in France, until the famous Graf Zeppelin airship made its first trip to America, on which she was a passenger. Susie occupied Cabin One, landing at Lakehurst, New Jersey, August 4, 1929. She became a huge drawing card for the Cincinnati Zoo. Several times a day, Susie, with her trainer, Bill Dressman, entertained the spectators. Mr. Dressman talked to her like she was a person, and until her death she was regarded as the world’s only trained gorilla.

Susie the gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo. 

Grandpa Marcus did odd jobs for many people in Visalia, and Uncle Frank gave him jobs, whether they were needed or not, to help with living expenses. I learned that Grandpa had developed a black tar roofing paint for metal roofs, barns, etc., and everyone swore that his paint was better than anything on the market. He ordered 50 gallon drums of oil, basis for the paint, and they came by rail to Visalia. The train would just drop off the barrel by the tracks, and there it stayed until Grandpa picked it up.

Well, years later, I got the idea that his paint should be produced by a corporation like Sears and Roebuck, and I talked to Grandpa about it. He didn’t quite understand what I was thinking, but he gave me his blessing to contact Sears and see if they would accept a sample for testing. I called it “Marcus Roof Paint,” made up a label and put it on a 5-gallon can. I contacted Sears in Chicago, and they sent back a letter, saying, “Send the paint and we will test it.”

Of course, this took a few months as they painted test panels that were exposed to the elements for a period of time. The final letter from Sears said, “Sorry, we don’t find your paint superior to our own brand.”

In the 1930s, the biggest event that the schoolchildren in northern Kentucky looked forward to each year was “School Day at Coney Island.” Coney Island was then one of the grandest amusement parks in America.

The roots of Coney Island date back to 1867 when James Parker, an apple farmer, purchased a 400-tree, 20-acre apple orchard on the shores of the Ohio River, about 10 miles east of downtown. Starting out as a picnic area, by 1887 it became a park and was called Coney Island.

In 1925, a grand new “Island Queen” replaced the beloved riverboat that had burnt three years earlier. The new steamer, also called “Island Queen,” was a masterpiece, measuring 300 feet long and 80 feet wide, and featuring five decks with a ballroom, a bar, a cafeteria, souvenir stands and refreshment counters. It could accommodate 4,000 passengers per trip. The boat quickly became the preferred method of traveling to Coney Island and was also the beloved trademark of the park, plying the Ohio River with its calliope music drifting over the waters and into the hills of Ohio and Kentucky.

The Island Queen 

However, following the park's closing in 1947, the Island Queen made its way up the Ohio River to Pittsburgh for off-season maintenance. On September 9th, a welder's torch ignited an oil bunker, and the stately ship disappeared in a huge fireball, killing 19 people. Coney Island debated whether to rebuild the boat, but the $4 million cost, combined with the increasing popularity of the automobile, prompted the park to emphasize a bus program. Coney Island's steamship era and the park's most beloved symbol were gone forever. It is interesting that at one time, part of the owners, the Wachs family, were distantly related to Georgianna, whose maiden name was Wachs.

The “Northern Kentucky School Day” was the only time of year that the Island Queen docked on the Covington side. Strips of ride tickets were sold in the schools, and I believe a strip had 10 tickets and cost 85 cents.

That day was truly a magical trip to a world completely removed from the day-to-day activities of most of the children who anxiously awaited the boat, with its calliope playing, coming toward them from the Ohio side. What a thrill that was! The rides at Coney Island included the Shooting Star, Mirror Maze, Rocket Ships, Tumble Bug, Dodgem, Laff-in-the-Dark, Whip, Wildcat (with its 90-foot drop), Lost River, Flying Scooters, Ferris Wheel, Cuddle Up, Caterpillar, Boats and Canoes, and eight kiddie rides in the Land of Oz. The Laff-in-the-Dark was the favorite of the young couples because there was ample time to smooch as the boat slowly plied through the waters. You could hear the laughter, the chuckles, and the words, “stop that!” You can just imagine.

Much of the joy and fun, though, was actually outside the ride. There was always a crowd, particularly the boys, waiting for the Laff-in-the-Dark occupants to exit, in plain view of everyone, because they came out on a second-floor level where they had to walk over a hole in the floor that shot a strong gush of forced air up on the walkers. The man operating that air hose, hidden from view, watched for the girls with a full skirt!

Marilyn Monroe is known for the iconic image with her skirt blowing from the street in the film, The Seven Year Itch. But she didn’t have anything on Georgianna. In later years, when we went to Coney Island, often with Earl and Sue, Georgianna loved to pause for a moment over the air and give the boys a thrill. That’s my girl.

Marilyn Monroe in “The Seven Year Itch.” 

 Don’t Miss Next Chapter: Edwin Byron, Artist

When I was little, my brothers had trouble pronouncing my name, and they called me “Turkey.” Later, that was often shortened to “Turk.” And for reasons I don’t know, my brother Clarence had the nickname “Dutch,” and my brother Edwin’s nickname was “Chink.” Being the youngest, I don’t remember much about my brothers when I was growing up. The house we moved to at 828 Banklick Street in 1935, where we lived for eight years, was when we parted. Clarence joined the Navy in 1939, and Edwin, after graduating from Holmes High School in Covington, joined the Army in 1942.

Clarence Calbert (CC) Moore 

A portrait of Edwin Byron Moore painted by an Army buddy. 

I think my first interest in girls came when we lived on Banklick Street, and the girl was the minister’s daughter! A few doors down the street was a church we called the “Holy Rollers” Church. I don’t remember Mom and Dad going to church regularly, and I doubt if they ever attended that one. How I met the preacher’s daughter, I don’t recall. But I do remember that when the preacher wasn’t there, she and some of the kids would play “Post Office” in the sanctuary. We would make a makeshift enclosure that was the post office. We were divided into two groups, typically a girl group and a boy group, and one group went into the post office. Then each person from the other group visited the post office. Once there, each person got a kiss from everyone in the post office!

I suppose the reason we moved so often was that Dad had to be close to work. In those Depression years, he held many jobs; he never knew a trade or had a set occupation, but he found jobs wherever he could. I remember when he was a streetcar conductor for a while, I was proud of Dad because I thought that must be a very important job.

