In this issue:

* Twenty Six Years, No Inches
* The Move (Wink, Wink)
* One More Time For George

Dear Chro-Magnons:

Greetings. If you're having a hard time with the heat this summer,
remember it could be worse.  Think how bad it would be if you had to
move all your stuff into a new house!  Wouldn't that be horrible?
Carrying box after box after box, sweating your head off, despairing
over how much useless detritus you insist on keeping, etc.  That would
be rough.  Phew.  In this terrible heat.  Man.

Okay, on to this issue's topics.

1. MUSIC CAREER:  TWENTY SIX YEARS, NO INCHES

I was talking to my friend Don Dixon the other day.  Dixon is known by
many as the producer of REM, Smithereens, Marshall Crenshaw, etc.
Dixon is all that, but he's also MY first producer.  In 1979, he took
me and my rock virgin co-hort Matt Barrett out to TGS "Studios", a
carpeted trailer in the woods outside of Chapel Hill, NC.  Dixon gave
us an exciting first taste of rock magic.  We turned the amps up loud,
worked out the parts, rolled tape and cut two songs in a couple hours.
Dixon played bass, Mitch Easter moonlighted on drums, I played loud
fuzzy guitar and Matt sang his ass off.  Despite me and Matt being
studio greenhorns, it sounded incredible!  We were easily as good as
the Move, Free, The Beatles...right?  Rock history, baby!  Surely this
was just the beginning of a long, glorious chain of huge albums and
world tours.  Soon, Matt and I formed a band called The Dads, and....

Anyway, Dixon and I were on the phone and he mentioned he'd be
performing with his original band, Arrogance, at the Cat's Cradle in
Chapel Hill on August 5th.  I haven't seen Arrogance since forever and
I was excited they were playing within driving distance.  I asked if
they needed an opening act.  He said someone was already booked, but
he'd still love to have me do a short acoustic set before they went on.

Cool.  Great.  Let's do it.

This'll be really fun.  I'll play a few songs, see old friends and get
to watch Dixon and Arrogance do their thing.  When I lived in Chapel
Hill, I must've seen Arrogance fifty or sixty times.  I love all the
guys in the band.

Then it hit me.  After Matt Barrett and I'd formed the Dads in 1980,
our second gig...was opening for Arrogance at the Cat's Cradle.

It's taken my music career twenty-six years...to not move an inch!
Back to the cradle, indeed!

I was reminded of a moment from earlier this year.  During the
Orchestra's UK Tour, we were road managed by a terrific guy named Brian
Coles.  Professional, funny, good at his job, etc.  Brian worked for
Peter Frampton during the entire Frampton Comes Alive hysteria and he's
been in the biz forever, doing what he enjoys.  So.  We were killing
time between shows, he and I, being goofy dudes on the rock bus for the
umpteenth time in our lives, laughing about something more than likely
idiotic.  Then Brian, who is a very young 60, paused, and he mused,
"You know, Parthenon, I often think...shouldn't I have PROGRESSED more
by now?"

Ha!  Brian, that hit me right where it hurts to laugh.

So.  I'm really looking forward to performing at the Cradle this
weekend.  Yeah, it's a little odd to think that that's EXACTLY what I
wanted to do with my weekend in 1980, but...that's progress for you.

2.  THE MOVE
This last week, in the wilting heat and humidity, I moved into a new
house.  No big.  Just wanted you to know.

3.  ONE MORE TIME FOR GEORGE

I've said it before, but I'm really touched by all the kind words I've
received from so many of you regarding my Dad.  Obviously, many of us
are at the age where this kind of thing is going to happen, as your
shared experiences testify.

So, I don't want to go overboard with sharing too much personal
information, but as a friend advised me, "It's your Dad.  Don't worry
about it."  Okay.  I won't.

Below is the text of my eulogy for my Dad.  I read it at the service in
South Carolina.  I hope it paints a little picture of just what a great
guy he truly was.

Until next time.
P. Hux

***

Thank you, everyone, for coming today. Some of you travelled thousands
of miles to be here and it means a lot to me and my family to have you
here. Your presence speaks volumes about how all of us felt about Dad.

I've been sorting through memories. There are so many that, for some
reason, stick out in my mind. Silly things. A lot of them are from our
days in Greece in the late sixties and early seventies.

Everybody loved my Dad. He had a terrific sense of humor. He liked to
play around. Even my "cool" friends in High School liked him. One time
a friend of mine was at the house and we were heading out on a Saturday
evening. Dad was reading a newspaper on the patio. I'm sure my friend
expected him to grill us about where we were going, or to tell us to be
careful or not get in trouble, etc. Instead, he just looked up from his
paper and said, "Hey if you guys find any hot chicks bring one back for
me."

