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I also think that if there are tools and machines in the workshop at Wilhelmshaven that you really love, you ought to find out everything you can about them. Everyone here kills me when I contemplate getting a new machine ("There goes my raise!") but the fact is that some machines can make raises possible. Your job will be to sell us on anything you have sold yourself on, and you'll need all the ammunition you can get: complete description of what it is and can do for us, how much it would cost to get it here, how to keep it running, where is the best source in Germany, brochures, etc., etc. shipping costs, u.s.w. No promises that anyone will bite, but it's no use coming here with only a fairy tale about some magic organ making machine. We'd need to know everything.
I'll never know what the boys here have been writing you, and it's always better if I don't, but I can give you my own short report. First, I myself seem to be doing much better — most days I spend the morning at the shop and rest in the afternoon. My doctors are pleased with my progress. Some days it seems as if I might be able to work myself back into my old self again and other days it seems impossible, but I'm able to stick my nose into things enough now to make some people mad...Stanford seems to be going quite well, thanks mostly to Steve Dieck's keeping things organized, and at least one truck load of it may be gone before you return. And of course we are trying to do too much to the Harvard organ this summer at the same time as building #85—Mark Nelson and John Krigbaum (and Mark's sister Patti) are working hard there.
I think everyone admired your pluck at just plain rushing off to a place you'd never been before and you'll have to remember when you return that there will be a tendency on many people's part to pay little attention to the "Good News" you have for them. That's just human nature—remember that they could have had a similar opportunity but shrank away from it, and that hurts a little when they think of it. Mostly the trip is for your edification, Greg—it's something nobody can ever take away from you, and you'll find you'll have to be like Mary and "ponder these things in your heart." And it's important for you to realize on your return that you will not be able to just drop back into your old slot—people are going to demand a certain readjustment to your rearrival—they always do. I have nothing whatever specific in mind, Greg, but I just want to be sure you're ready for the impact of reentry, in which, like the space shuttle, a few tiles always get burnt off!
You'll probably be glad to hear that I have issued a warning that when #85 has completely gone, we are going to clean the shop within an inch of its life, throwing away everything that does not somehow pertain to our work. (There'll still be the usual space available under actual workbenches—not backbenches—for Gov't work, never fear.) I want to be sure the real problem isn't all the junk we've got kicking around—the stuff that's too good to throw away and not good enough to save.
Well, we've missed you more than I can say and we'll be awfully glad to get you back, and don't ever forget it!
Charles Nazarian and Greg Bover work out console details for
Opus 82, Christ Church, Greensboro with Charlie looking on.
Photo: Robert Cornell
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