When I was little, I used to go to the old abandoned cemetery in Covington with Mom and help her pick dandelions for salads. I don’t remember her salads, but my favorite salad that Georgianna made was with fresh dandelions she picked in the spring. When money was scarce in those Depression years, and it often was, Mom would make beautiful pies with meringue piled high, and Dad would load them in a wagon and sell them door to door. I didn’t realize at the time how degrading that must have been for him.

Another job Dad held for a while was the position of custodian at the Phelps Apartment House in Cincinnati. That was a 12-story upscale complex located near Lytle Park. In 2009, that historic building was slated for a $10 million facelift. Dad had to work one Sunday morning during the summer, and he took me with him. I think I was only six or seven, but I thought I was really big, helping him put bottles of milk by the doors. Before we went home, he took me for a walk through Lytle Park, which was a panorama of floral displays and flowering trees.

But what interested me the most in Lytle Park was the heroic bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln. I didn’t know who Lincoln was, but my father told me he was an American president, and I was in awe of that towering figure. That was probably the first statue I ever saw, and the image remained with me for a long time. We were poor, but there were many wonderful moments like that Sunday morning. The first time I walked up the steps to the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., that statue in Lytle Park came drifting back through the years.

Dad was a fireman on the L&N Railroad for a while, too. That job took him away from home, and he didn’t like that. After World War II ended, Dad held a job at the Crosley Corporation in Cincinnati as a guard. He carried a 38 Smith & Wesson revolver, and Tracy and Marc thought he was really important. My mother worked as a nurse’s aid for many years at the Booth Memorial Hospital, where Georgianna and our first two children were born.

My father was a proud man, always looked neat, wore bow ties and kept his mustache trimmed. We had few of the daily necessities, but our parents loved us and kept us together. My dad never owned an automobile, and I am sure Mom’s clothes were far from the finest. I remember times when Mom took me to the Broadway Theatre for a Saturday matinee to see a cowboy movie. Now I wonder what she gave up to be able to do that. I never had a Christmas tree until I married. In the early 1940s, when Dad had a good job at a war plant and Mom was working at the hospital, we could have afforded a tree. Looking back, I really wonder why we never had one.

Thurston’s father, Calbert Summers Moore. 

I have few memories of Christmastime when I was growing up. Probably the best thing I looked forward to was the holidays from school. I do remember one present. We were living on Pershing Avenue, and I was eight or nine, and Santa Claus brought me a battery-operated toy automobile. It must have been about 8 inches long, and that Christmas day I spent running that car up and down the sidewalk, hoping neighborhood kids would come out and see what a fabulous present I got.

Before I started selling newspapers in 1937, I spent many summer days in Visalia. I loved the Hensley family and had a hard time remembering the names of all of Earl’s brothers and sisters. Their mother’s name was Dolly, and I felt like she was my mother, too. Edith and I made telephones by attaching a string to two tin cans and pulling the string taut. Then we would talk into the can, and our voices came through across the field. I thought that was amazing.

I was playing mumley-peg, a game with a pocket knife, with Edith and several of the Hensley kids in the yard one day, and the knife went into Edith’s leg. I think she had that scar from then on. The Louisville and Nashville Railroad ran through Visalia, not far from the Hensley and Moore houses, and one of the pastimes we boys had was counting the freight cars as they went by.

When we heard a train puffing and roaring and belching out smoke in the distance, we would run to the tracks and sit on the ground, a short distance from the train. We could feel the earth tremble as the train went by. We waved to the engineer sitting in his cabin of that monstrous steam engine, and we never took our eyes off the train until we saw our favorite car, the red caboose, fade from sight. The cars were loaded with coal, coming from the coal fields in southern Kentucky. Most of the time we counted more than 100 cars!

Ryland Lakes Country Club was located about three miles north of Visalia. They had a golf course, and in those days there weren’t any golf carts; boys who were called caddies carried the golfer’s bag and handed them the clubs they asked for. For 9 holes, the pay was 35 cents, and there was always a tip. Edwin took me with him sometimes, and we walked the rails from Visalia to the Club. We tried to see how far we could walk on a rail, one foot in front of the other, before falling off. I finally got to be a pretty good caddy and really enjoyed watching the golfers play.

As July 4th neared one year, the boys were told to be there for sure on the 4th, as there would be a big surprise for them. The event, hailed with a lot of fanfare, was a pie-eating contest. They had a bakery deliver a van full of luscious pies, heaped high with meringue. I think there were probably 15 or so boys there, and they were all handed a pie and told to start eating when the shot was fired. I knew I didn’t have a chance to win, so when I heard that shot, I walked over to a tree, sat down with my pie and enjoyd every bite. My brother Edwin didn’t compete either. He knew his buddy Howard Brosmore was there and said, “I can eat more than him, but not near as fast.” Brosmore won.

Don’t Miss the Next Chapter: Coney Island

My paternal Grandfather, Marcus William Moore, was born in 1866 and died in 1953. He was born and raised in Kentucky, with the exception of two years when the family moved to Abilene, Kansas. Grandpa was about four when they went there, and he told us kids how he and the other boys followed Wild Bill Hickok, the famous sheriff, around, admiring his guns. Marcus married Nora Taylor, and every time I see an old film with Una O’Connor, that wonderful character actress, I am amazed at how she resembled my grandmother. 

Marcus William Moore 

I loved to visit my grandparents when I was a child. I remember Grandpa’s breakfast was “soakums,” as he called it − slices of bread with coffee poured over them. Tracy and Marc called him “chew-tobacco-spit” because he always had an old can on the floor beside his combination straight  and rocker chair, which he used to spit his tobacco juice in. I have always loved pumpkin pie, but I couldn’t eat Grandma’s pies. I think she left the sugar out.

My maternal Grandfather was born around 1848, in Hamburg, Germany, and came to America when he was twelve, traveling on a sailing ship. He landed in New York City, and by train and stage coach the family arrived in Campbell County, Kentucky. He married Ellen Daugherty, whose father was a Christian minister. I was three years old when my Grandmother died, and I remember seeing her laid out in the living room of their farmhouse atop Visalia hill. I didn’t go into the room, but instead stared at the lifeless body from the doorway. I don’t remember what I thought or whether anyone explained the situation to me. I imagine it was a very puzzling sight for a child of three.

It was about that same time that I was out playing in the yard one day while my parents were visiting in the house. I always had a bushy head of hair, and on this day, some bees got into my hair. I ran into the house screaming and rolling around on the floor; I suffered from those bee strings for some time.