One time Dad and I travelled to the States from Greece. I was about 15.
  We shared a hotel room in New York. As we were leaving, he saw me
folding up a hotel towel and putting it in my suitcase. He said, "What
are you doing?" Whenever he spoke without any humor in his voice, I
kind of gulped. I'm sure my brothers know what I'm talking about. "Uh,
taking a towel...they don't mind." He begged to differ. "Yes they do
mind. That's stealing. If they wanted you to take 'em they'd let you
know. That's stealing."

I took the towel out of my suitcase.

That lesson has stuck with me to this day. I know it's stealing to take
a towel from a hotel and I feel terrible every time I do it.

My dad learned to drive at an early age and was even operating heavy
machinery in Minnesota mines when he was 18. When I was a kid in
Greece, we never drove because the driving age was 18. My friends and I
happily travelled around Athens by bus or train or foot. We didn't have
much choice, but it was fine. One day Dad and I were getting into the
family car. He said, "Hey, you wanna learn how to drive the car this
weekend?" I thought about it for about a moment and said, "Nah."

Dad looked at me. "You're a weird kid."

My Dad had a generous spirit. He was unfailingly kind. He made
strangers feel welcome. He made jokes about his troubles. He always
worked hard and never ducked a responsibility. Apparently he was also a
terrific boss.

Two years after we left Greece, I returned for a visit. I went to see
Dad's former secretary, Mary. She was still working for the company.
The door to my Dad's old office was closed. Mary pointed at it and
said, 'The new boss never comes out. We call him the Americanaki.
Little American. We miss your Dad so much.' I remember how hard he
worked on his speeches to the company employees up in Thessoloniki. He
insisted on speaking to them entirely in Greek. The Greeks were
mightily impressed. What an effort the American was making!

Dad got off to a great start in Greece. In the sixties, Greek society
still had many traditions in place, despite the sophistication of the
Athenians. One tradition was the Prika, or Dowry. In other words, when
your daughter married, it was still common for the father to sweeten
the deal with money, or property or a few goats. Whatever was
appropriate. When the Greeks in Dad's office first met him, they
immediately asked if he had children. "Yes, four boys." FOUR BOYS? Eh,
George, and how many girls? "No girls, just boys." PO PO PO! He was
truly a rich man!

Of course, as the father of a daughter, I can appreciate how silly that
custom is!

Mom and Dad celebrated their 59th wedding anniversary June 21. That's a
long time to be in love.

My heart goes out to my Mom.

Others here today have also lost spouses. It's a particularly painful
adventure. Your partner is gone. The giver and recipient of your love,
trust and confidence...is gone. The one who knows, understands and
forgives your weaknesses...is gone. It can seem like an unforgivingly
cruel part of life.

My mom's a tough bird. I know she'll carry on. She's got family and
friends to help see her through. She'll have her ups and downs...but
when times are tough she'll also have a guardian angel to look to for
inspiration. In fact, she need look no further than her own home.

When Hurricane Hugo roared through John's Island, the people here had
every reason to hang their heads and mourn the destruction of their
beloved lowcountry. Dad's response was to grab a chainsaw and clear a
path from his door to the end of the driveway. When the driveway was
clear he helped clear the roads. And when the roads were clear, he
helped others who couldn't help themselves. One day at a time, John's
Island rebuilt itself, and eventually got back to something approaching
normalcy. There were setbacks and heartbreak along the way, but people
like my Dad don't give up. They carry on until the job is done.

Dad did exactly that over the last couple years. He took care of
business every way he could. He got things in order for Mom, he got
things in order for the house, for his kids, for everyone close to him.
He even arranged this service.

In recent months as his condition grew worse, it was pretty tough for
Dad to accept the idea that, after 81 years, his job was done. To not
be able to leave the house, to do his chores...that was torture for
him.

That's why I was so happy to learn about something he did last week
with Chuck. There was one last chore that was driving him crazy. It
taunted him for months. That brushpile out in the yard. It still needed
to be burned. So, one last time, barely able to breathe, he got on his
golf cart and drove out in the yard and supervised while Chuck burned
that sucker to the ground.

I don't know what my Dad was thinking that day, but in his mind that
brushpile might well have been Dad's glorious funeral pyre. The final
chore. Crossed off the list. It may be what allowed him to finally let
go.

Dad, I'm so proud to be your son. I can never be the person you were,
but I've got you inside me, and I'll never let you go. I love you.