In Memoriam - William James Craddock

(July 16, 1946 - March 16, 2004)

Riding on into Eternity:
A Few Selected Reflections

A brief flame,
Fierce and bright,
Riding hard on rough roads,
Well into the moonless night;
Sleek, low chopper speeding
Toward the hungry dawn,
Long hair streaming back,
Your face alight as daybreak comes.
A Knight Rider, you were the angel
In the Hell’s Angels.

A kind word, a gentle, sly smile,
Eyes crinkled with humor, double-edged wit,
Your view of life - amusing, perplexing,
And, at times, infinitely sad.
Early days, quoting Jeremiah of old,
A prophet of our times, of our town,
You made us think, what are we doing here?
What is the world coming to?
And other questions of philosophic import.

Through second-hand cell phone messages
Received at a motel in Ashland, I learned
That your memorial service had been held
The night before – too late to turn around.
But you might be amazed to know
That I went right to the attic box
Containing the manila envelop
Full of yellowed newspaper clippings.
A brilliant mind, you wrote a weekly column,
The Vicious Circle, in our home-town paper,
In which you, in Dylanesque fashion,
Dished out satirical commentary:
Stories or fables,
About current events of the sixties,
What’s going down all around,
The noise, the traffic, the rat-race,
The war, and rumors of war, the nuclear threat,
The beat revolution, the hip rebellion,
The corruption of success, the hypocrisy,
Immorality, immortality,
Biting critiques of latter-day gods
Of time and money, and other such trivia,
In pursuit of which people
Are blithely throwing their lives away
In ignorance and abandon.
"Babylon, in her last days,
Babylon, city where all minds grow tiny
In hundreds of ways." (Vicious Circle, 1967)

You quoted Romans, "Be not content with this system of things,
But be transformed by making your mind over." (Mobius Strip, cover, 1967)
And titled your first book, Be Not Content.
You were our home-town Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac,
Ken Kesey, and Bob Dylan, all wrapped into one.
But that’s not why we loved you--
We love you for being yourself,
For who you always were and are to us.

Like Dylan, "Something’s happening here,
But you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones,"
You wrote "So many forgot, so many never knew,
So many more refuse to understand." (Vicious Circle, 1967)

"But who wants to be reminded
Of the trumpets promised by John,
‘Blessed be the man who reads
This prophecy and those who hear it read
And heed what is written in it,
For the time is near.’ " (Vicious Circle, 1967)

A seeker who kept on seeking,
Answering your readers, "There is no
Common ground anymore.
Not even the Bible, that many of you
Have suggested I read. I have read it,
And I’ve never tried to do or say
Anything that goes against it.
Can you say the same?" (Vicious Circle, Oct. 3, 1967)

When did I last see you, Billy?
A mellow sunny afternoon of late September,
Or was it noontime, on a fresh, early spring day?
No matter. I know it was the late sixties, and
I can still see you clearly as you were then.
Did you know we called you
"A legend in your own time?"

Looking again at your early work,
And thinking about your life,
I am reminded that it is
God alone who sees the heart of man.
Some said you were a troubled soul, Billy;
I trust that you have found your peace.
Your departure is bringing
Many of your old friends together.
You are greatly missed and much loved.

Your friend, Carla Stanley Moser
(Easter Sunday, April 11, 2004)