My father was born in 1897 and died in 1969. My mother was born in 1898 and died in 1982. The house I was born in was originally a log cabin, over a hundred years old. I don’t remember it as a log house, though, because at one time it was covered with vinyl shingles. It was a small one-story house with five rooms, no electricity or plumbing. Lighting was provided by oil lamps, and a woodstove in the front room kept the house warm in the winter. There was a porch that ran across the front with about five steps above the ground level. The lot sloped to the rear, and the kitchen had a huge woodstove for cooking and a wooden ice box that held a cake of ice in the top. The kitchen opened to a small porch and about 9 steps to the backyard. There, within a few feet, was a hand pump that provided water for the house.

Thurston Moore’s birthplace, as photographed in 1985. 

In the backyard, close to the house, was an actual log building used for storage. I remember on visits in the summer as a kid, I slept there sometimes with the door open to keep cool. When I slept in the house, I often slept on the floor right by the open door.

The outdoor privie was a short walk down the hill. The closest neighbor, the Hensleys, were about 300 feet away, with an open field between us, and they had complete view of the Moores when we went to the privie. I felt funny about that, especially when Edith, who was about my age, was out in the yard. It was generally supposed that she and I would marry. Oftentimes I saw her going to the privie, too! But that was just the way it was in those days. The privies in the country were targets for the bad boys on “cabbage night.” They would go around and turn over privies! I lived in nine houses before Georgianna and I were married, and two or three of those did not have indoor plumbing, and we did not have a bathtub until the house we moved to in 1943.

After my third birthday, we moved to Covington and lived one year on 12th Street, then two years on Banklick Street, and in 1931 we lived for six months on Russell Street. Our next move was to Lee Street over a Chinese Laundry. All of our residences were on the Second floor because the rent was cheaper. I wish I could remember more about the laundry, but one incident on Lee Street I have never forgotten was the time my brothers almost killed me.

Thurston with his older brothers, CC and Edwin. 

I was 5 or 6 years old at the time, and we had a German police dog named Cuno. Well, they thought it would be fun to harness Cuno up to our old wagon and have him take me for a ride. And what a ride it was! Cuno didn’t like the idea, and off he went as fast as he could, up and down alleys, me holding on for dear life. My brothers thought it was hilarious, but Mom and Dad didn’t think so. I’m just glad I lived to write about it.

My first school was 2nd District, and I was in love with my kindergarten teacher, Miss Swango. In one of my early school years, I vaguely remember another pretty teacher who had a convertible, in which she would sometimes take her “favorite” students to the movie. I was always one of them! I got along fairly well in school, but the teachers said I was always dreaming, thinking of “ideas.” One year, in about 5th or 6th grade, our class had a club with weekly dues. I was made the treasurer, and sometimes I spent the money and had to really hustle to make it up.

There was a penmanship class, which I always enjoyed. The teacher, Miss Grumplemeier, came to the school once a week to teach the class. I loved the way she wrote with such a beautiful flourish on the blackboard; she was quite an artist and loved her job. One time she asked each student to go to the blackboard and write his or her signature.

For some time I added a little swirl below my name and continued that for many years. Miss Grumplemeier analyzed the signatures and had something to say about each one. I was very proud when she told the class about my signature and pointed out to them the swirl under my name, saying, “Thurston will go far in whatever he chooses to do in life.” Dear Miss Grumplemeier was the only person who expressed faith in me in my first 15 years.

Don’t Miss the Next Chapter: Growing Up

It was a dark and stormy night when I was born. Well, actually that is not true, but I had to put this in as I am an avid admirer of the great author, “Snoopy.” 

It was May 5, 1926, when the stork flew low across the Licking River to Visalia, Kentucky, with me aboard, and at 6:30 a.m., presented my proud parents, Calbert Summers and Mila Mae, their 4th child, all boys. Clarence Calbert was born in 1921, Edwin Byron, 1923, and Lewis Franklin in 1925. (Lewis died in infancy.) The log house I was born in was destroyed by arson at the turn of the century.

The most famous magician at the time was named Thurston, more famous even than his contemporary Harry Houdini. He had the largest traveling magic show of the time, more than eight train cars. His card tricks are still talked about by magicians throughout the world.

For one trick, he would go into the audience and ask several people to choose cards from his deck. He then shuffled them and placed them into a clear glass. Thurston would then call for the chosen cards. One by one the cards would rise to the top of the deck. When the audience wanted the cards to rise even higher, he was able to make the cards rise directly out of the pack! I had a collection of original Thurston memorabilia, which went to a museum in Florida many years ago.

I’m sure my dad never saw Thurston, but he certainly knew about him and wanted his new son to be named after this famous man. However, the doctor insisted I be named after him and said that he would buy me my first suit when I grew up. So I was named Walter Thurston. The “Walter” I never liked and never used. And, of course, I never got that suit. Thurston and Georgianna was a great team, but Walter and Georgianna … no way! There were many famous people named Walter, like Cronkite, Pidgeon, Wanger, Raleigh, Damrosch, Winchell and Huston, but Walter Thurston just doesn’t cut it.

I was born during the “Roaring Twenties,” and prohibition was in effect for my first seven years. I remember when my father took me to visit his brother, Uncle Homer, who made illegal moonshine in his basement. I tasted it, and that was the last liquor I drank in my lifetime. I grew up during the Great Depression; in 1933 unemployment hit a record 24.75 percent. And a catastrophic dust bowl, caused primarily by a severe drought, affecting 1 million acres, began in 1930 and lasted until the late 1930s. Hundreds of thousands of families were forced to leave their homes, many of them moving to California. 

John Steinbeck and Dorothea Lange created the most memorable portraits of what those families faced. In 1936, Lange snapped photographs of ragged children and parents with faces of despair, living in tents and waiting for jobs of any kind. Her most famous picture, "migrant mother," showed a gaunt young widow holding her three daughters, her careworn face suggesting that hope was running out.

John Steinbeck wrote newspaper articles that year depicting the desperate plight of thousands. Then he sat down to write the book that three years later became The Grapes of Wrath, which won the Pulitzer Prize. His 1939 fictional account of the Joad family, who lost their Oklahoma farm and then set out for the California promised land only to find even greater challenges and hardships, became an instant classic, the publishing phenomena of the decade.

