A gifted (and self-taught) layout artistrnwith a knowledge of every t”peface andrnlaid text ever marketed, he designed mostrnof the hooks and magazine issues himselfrnNo one could quarrel with the resrdts:rnhistead of pouring his life down therndrain of TV and computer screens, herncreated paper artifacts, now collectible,rnof permanent appeal, hi the early 1950’s,rna more lucrative posihon in public reladonsrn(at Columbus Coated Fabrics) permittedrnhim to buy a letterpress; from thenrnon, the prinhng was done in his Arlingtonrnapartment. Dick’s expenses increasedrnwhen, a short time after I camernaboard, he married Miriam Chapman ofrnAtlanta, but all along he was being partlyrnsubsidized bv his mother, a large, square,rnsomberly eangelical woman, happilyrnseldom seen, who disapproved of art,rnlarks, and geese, golden or otherwise.rnAs was onlv fitting, Dick himself keptrnthe accounts of the press and had the lastrnword on all decisions. Fred, Miriam, andrnI sometimes assisted in print rvins, hardcoverrnbinding, and other manufacture.rnMeetings were bv invitation from thernamiable autocrat; they occurred at irregularrnintervals and were usually more pleasurernthan business. The main entertainment,rnaside from spirited conersation,rnv as a seemingly unlimited supply of Carling’srnBlack Label. Sometimes therernwere guests: Professor Hans Gottschalk ofrnOhio State, a stodg- and unopened butrnopenable fellow who, apparently becausernof his fondness for the Arlington soirees,rncame closer and closer to joining the humanrnrace; Horace Schwartz, radio announcerrn(WOSU) and Marxist musicianrnenamored of decidedly un-Marxist music;rnCleveland poet Stanley Rosen, whornlater wrote an illuminating book on nihilism;rnChristopher Maclaine fresh —or,rnrather, jaded—from California. Hatingrnall passivity and let-down, Dick encouragedrncver’one to be bright, anecdotal,rnjocularly bold. At 1927 NorthwestrnBoulevard, I never heard a mean or e’enrna x’ulgar sentiment. The rule of hilarityrncombined with the complete absence ofrnsloenly behavior and four-letter cacophoniesrnwas a freedom that has quite possiblyrnnever been experienced subsequentiyrnin any freewheeling get-togetherrn\here adult beverages were sered.rnHerr Doktor Eckman, as I frequentlyrnhailed him, was more beautifully independentrnthan Dick. Fred required nornhangers-on, no camp followers. I le oftenrnmade negative judgments on the guestsrnand on the writers and editors with whomrnDick carried on what was more oftenrnthan not a voluminous correspondence.rnRealizing early that my reactions wouldrngenerally be much the same as his own,rnFred often conveyed his witty’ critiques inrnthat priceless possession of antisocial intelligence,rnthe whisper. The man was arnnatural moralist, privately and amusedlvrnsuspecting most motives, including hisrnown; but ready to feed, clothe, shelter,rnand console every drone, drudge, scoundrel,rnand malingerer in sight. EvenrnEmerson, sophisticated and self-contained,rnwas disarmed by Fred’s ability tornpass the death sentence and vet welcomernthe sinner. Scholarly consultant, clearsightedrnand supremely sane advisor,rnFred was even more important as thernparadigm of unself-serious but sensitiernmoral life. At all points, he was a stead}’-rning influence, giving me something tornwant to grow toward, and giving ambitious,rnunretiring Emerson salutan- pause.rnIt may be only a coincidence, but it fitsrnthe story well, that Dick began to go tornpieces not long after Fred went off—inrnthe early 50’s —to a teaching post inrnWest Virginia, hi 1954, Dick abruptivrndropped the Goose and all of us that wentrnwith it. Divorce, flight to California withrnanother woman, silence year after year.rnFred resented that abandonment morernthan I did: Dick had neer made any personalrncommitment to stripling rue, andrnthe Goose was onh- one, and not the mostrnimportant, adventure that helped me discoverrnwhat sort of person I seemed to be.rnBroken by the death of his secondrnwife, Juanita, Dick departed from thesernrounds of seasons too soon, in circumstancesrnmore painful than anyone desen’es.rnThe years made Fred Eckman everrnkinder and more sensibly hilarious.rnMe, they made ever more grateful for hisrnexistence. A nation of loners and selfcenteredrncompetitors, America has neverrnbeen long on writers willing to sacrificerneven their art, when necessary, for therncontinuity and deepening growth ofrnfriendship. For some time to come, arngood many people will pay homage tornthe Herr Doktor for what he could teachrnthem about the structures and implicationsrnof literary texts. For others, perhapsrnneedier and of humbler expectation,rnhe’ll remain just the one who ne’er, onrnany condition, let you down. He walkedrnin the clean, high places and alwaysrnwanted you there with him.rnRobert Beum is a poet who writes fromrnSaskatoon, Saskatchewan.rnHISTORYrnLies, Damned Lies,rnand Fossilsrnby Philip JenkinsrnNot for the first time in recent years,rnAmerican history is the subject of arnferocious political controvers)-, which ultimatelvrngrows out of the national obsessionrnwith race. What is new about thisrnparticular battle is the chronological setting:rnWe are not dealing here with thernNew Deal, with Reconstruction, or thernslave trade, but with a period inconceivablyrndistant, before there was a UnitedrnStates; indeed, long before human beingsrnhad dreamed of building pyramidsrnor ziggurats. Recent archaeological discoveriesrnhave thrown doubt upon everythingrnwe thought we knew about humanrnorigins in the New World, blowing largernholes in the scientific orthodoxy of thernlast few decades. It is not surprising tornfind the new facts challenged by a rearguardrnof traditionally minded scholars,rnwhose whole careers were invested in anrnolder model, but what is alarming is thatrnthe federal government and even itsrnArmed Forces have become utterly committedrnto yesterday’s orthodoxv, to the extentrnof resorting to chicanery and intimidation:rnIn short, the Clinton administrationrnhas decided to declare war onrnAmerican archaeology. Even more repugnant,rnit is doing so in pursuit of doctrinesrnof racial purity. How exactly didrnwe get into such a moral and intellectualrnquagmire?rnTo understand this mess, we need tornappreciate the traditional view of howhumanrnbeings reached the Americas.rnFrom the 1920’s, die standard view wasrnthat the New World had no human populationrnbefore about 15,000 years ago,rnwhen hunters following big gamerntrekked across the land bridge whichrnthen united Siberia and Alaska. (Therndate was fixed because that passage hadrnbeen closed by ice for many millenniarnbeforehand.) They rapidly spread acrossrnthe continent, leaving as traces stonernspeariieads of the sort first discovered atrnClovis, New Mexico. Other populationrnwaves came in over the following millennia,rnbut always over the land bridge, sornAPRIL 2000/43rnrnrn