Clinton St. Quarterly, Vol. 6 No. 2 | Summer 1984 (Seattle) /// Issue 8 of 24 /// Master# 56 of 73

SURVIVAL KIT Francis at St. Augustine Keeping healthy and physically fit is one of the most important challenges of life. Essential, indeed, for survival. And every fitness program is a combination of regular activity — and healthy, wholesome-foods. At PCC, we have the kinds of foods that fit your fitness program. Healthy foods. Real foods. Foods without artificial ingredients and chemical additives. Like locally grown produce that's extra fresh. Because it didn’t spend several days — and several thousand miles — in the back of some big truck. Good fresh dairy products, meats and seafoods. Whole grains, nuts, oils and honey to buy pre-packaged, or in bulk for even greater savings. And one of the best selections of vitamins — at the best prices — in the Northwest. Make PCC a regular partner in your fitness program. Visit us soon. Because good food plays a big part in the survival of the fittest. I’uget Consumers Co-op The full-line grocers specializing in goodness. Bring this ad to PCC and shop at member prices. And pet a 44 oz. bottle of Knudson's new Breakfast Drink — Free’ To celebrate the remodelmg of our Ravenna and Kirkland stores, this offer is good at anv location. Offer expires July 31. 1984 6518 Fremont N. & 6504 20th N.E. in Seattle 10718 N.E. 68th in Kirkland Mexican Cuisine of the Yucatan EL CAFE Savour our Authentic Sauces 9- 2:30 5:30- 10:00 7 Days a week 5020 Roosevelt Way N.E. 522-9805 Walk across from the Seven Gables By Nancy Hoffman Drawing by Tim Braun Heat, like a kind of tourists’ sauce, basted all the naked limbs of people ambling in the Florida sun into the Castillo de St. Marco outside St. Augustine. Earlier that morning, we had been visiting the elegant city squares of St. Augustine, making our way from one to the next, admiring the graceful wrought iron, the idyllic peacefulness that each square made in each neighborhood. It was curious to proceed to the Castillo, this lumpen, rather foolish looking fort. It is very like a lump of gray clay that someone has molded in a big hand and set down and put a thumb in to shape the fort's center. Francis went a little way ahead, his camera swinging against his chest. He was enormous in the diminutive fort, the little fort, the silent space inside it. Francis peering delightedly through cannon holes aimed at the sea — Francis waving to me from around great barrels, filled now with nothing. And when we stood before the small dark hole where prisoners were kept, and where the old chains still hung from the walls, and where severe soldiers once kept watch, Francis seemed a soldier, too, but of a different sort, with his yellow hair glinting like some helmet, and his camera, a weapon of joy. It occurred to me that this defunct little prison room was but a chapel in relation to the real cathedrals of incarceration. I thought of Dachau, and of Auschwitz, and of Bergen-Belsen, and knowing these gone and knowing these, like the little Castillo, are now but visiting sites for tourists, I thought of other prisons which still stand. They hold, not the killers and the thieves alone, but men and women whose crime was but a thought, was but a whole sentence voiced in a public place. I thought of the beautiful and intriguing names of the prisons of the world: of Hermanice in Czechoslovakia of Christopol in Russia Bugando Hill, Tanzania LaPlata, Argentina Fort Dimanche, Haiti Ndolo, Kinshasha, Zaire El Sepa, in the Amazon jungle, Peru Cabana, Cuba Sudaemoon, Seoul, Korea Moon Crescent, Singapore Jilava, Romania lioanniana, Greece the prison of Manizales, Caldas, Columbia, Kober, Khartoum, The Sudan Matawhan and Attica and their names made a chant within the fort, a chant accentuated by the hushed voices of the tourists who seemed reticent on this morning in St. Augustine, Florida, who seemed reticent to shout or to laugh too loud in the eerie emptiness of the Castillo de St. Marco. But Francis was laughing. He was somewhere around a corner, laughing. It caught me, brought me back — a voice faintly Irish, faintly British, definitely Francis and I pursued it, more than willing that the chanting and those prisons, too, should cease. Nancy Hoffman is a Portland poet and human rights activist. AN N E ’ S GUEST HOUSE 2482 N.w. MARSHALL ST. PORTLAND, OREGON 972 10 (503) 227-4440 THIS COUPON-' is worth $2.00 toward the purchase of any SPECIALTY PIZZA ALL WE DO IS PIZZA WAV NE 522 8828 I I I Clinton St. Quarterly 31

RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy NTc4NTAz