John Steinbeck 

Hollywood followed up with their masterpiece, directed by John Ford. These memorable works of art − by Steinbeck , Ford, Lange, and others − gave the Joads and thousands like them their place in American history − a place that will last indefinitely.

Many historic events happened throughout the world the year I was born, but my favorite is the marriage of George Burns and Gracie Allen. Friends and family used to say Georgianna and I were like them − a great loving couple. In l999, I gave Georgianna a beautiful, very rare signed photo of George and Gracie for Christmas. That framed photo is still on my mantle. The card read:

One of the greatest teams in history –
in the top ten with you and I – 
join me in wishing you, my beautiful love 
(like beautiful Gracie), everything  
wonderful for the holidays.  
My love always, 
Good night, Georgie. 

Gracie Allen and George Burns 

Other events of 1926 include the first demonstration of television; three men dancing the Charleston for 22 hours; Walt Disney Studios forming (I don’t think he liked Walter either); the premier of Puccini’s opera, Turondot; the first flight over the North Pole; DeFord Bailey becoming the first black to perform on the Grand Ole Opry; the first talkie movie, Don Juan, at Warner Theatre, New York; the creation of the National Broadcasting Co.; Gene Tunney beating Jack Dempsey for the heavyweight boxing title; the release of Milne’s book, Winnie-the-Pooh; and the premier of George Gershwin’s musical, Oh, Kay.

The only significant happening on the day I was born was that Sinclair Lewis refused the Pulitzer Prize that he was presented for Arrowsmith on May 3!

Sinclair Lewis 

In 1926, Visalia had about 300 people; today maybe no more than 100. Visalia is the namesake for its western sister, Visalia, California. The founder of Visalia, California, was named Nathaniel Wise, a man whose ancestral history is traced to the creation of Visalia, Kentucky. 

Visalia lies on the Licking River, 31 miles south of Cincinnati, where the river empties into the Ohio River. Covington, where Georgianna and I grew up, is located at the confluence of the Licking and Ohio Rivers. Visalia is known as the quiet little Kenton County town on the Licking River, but it was once a busy town with a hotel, several stores, a tobacco warehouse, and a railroad depot where trains made regular stops. Twice-a-day train service was only a 40-minute ride from Covington to Visalia. I remember many Sundays, as a child, going to Visalia to visit my grandparents, boarding the train at Covington. The thrill of that ride was when we went through a dark tunnel.

According to a history, published in The Falmouth Outlook, county records indicate that Nathaniel Wise was granted permission to operate a ferry at Visalia in June 1807. In August 1818, he was allowed to “establish an inspection of Tobacco, Hemp and Flour on his land, and the following November, Wise was given a tavern license at his house.”

I don’t remember any paved streets in Visalia, but an article in the Newport Local in 1878, stated: “At one time there were street names like Madison, Front and Jefferson, three stores, one church, one school, one blacksmith shop, one tobacco warehouse, one flour, saw and grist mill, one beautiful picnic ground of 12 acres, a beautiful summer resort with never-failing water, offices, freight, post, telegraph and Adams Express.”

The church building was further described as serving both Presbyterian and Methodist congregations, with services twice a month. It also served as the home of the Visalia Sabbath School. School attendance was described as a “goodly number.” The writer also remarked that Visalia’s old Catholic Church was in the process of being converted into a blacksmith shop.

The correspondent went on to state: “The city is well represented with intelligent and industrious young men, also, old bachelors are numerous. Dr. Charles Taylor of Covington gave us a lecture on Friday night last. Subject China and the Chinese, which was able and interesting.”

There was an earlier reference that Visalia was incorporated in the 1800s, but no one was able to prove it. So, about 100 years later, Visalia was officially incorporated as a city. Later, a petition was circulated to unincorporate the city. A Kenton County Court ruled the petition valid, and for almost a year, Visalia returned to the status of an unincorporated part of the county. But that ruling was overturned, and Visalia, again, became an official city.

Don’t Miss the next chapter: The Outdoor Privie

After Georgianna’s final exit, I realized more every day that her Sunflower story was important, and I thought about producing a CD with the story. I knew the story had to have a beautiful music background, and I searched through my record collection of 3,000, but I couldn’t find the perfect music.

We always went to bed at night listening to music. The radio on Georgianna’s night table was set to the PBS station for classical music, and the radio automatically went off after 59 minutes. She always reset it when she read late, keeping it low if I was already asleep.

One night in the summer of 2002, I was in bed reading, when I heard beautiful music that sounded like “sunflowers.” It had the sound of English tone poems on one hand, and I thought it might be a concerto for violin with the beautiful violin music I was hearing. When the piece ended, the announcer gave the title: ‘Butterfly Lovers’ Violin Concerto, the Czecho-Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra, Takako Nishizaki, violinist. I thought to myself, there is my music for the Sunflower CD! 

The next day I learned that the CD was on the NAXOS label, a company in Franklin, Tennessee, a suburb of Nashville. NAXOS is the world’s largest independent classical label and was founded in 1987 by German-born Klaus Heymann, resident of Hong Kong. I ordered the CD and saw that it included seven musical pieces. I listened intently to all of them, some several times, but kept going back to “Romance,” very expressive and romantic music written by Qin Yong-cheng. Takako Nishizaki’s violin and orchestra together evoke an exciting yet romantic texture. The recapitulation of the theme moves to a sweet and relaxing finale.

“Romance” is 4:59 minutes long, and when I read the story with the music, it was a perfect blend. The music is so perfect, in fact, you would think the music was written for the story. I called NAXOS and made an appointment. After telling the first person I met with my story and what I wanted, and asking for the use of the music with no royalty, he got me in to see Mr. Heymann, who happened to be there on one of his periodic visits to the states.

Mr. Heymann was very gracious and loved the story of how I heard the CD one night when I was in bed. He said he was happy to give me the rights to use the music, and then added, “You won’t have to pay a royalty to the violinist either, she’s my wife!”

