Strange New England

There are moments in your life that shine like stars in the darkness and light your path and as you remember your past.  Such memories are safely couched in the narrative of your youth and from time to time, they can send a message to you, from far, far away. One such moment occurred in the year 1977 when I was  fifteen years old. On a late May afternoon, I was perhaps the first person to see the movie Star Wars in the continental United States. Well, maybe. It's a big claim, I know, but since I have no way of determining the absolute place of the first viewing of Lucas' masterpiece in the U.S., I believe it is at least possible that I was the one of the first, to witness the spectacle and the wonder that is Star Wars. I had seen Lucas' American Graffiti twice at the Caribou Theater in Caribou, Maine in 1973 when I was only eleven years old. A callow Richard Dreyfus was desperately seeking the blonde in the Thunderbird all night long, roaming the California streets to the growling rasp of disc jockey Wolfma