lowed, crud-encrusted rooms too. Year by year Bud and I watched them die. His populism is genuine, not just doing the “right thing." One of the guys who hangs around the Goose calls himself Coyote and claims some people have totemic spirits. Coyote labels Bud Chinook Salmon. In the Indian myths, Salmon is chief, he has a big chest and leads the fish up to feed the human beings. He bestows rewards on those who serve the people. Salmon always goes upriver, as does Clark, who prefers poling his canoe upstream to down. Bud and John Forsstrom—who Coyote calls River Otter—love to pole up the Owyhee River, deeper and deeper into Oregon’s farthest desert. Marriage is very big with Bud. The matchbooks mention a “liveable marriage.” Sigrid his second wife is a case in point. Don’t let the first violin position fool you, that dame was trouble when they first got together. Just off a bad marriage, had a kid, talked dirtier than a longshoreman, and challenged everybody in sight. But smart, good looking and real female. Come to think of it, Bud was having his ups and downs in those days too. After they'd been hanging around together awhile he suggested she make dinner. She gave him a couple of candy bars. Said that was dinner. Am I telling tales? I hope not. Long since Sigrid took over cooking dinner, while Bud does breakfast for himself and the kids. They are the meat and potatoes of the earth, these two. So, they got married and had three kids. Bud always did want to be a father. And they worked it out. When Bud didn’t smoke, Sig chain-smoked. Then she quit. A while later Bud took up puffing on Bud Clark Is probably tbe most natural mature and successful citizen I know. He's made a fine life, yet remained unbroken, uncorrupted and unafraid to show himself. a cigar. Back and forth. Two utter individualists, finding a way. You could see they had some bad years, but neither of them backed down, or off either, I think they’ve got as good a marriage now as any two people I know. Chinook salmon are powerfully perseverant. You’ve got my drift by now. I know a lot of other wild yarns too. They all describe a guy full-grown and tender-tough, a compassionate pagan who practices the real Christian virtues instead of the public kind. A hard-working, utterly unpredictable fellow, securely himself and well disposed toward human beings. When Clark decided to run we all backed him, but nobody dreamed it would happen so slick. Clark made what sounded like blunders; calling himself a born again pagan, admitted he didn’t know everything, made earthy jokes. But my friend who teaches at Roosevelt High School reported that another teacher, who goes to the Presbyterian Church every Sunday, chuckled and said that when she heard he was a born again pagan she decided to vote for him. And I heard a shopkeeper on Hawthorne Street say that nobody had been out to talk to him since Goldschmidt’s time. The polls moved from a starting 19 to 49 steadily upward. Ivancie never gained a single vote, and lost some of his blue- collar old-line Democrats too. Almost every bar, tavern and restaurant in town sported a Bud Clark for Mayor poster and collection jar. They all knew Bud. When Frank finally realized what was happening about a week before the election he smote Bud hip and thigh with television spots and a flyer charging that Clark wasn’t a Christian and thought being mayor should be fun. You want that kind of person for mayor? the flyer demanded. I guess we did, because the final count was 54 to 41 in favor of human spirit against stale bureaucracy. The mayor of a town can be its tribal leader, an individual through which it projects a communal identity. He can be a wise community father and a memory of ancient harmony. Mostly we don’t even hope for so much, but when we have a real chief, the city comes alive. Neil Goldschmidt gave us a taste of that kind of city-wide laughter. Goldschmidt is part of the reason Clark won. We wanted more. Clark will try to be the nurturing father of our town, and I am prepared to believe that he will succeed. Become, perhaps, a really great mayor, a civic icon. Heaven knows the Maiden Lady of the West could use one such. Not that I agree with a lot of Bud’s opinions. It is his reaction to the world and people that I trust. You know what’s funny? He made it up himself. His old man disappeared too early for Bud to even remember him, and his mother never took another husband. Buddy crafted a manhood of his own design, out of ethics and appetites, high school cheers, Reed College eggheads and the Marine’s hymn, car accidents, customers’ opinions, goodness and mercy and a nice hot lunch. I look for surprises, starting in January. Rick Rubin is published extensively in the national and local markets. His last CSQ piece was “Coyote and Wildcat Went Canoeing.” Michael Cacy is an artist living in Portland. MORI M'A/E S7 FUTON Head rest Get a good night’s sleep with a buckwheat hull pillow that supports your neck and relieves body tension. Head for Northwest Futon for a little natural rest. Futon, furniture, bedding, lighting and more. 400 SW 2nd 242-0057 Hours: Mon-Fri 11-6/Thurs 11-7/Sat 11-5 C () P A N V MILLENNIUM ALLTHE WORLD’S BEST CLASSICAL MUSIC FROM THE PEOPLE WHO KNOW S1 OFF ANY REGULARLY PRICED ITEM EXPIRES FEB. 1,1985 Portland’s Finest Selection of Classical Records, Cassettes & Compact Discs Monday-Saturday 10AM-10PM Sunday 1IAM-9PM 3144 E. Bumside 231-8909 ‘THE BEST AND MOST AUTHENTIC-TASTING BAGELS PORTLAND HAS EVER SEEN” Karen Brooks, Willamette Week review । BAKERY I uropcan Breads lues.-Fri. luam-6pm Sat. 10am-5pm 3568 S.E. 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