Then the question was what to put on the CD following the story, and I thought beautiful music as a “Sunflower Suite” would be lovely. So I contacted Alex L. Perez, Music Licensing Administrator at NAXOS and told him what I wanted. He, too, wanted to help me and asked what pieces I wanted. In the meantime, I had gotten some other NAXOS CDs (gratis) and picked out some beautiful music that would make a nice suite. I gave the list to Alex, and he okayed most; there were only two or three he couldn’t give me. We finally agreed on 10 of the world’s most beautiful music compositions for the “Sunflower Suite.” They are:

1 - Pavane for a Dead Princess – Ravel 

2 – Berceuse – Godard 

3 – Gymnnopedies I – Satie 

4 – Claire de Lune – Debussy 

5 – Berceuse – Faure´ 

6 – Reverie – Debussy 

7 – Love In Spring – Xiaogu Zhu 

8 – Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun – Debussy 

9 – Pastoral – Sha Han Kun 

10 – Scheherazade Part 3 – Rimsky-Korsakov 

The next question was who to have record the story. I went over a list of “name” possibilities and thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Shirley Temple would do it! I wrote her, and a few days later, the telephone rang and a soft voice said, “This is Shirley Temple Black.” Imagine my surprise. Ms. Black was lovely and said that when she read the story by my wife, and my dedication, she had to call me, rather than write. She explained why she couldn’t comply to my request since she had retired long ago and if she did anything of this nature, her life would be in a turmoil with all kinds of requests; I understood perfectly.

Shirley Temple Black 

I thought of other people, but finally decided to record the story myself at the Beaverwood studio in Hendersonville, Tennessee. With the CD ready for production, I then got the idea of including a packet of sunflower seeds. We went to the Ferry Morse Seed Co. in Kentucky, and my artist, Tony Gerber, created a beautiful package that was shrink-wrapped onto the back of the CD … another first from Tennessee Players! The Message of the Sunflowers CD is featured on the Tennessee Players website, and every morning I hear it with my breakfast while I read the morning paper.

Georgianna’s essay is also featured in Dear World, the 2-CD set we produced in 2007 (see on the Tennessee Players website), as well as in all of the beautiful program books we published for the major Schweitzer-Bach productions, including The Washington National Cathedral; Santa Barbara; 10th Anniversary; Schermerhorn Symphony Center; New York City; and the Symposium 116-page book.

Once upon a time the earth was even more beautiful than it is today. The water was pure and deep, reflecting within itself the sunlight which gave life to all the creatures beneath the waves. The earth was green with many kinds of trees and plants. These gave food and shelter to the birds, the animals, and to all mankind. At night the air was so clear that the starlight gave a glow almost as bright as the moon.  

The people of the earth lived close to nature. They understood it and honored it and never took more than what they needed from it. The people lived in peace so they prospered and began to build many nations all around the world according to nature’s climate.  

But one day a terrible thing happened. A strange spirit of greed entered the hearts of mankind. People began to be jealous of one another, and they were not satisfied with all the good things they already had. The nations wanted more and more of everything: more land, more water, more resources. They squeezed precious minerals from the earth to build terrible weapons to defend their nations from other, greedier nations. They killed one another. They polluted the air and the water with poisons. Nature began to die. This is called war. War is ugly. It destroys love and hope and peace.  

Then one day a magical thing occurred. The birds of the air, the animals of the land, and the creatures beneath the waters came to an agreement: if they were to survive, something would have to be done to stop these wars. Only through peace could their world survive.  

“We cannot speak the human language,” they declared, “and mankind can no longer understand ours. We must find among us a symbol of peace so brilliant that all who see it will stop and remember that peace and sharing is beautiful.”  

“I am what you need,” said a golden sunflower. “I am tall and bright. My leaves are food for the animals, my yellow petals can turn plain cloth to gold, my seeds are many and are used for food by all living beings. Yet, the seeds I drop upon the ground can take root and I will grow again and again. I can be your symbol of peace.”  

All nature rejoiced, and it was decided that the birds would each take one sunflower seed and that they would fly over every nation and plant the seed in the earth as a gift. The seeds took root and grew, and the sunflowers multiplied.  

Wherever the sunflowers grew there seemed to be a special golden glow in the air. The people could not ignore such a magical sight.  

Soon they began to understand the message of the sunflowers so they decided to destroy all of their terrible weapons and to put an end to the greed and to the fear of war. They chose the sunflower as a symbol of peace and new life for all the world to recognize and understand.  

A ceremony was celebrated by planting a whole field of sunflowers. Artists painted pictures of the sunflowers, writers wrote about them, and the people of the world were asked to plant more sunflower seeds as a symbol of remembrance.  

All nature rejoiced once more as the golden sunflowers stood tall with their faces turned eastward to the rising sun, then following the sun until it sets in the west.  

They gave their goodness to the world so that everyone who sees a sunflower will know that the golden light of peace is beautiful.  

Don’t Miss the Next Chapter:Born in Visalia, Kentucky

Georgianna wrote many wonderful children’s stories, as well as serious pieces. Her essay, The Message of the Sunflowers, written in 1999, is her legacy, which she has left to the entire world.

In 1998, I conceived the idea for Symposium 2000-World Peace through Reverence for Life, celebrating the 125th anniversary of Albert Schweitzer’s birth and the 250th anniversary of Johann Sebastian Bach’s death. Vanderbilt University agreed to sponsor this 16-day event, and at the time, David Krieger, president and founder of the prestigious Nuclear Age Peace Foundation in Santa Barbara, California, was on my Board of Advisors.

In 2005, I visited with David when I was in Santa Barbara for my Schweitzer-Bach production. The NAPF was one of the co-sponsors of the event, which also featured a program in the afternoon with Christiane Engel, Albert Schweitzer’s granddaughter, a concert pianist, with the Stern String Quartet from Prague, Czechoslovakia, in a program of Mozart.

We were receiving the NAPF monthly newsletter, The Sunflower, and Georgianna saw this article in one of their issues:

Sunflowers have become the symbol of a world free of nuclear weapons. After Ukraine gave up its last nuclear warhead, the Defense Ministers of the U.S., Russia, and Ukraine met on a former Ukrainian missile base, June 4, 1996. They celebrated by scattering sunflower seeds and planting sunflowers. Former U.S. Secretary of Defense William Perry said, “Sunflowers instead of missiles in the soil would ensure peace for future generations.” 

