At this point our author drops his pen. No more entries, no more journals! The writing ends in mid sentence, in mid word!
Shall we ever know the rest of his story - the end of his adventure? Unfortunately, no. So far as his own words go,
no, for this is what I found in the closet: a journal prematurely terminated.
But this could not be the end for me.
Not only was I caught up in this story for its intrinsic interest, I was still haunted by the thought that this author might
be ME! He seems to have suffered a breakdown in Nebraska. A heat stroke, perhaps? Amnesia? Why, I've had amnesia-like symptoms
My feet were seen walking on the Great Peace March; that's beyond a shadow of doubt. Not only Ralph and
Guy, but Marc Polonsky and Elizabeth Vanek and Josh Stanley here in the Bay Area swear I was on the March. I attended a GPM
reunion down near Santa Barbara. Yes, eighty people were there and all remembered me. BUT NOT ONE COULD SAY WHETHER I KEPT
One last hope: I had to speak with this woman our journalist called his Beatrice. A Marcher friend felt
sure she knew who this "Beatrice" was and gave me a phone number. This Seattle woman, my friend assured me, was
an actress, dancer, performance artist, photographer, and poet. I did call this "Beatrice." Hooray! She told me
SHE KNEW ALL and would relate everything in a letter. It was not too long before I received the following: