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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

Doctors As Equals: Beyond The Medical Mystique

An Interview With Dan Domizio

I’ll always remember Dan Domizio sitting in a corner of my bedroom on a quiet night in January, 1976, a bearded man in a white turban, seemingly lost in carving and sanding the hull of a model boat — as a few feet away Priscilla was lost in her thirteenth or fourteenth hour of labor. He’d look up occasionally, say something encouraging. His casualness both soothed and disconcerted me — was he really paying attention? He was supposed to deliver this baby.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Bear

I was first introduced to the Bear when I was fifteen years old. It was my sophomore year of high school and I was trying out for the cross-country team. It could have been baseball or football but the year before I had fractured my knee and was encouraged to run as a way of building strength and confidence in the injured leg. I wasn’t particularly talented at long distance running nor did I particularly like the sport, but I did enjoy the camaraderie of being with the fellows again. Nobody said anything about the Bear.

Conversations, Yet Unspoken: Spring

You were going, you were going and the tension seemed to build. So I refused to think. Didn’t let a thought come in, and then it was alright. One day, you’d just be gone. Gone. Boom, like that. Why not?

He Took The Doorknob With Him

The publication in 1974 of Joseph Blotner’s Faulkner: A Biography was a literary event by default. The man whom many consider to have been America’s greatest writer of prose fiction was the most private of individuals, who distorted and obscured most of the facts of his life; his biography had been awaited with much anticipation. Blotner’s book fell on the literary world with all the grace of the wreck of the Hindenburg. A gigantic work — the boxed two-volume edition ran to 1846 pages — it contained a staggering amount of information, but treated its subject in a dully chronological way and with the most pedestrian of styles. Faulkner fans were ambivalent, delighted to have the new information, but sorry it couldn’t have been embodied in a more distinguished form. It was also apparent that, because he had been authorized by Mrs. Faulkner, Blotner had treaded lightly around certain areas of Faulkner’s life, around a marriage, for instance, that began with the bride making a serious attempt at suicide on the wedding trip. When, two years after Blotner’s work, Meta Carpenter Wilder published A Loving Gentleman about her long and passionate affair with Faulkner, she was quick to point out that there had been scant reference to her in the Blotner book, and that Mrs. Faulkner, apparently out of malice, had failed to identify her in one of the book’s photographs. More damningly, though, the reader of A Loving Gentleman couldn’t help feeling — despite its banal title, its very ordinary writing and its occasional embarrassing attempts at flowery metaphor — that it contained more of the spirit of Faulkner than all of Blotner’s 1800 pages.

Fiction

How Things Came Into Existence

Once on a time long ago in that part of the present that is hidden from general view and which lies in the unreachable future, there were two, only two beings. Where they came from I have no idea and probably they didn’t either. Who could have told them? But I am certain that they were named Mr. Nous and Mme. Ordinat. They lived in a place called the Abode of Becoming. I really can’t say what it was like, because I’ve never been there. No doubt, though, it in no way resembled where you or I live.

*NOTE: Original copies of this issue are no longer available. Unbound, laser-printed copies will be provided for print orders.

Readers Write

Favorite Places

My favorite places are not cities or towns, or any other man-altered landscape; they are the mountains. Not any specific mountains, either, but any and all mountains I love, and the wilder the country the better. I have always felt ill at ease in civilization; the unceasing bombardment of the senses allows me no peace. Only when tramping through the mountains have I found peace and real happiness. There I’ve merely desired to live and let live, observing nature and other creatures along with myself. I can see and understand my place in the universe, as but one of the multitude of creatures roaming the earth’s crust. I’ve learned to love, not only my own kind, but all life within the mountains — the birds and animals, the trees and flowers, the land itself. In the wilderness my love is shared and returned, without question, without greed. Life in our fast-paced society seems so distant from living the way God designed. Most people are so self-centered; they think they are above the rest of the earth. This is far from the truth. Only when you walk through the mountains alone, communing with nature, observing other insignificant creatures, coming and going as you please, do you awaken to your own short-lived presence on earth.

Syd Nisbet
Tryon, N.C.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Quotations

Sunbeams

Love is when I am concerned with your relationship with your own life, rather than with your relationship to mine. . . . There must be a commitment to each other’s well-being. Most people who say they have a commitment don’t; they have an attachment. Commitment means, “I am going to stick with you and support your experience of well-being.” Attachment means, “I am stuck without you.”

Stewart Emery

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