I was producing a monthly newsletter for the Symposium – 27 monthly issues in all – and one night Georgianna wrote the “Sunflowers” essay. Most of her writings were done long after we went to bed. It was usually around midnight when she got up quietly and went to another room and put her thoughts on paper, always writing on a yellow pad, leaving her opus on the table for me to read at my breakfast. The next morning, I found the “Sunflowers” essay with a note that read: “Maybe you can use this in your newsletter.” A couple of days later, Robert Stone, my research assistant, came by to get her copy so he could type it for the newsletter. It was published in the Symposium Newsletter #10, November 1999, and got much response. David Krieger was greatly impressed. He also published it in the NAPF newsletter and put it on their e-newsletter, where it still remains on the internet.

Georgianna’s “Sunflowers” essay has been read by countless people throughout the world on the internet. I Googled the essay with Georgianna’s name periodically through the years and was always astounded to find the many websites on which it appeared. A recent check included the following, which featured Georgianna’s essay:

● MJ Reflections – a tribute to Michael Jackson. I urge everyone to view this site because it is absolutely beautiful and so well done. With the millions of Michael Jackson fans, there could be a million people reading the “Sunflowers” on that site!

● The Wisdom of Sunflowers – Happy Life U. On this site, there are beautiful photos of sunflowers, and the following copy with the link to Georgianna’s essay on our Tennessee Players web site:  

“BE PEACEFUL. Sunflowers are becoming a symbol of peace, particularly the elimination of nuclear weapons, based on the short story by Georgianna Moore called, “The Message of the Sunflowers, a Magic Symbol of Peace.” 

● Sunflowers by Liz on My Space. September 15, 2008. Beautiful photos of sunflowers with the essay. One comment was: “I was surfing for sunflowers … your writing very beautifully put. The sunflower has always been a strong influence for Native people. The wild sunflower is native to North America but commercialization of the plant took place in Russia. It was the American Indian who first domesticated the plant into a single-headed plant with a variety of seed colors, including black, white, red, and black/white striped.“

● Learning Peace. Naomi Drew’s Newsletter, issue #20. Ms. Drew is recognized around the world as an expert on conflict resolution and peacemaking for schools, work places and families. Here is what she wrote: “I offer you two wonderful stories that confirm the world of peace is not going hungry. The first is a story of peace called The Message of the Sunflowers, and it was written by a very special woman named Georgianna Moore, who recently passed away. This story is part of the vision and legacy Georgianna leaves to all of us. Please share her story with your children.” 

In 2001, a teacher in Germany saw the essay on the internet and wrote us, telling us that he was teaching a class in English and was using the Sunflower essay. And in 2006, a lady in Japan, Lucy Ishibe, was so inspired by Georgianna’s essay that she translated it into Japanese and did a beautiful painting of Sunflowers, and then had postcards printed, with copy on the back that read: “The Message of the Sunflowers” To Georgianna Moore, in memoriam.

Painting by Lucy Ishibe, 2006. 

April 12, 2002, Marlene Adler, Walter Cronkite’s secretary, called and said they were sorry to hear about Georgianna’s illness. She said that Mr. Cronkite had read Georgianna’s “Sunflower” story and wondered if it would be possible for him to talk to her. This hit me hard, as Georgianna had passed away nine days earlier, and it was very difficult to tell her. Marlene seemed shocked and said how terribly sorry they were. She apologized for not getting back to me sooner, when they got my earlier letter and the story, but she explained that Mr. Cronkite had been out of town and was just then sorting through his mail.

Walter Cronkite 

In 2002, David Krieger wrote to me, saying he was the editor of an important book – Hope In a Dark Time – being put together on peace that would be published in 2003, and he said they would like to include Georgianna’s essay. Georgianna was in the hospital when I got that message, and when I told her the news, she said, “Is it really that good?”

The Foreword in the book was written by Archbisoph Desmond M. Tutu, and was issued in both cloth and soft cover. Many important scholars and writers who are dedicated to peace, contributed to the book, including Queen Noor of Hussein; Nobel Peace Laureate Mairead Corrigan Maguire; and His Holiness The XIVth Dalai Lama. One hundred copies were numbered and signed by the Archbishop and David Krieger, and I was given No. 1.

Don’t Miss the Next Chapter: Sunflower Suite

One of the worst disasters to ever hit the city of Walton, struck on Friday, July 13, 1956, at 4:00 p.m., and the tornado was over in about two minutes. Walton received an estimated loss of $500,000 in property damage. On July 29, we had a benefit show for the victims of the tornado.

On another Sunday, a milder tornado struck Verona during a show when Martha Carson, the most popular gospel/country singer of the 1950s was performing. Lightning split a tree near the stage, and the people ran in panic, many to their car and many crowded on the stage.

Martha was a seasoned trouper and stood on a chair, and with Billy’s band behind her, started strumming her guitar profusely, while singing gospel songs to the frightened crowd. She had the folks in the palm of her hand, and they soon quieted down. There was an elderly lady who got up close to Martha, and Martha held her hand while she sang. Georgianna and I were never more proud of any of our performers in those four years.

Martha Carson 

After we moved to Nashville almost 30 years later, Martha called Georgianna and told her she wanted to write her story and would like Georgianna to live with her for a while and help her. Georgianna would have loved that, but Martha was a chain smoker − and Georgianna was very allergic to tobacco smoke. No one ever smoked in our homes.

In 1957, we showed two films at the park with free admission. The first was the English film, Martin Luther, the film that set box office records a few years before. It was shown by Mr. Bruce Wallace, a good friend who lived across the street from the Methodist Church. The film was introduced by the Rev. Whealdon.

The second documentary was Albert Schweitzer, which won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature in 1957.

Here is the film review from the New York Times: 

The life of Dr. Albert Schweitzer has been such an extraordinary one that we could hardly expect all facets of it to be revealed in an eighty-minute documentary film. But certainly the over-all pattern of human service and Christian example in the career of this great scholar, musician and physician is warmly illuminated in the color film, "Albert Schweitzer,” which opened last night at the Guild. Proceeds from the première and all profits from the film went to Dr. Schweitzer’s African hospital. The venerable doctor himself is a participant in much of the film, which was photographed by Erica Anderson under the direction of Jerome Hill. Particularly he is in evidence in the latter half, given over to a fine account of a day at the Schweitzer hospital in the jungle village of Lambaréné.  

A touching pictorial report is given of a visit by the aging doctor to the Alsatian village of Gunsbach, where he was reared as a boy, and a subsequent documentary flashback on the formative influences on the growth of the youth and the man. The film then takes up a detailed description of the jungle hospital, its physical layout and its African patients.  

This is the heart of it. For it is in the candid views of Dr. Schweitzer and his small staff of dedicated Europeans working patiently with ailing natives—the piteous lepers, the aged and infirm—that the magnitude of his simple motto, "reverence for life,” is most movingly conveyed. 

Contrary to the general impression, Dr. Schweitzer's hospital is not a handsome, modern institution but a cluster of small buildings and primitive huts, crowded with nondescript patients in a fashion that appears indifferent to hygiene. This state is explained as consistent with the necessity of maintaining routines as near to the normal ways of life to the natives as is medically feasible. But vividly manifest is "the brotherhood of those who bear the mark of Cain”" The gentle presence of the quiet old doctor among these people bespeaks his belief: "There are claims on his heart.” 

Albert Schweitzer on the cover of LIFE magazine, February 19, 1965. 

In the earlier phases of the picture, Mr. Hill and Miss Anderson, who made an excellent short about Grandma Moses a couple of years ago, reconstruct the early life of Dr. Schweitzer in the familiar documentary way of showing the buildings and places that were significant, while narration conveys the line of thought. 

They have also used Dr. Schweitzer's grandson and his sister to re-enact little episodes of particular importance in which Dr. Schweitzer, as a boy, and his mother were involved. And in the opening sequences of Dr. Schweitzer's return to his old home, they have him playing Bach's Prelude in D major on the organ of the village church. 

There is in these phases of the picture a reflective, poetic quality that prepares the viewer to appreciate the contrast that occurred in Dr. Schweitzer's career when he forsook the atmosphere of the study for the hard realities of his jungle hospital. The deeper psychological motivation of the humanitarian may not be clear, but the force of his philosophical convictions is potently put across in this film. 

The personal narrative, written by Dr. Schweitzer himself, is spoken earnestly and beautifully by Fredric March. The commentary, written by Thomas Bruce Morgan, is spoken by Burgess Meredith. The musical score by Alec Wilder is tasteful and eloquent. The picture betokens the report.  

Before the film, I knew a little about Dr. Albert Schweitzer, of whom the Rev. Whealdon spoke of. How could I know that on that beautiful summer evening in a hillbilly park in Kentucky, my quest of keeping alive the legacy of Dr. Schweitzer would begin?

In 1958, I conceived the idea for a Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, and made plans to build it at the park as a national attraction. I knew about various halls of fame, and I thought that with my background and connections in country music, I could do this successfully. However, it didn’t develop at the park, but in 1961, I was publishing a newsletter, PROGRAM CHATTER for Country Music to promote my Country Music Scrapbooks that were being sold over radio stations, and this newsletter was mailed to several hundred DJs.

In the newsletter dated January 13, 1961, it stated: “Thurston Moore, publisher of the Country Music Scrapbook has sent us a proposal for the establishment of a COUNRY MUSIC HALL OF FAME and we would like to have your ideas and reaction to it.”  

A lengthy description in the newsletter gave details of my idea, plus the creation of a Country Music Museum with it. Charlie Lamb’s January 23, 1961, issue of THE MUSIC REPORTER ran an article under the headline: “Hall of Fame would Immortalize C&W’s best.

The article read: “Denver – The immortals of the Country Music world - living and dead – would be given permanent and lasting recognition in a COUNTRY MUSIC HALL OF FAME, according to a proposal originated by Thurston Moore, Editor of the Country Music Scrapbooks. Moore suggests that manuscripts, items of clothing, music instruments, etc., of the C&W greats be collected and permanently displayed under one roof in a suitable location.” 

At the end of the 1959 season at the park, after many disastrous Sundays, mostly because of rain, we decided it was time to move on. I had just published the first edition of The Country Music Who’s Who, which was proclaimed by many as the “Bible of Country Music,” and I could see there were greener pastures ahead.

I sold the park to Sy Elder, a good friend and a businessman in Cincinnati who wanted the park as a summer home and a place for his children. He still owns the park, and I have visited a few times. On one visit, I said, “It’s amazing that the stage is just as we left it with our names up there.” One of his daughters said, “You are a legend in these parts, we would never change anything.”

Here is an article on the website of the Steel Guitar Forum under a large picture showing a big crowd in front of the stage.

“My childhood friend's grandfather bought the Verona Lake Ranch from Thurston Moore sometime in the 1950s. This picture hangs in their summer home there in Verona, KY, and we have all wondered for many years who the band might be. It's a blurry old picture, but maybe some of you remember the Ranch, apparently it was quite a big deal in its day, seated 1500, artists like Hank Snow, Ferlin Husky, Flatt and Scruggs, and many more played there. Any of you all remember this venue, or recognize this band? Steeler is playing thru an old (brand new then) Fender Bassman, I think. Maybe that's Miss Georgie playing there.” 

No, that is not “Miss Georgie.”

Don’t Miss the Next Chapter: Message of the Sunflowers

By 1958, we had gotten accustomed to our new home. We had joined the trailer to the little house (front porch was the food concession stand) with a hallway, paneled the front room and put in a stone fireplace so we had a very comfortable home that spawned many fun parties with our new friends. When we first got the park, our telephone was the old wall crank-type party line telephone. Our number was Walton 1623.

The park adjoined the old elementary school. There were two classes in a room, and one year Marc and Tracy, although they were a year apart in age, shared the same teacher in the same room. One year, Tracy won the Boone County 4-H Talent Show, performing a Siamese dance.

Georgianna was enjoying the shows and introducing the stars to her audience. She was always cutting up, which kept her fans laughing. She signed many autographs.

Georgianna entertaining her fans. 

On Mondays, Georgianna and Carrie (our caretaker’s wife) would drive around the nearby counties distributing posters for the upcoming show and stapling them on poles. Many times Miss Georgie’s photo was on the poster, which got many comments. Folks were thrilled to meet a “star!”

By 1958, the park had quite a “new look,” too, with the concession stands, rides, etc. Before we opened in 1956, Coca Cola had a big sign put on the front of the stage, at the top, the full length of the stage: Verona Lake Ranch. The Coke logo was at the top, on the left side was “Thurston Moore,” and on the right was “Georgie.” As of 2011, my name was still visible, after 55 years! But sadly, “Georgie” had faded.

We had wonderful dependable employees at the park, and our chief “chef” was Leonard Thompson. His wife worked the counter taking the orders for the thousands of hamburgers that Leonard turned out so efficiently; they were amazing. Judy Ross and her mother, Evelyn, were always there, too, and it was people like them who helped us keep the patrons happy and coming back. And our old “Carney Couple,” as I called them, who ran the little booth near the stage (where everyone could see and smell the goodies). This couple worked the carnivals in the winter and came back to Walton in the summer. There were days when they turned out more than 10,000 snow cones, cotton candy and boxes of popcorn. People were amazed to watch them work.

The “Carney Couple” 

For a while, Jimmie Williams, DJ at WNOP in Newport, Kentucky, had a live DJ show from the stage on Saturday mornings. It was exciting to hear the country singers like Hank Williams, Marty Robbins, Hank Snow, etc., being heard throughout the park. Jimmie wasn’t too happy, though, when Tracy’s pet gander, Lafe, kept jumping up on the stage. Lafe was a gift from my Uncle Lafe who lived in Ohio. The goose was a real pickpocket; he actually took things out of the back pockets of folks sitting in the amphitheatre. He even knew how to take a watch off people’s wrists! Needless to say, a few times of that, and he had to go.

Hank Williams 

In our off-season we attended the small Walton Methodist Church and became steadfast friends with the pastor, the Rev. John R. Whealdon, and his family. He played “Scrooge” in a “Christmas Carol” production we presented in the church, and he was great! In later years, a friend who had visited him when he was in the hospital said, “When I asked him how he was, he answered, I’m ready to gohome. He, of course, meant Heaven. If anybody gets there, he certainly should.”

We became close friends with couples we met in Sunday School. Many times we had Saturday night parties and often never went to bed! Our parties were fun, and some might say “wild,” but there was never any alcohol, and I don’t remember any smokers.

One evening we were telling ghost stories and decided the night wouldn’t be complete unless we drove to the ancient and abandoned Salem Church. We got to the church and, flashlights in hand, slowly approached and entered it. With our ghost story mindsets, that wonderful old brick building and its adjoining graveyard looked totally spooky.

Well, we were all inside when suddenly someone, knowing it would scare the bejesus out of us, slammed the church’s front door with all their might. Truth be told, we were all terrified – at least for 20 or 30 seconds – and we all ran in panic for the door, setting a record for evacuating a building. Later, back at our house in Verona, we all enjoyed the fun we’d had and laughed heartily at the panic a slammed door had caused.

Bill Scroggins came by often in his Jeep. I think he missed the crowds and MC’ing the shows when he owned the park. He hardly ever missed one of our Sunday shows. Many of the folks coming to our shows were glad to see him.

Bill Scroggins 

Arthur and Mildred Doggett lived in Verona, but our other friends were from Walton. We were very close with Dr. Richard “Dick” Bachmeyer, a veterinarian, and his fun-loving wife, Margaret Ann. Dick had a small animal practice but also worked for the race horse farms in the area. Georgianna worked for him for a year, and one time got to hold the reins of a $60,000 race horse at the Ellis Farm. She loved working with the animals, with the exception when they both contracted the rabies virus and had to be injected with four doses of rabies vaccine over a 14-day period. They gave each other shots all over the body, and they were painful.

In 1959, Dick and George Arnold bought a lot on Lake Williamstown and much fun was had there. Many went in for water skiing, and Georgianna thought that would be fun so she put on the skis – for the last time. She had a spill which made a bad gash on her leg, a scar that was there for her lifetime.

Other close friends were Guy and Betty Carlisle, who were such a delight. Guy had inherited the Ashland Oil Co. from his father. And there was a local attorney, Asa “Buddy” Rouse and his wife, Libby. Georgianna also helped him when he needed extra secretarial work. Buddy was into hypnosis, and at one of our parties he put Georgianna “under.” She was a great subject and went back to her childhood.

We spent much time with Jack Conner, a schoolteacher, and his wife, Doris. Jack introduced me to Cassius Marcellus Clay, an emancipationist from Madison County, Kentucky. He was a cousin of Henry Clay and served as the American minister to Russia under Lincoln. Clay’s life and his mansion, White Hall, near Richmond, Kentucky, became a very interesting chapter in our lives.

Edna “Tag” Beach was a lovely lady in Verona who had a thoroughbred, and most of the time she rode sidesaddle. Sometimes she would ride to the park on that beautiful horse. When I rode around the park on her horse, I felt like the owner of “Tara.”

The Wahrenburgs were a very interesting couple who lived in Verona,  about a mile from the park, in a secluded woodsy area. They had recently come from Germany, and he was an architect/builder. They built a beautiful home, one Frank Lloyd Wright would have loved. The house had snow-white carpet, so you had to leave your shoes outside! They had no interest in country music, but we became good friends and visited them often, especially when Anna Lisa made her gourmet “hot” German potato salad!

Anna Lisa took art lessons in Walton, about the same time our dear friend Sue Hensley was studying art. Georgianna sat for a portrait for Anna Lisa, done in pencil, on November 30, 1959. That portrait has a special place in our art gallery.

Pencil sketch of Georgianna by Anna Lisa Wahrenburg. 

To illustrate our association with the Verona banker is this tale: One Sunday we ran short of change and I went to his home and asked if he could get me some change at the bank. He called his clerk, Marie, to meet us there. He started to open the safe and forgot the combination, so Marie just blurted the numbers out. He opened it and gave me what I wanted. I didn’t tell anyone that I knew the combination to the safe, hoping it wouldn’t be robbed any time soon!

Pee Wee King, who, along with his vocalist, wrote “Tennessee Waltz,” played at our park. Since Patti Page had a tremendous hit with the song (her record going on to sell 15,000,000 copies), he was happy to hear the story of my giving Ms. Page the scrapbook. In 1976, I was on the TV show “To Tell the Truth,” and shortly after received a letter from Pee Wee.

It read: “What a pleasant surprise – I was watching Gary Moore’s TV show – and wow, there you were! Soon as you walked on I told my wife – I know him – that’s Thurston Moore. Then I had to explain all the way back, years ago, even the “Who’s Who” days. I thot (sic) you might enjoy knowing you look great – beard and all. Hope your family’s ok too.           Sincerely, Pee Wee King 

Pee Wee King 

Gary Moore

Don’t Miss the Next Chapter: Albert Schweitzer Film