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Overview
They met at Woodstock, and the love lasted a lifetime. Then she was gone, and so was his college teaching job. Heartbroken but determined, he calls on his two best friends to help him return to the place it all began. One last chance to say "Goodbye Emily." The professor and his Woodstock buddy need the third tripper from back in the day, now in a nursing home with early stage Alzheimer's. When the home refuses to allow their friend to come along, the professor and the vet bust him out, attracting the attention of the cops and the media, fascinating the public.
The roadtrip turns into a flight from "the man" and not even the professor's defense attorney daughter can help. In a psychedelic van, the trio dodge cops and prosecutors. Against all odds, they close in on their destination, where thousands of supporters and cops await them.
Goodbye Emily is the irreverently funny story about a journey of self-discovery for a man who thought he'd left all important journeys in life behind.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781938467219 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Koehler Books |
| Publication date: | 01/01/2013 |
| Pages: | 270 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
Michael Murphy lives in Arizona with his wife of forty years, four dogs, five chickens and a feral cat. Goodbye, Emily is his eighth novel.
Read an Excerpt
Goodbye Emily
By Michael Murphy
Koehler Books
Copyright © 2013 Michael MurphyAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9781938467219
Chapter 1 My life changed forever the night I drank the last of my bourbon.Two blocks from home, I entered The Library, once the top tavern in Milton, Pennsylvania. I climbed on a stool at the end of the bar and tuned out conversations of my fellow patrons punctuated with one-liners, high-fives and lame pickup lines. I just wanted a drink. Maybe two.I signaled the bartender. “Bourbon on the rocks.” No water to dilute the alcohol.Time changed everything including one’s favorite bar. In the sixties and seventies, students and faculty from the nearby college hung out and debated war, Watergate, disarmament and nuclear power while classic rock played in the background. Now I had to tolerate the latest Lady Gaga song.The bartender in his twenties wore a starched long-sleeve maroon shirt with a glossy “Librarian” button pinned to his black vest. He slid a napkin in front of me and studied my face. “Professor Ellington?”That’s me. Professor, former professor, Walter Fitzgerald Ellington. Close friends, back when I had friends, called me Sparky.He set the drink in front of me, apparently determined to strike up a conversation I hoped to avoid. “You let your hair grow since the bastards forced you to take early retirement.”“No one forced me out. I retired a year ago to write the great American novel.”“How’s that worked out?”This kid was either charmingly droll or a complete smart ass. I lifted the glass in a mock silent toast and swallowed half the booze.He wiped down the counter with a white towel as if the bar paid him for each swipe. “The man who didn’t force you out, Chancellor Warfield, and his co-conspirator who took your place, Professor Blake, came in last night. They shared a booth, and Blake didn’t look happy.”“I really don’t care.” I vowed not to think about those two self-indulgent, backstabbing bureaucrats again. I’d moved on.I sipped the bourbon as if I enjoyed the taste while he prattled on about taking my Nineteenth Century English Lit class. I caught something I never expected to hear. “You presented each lecture like a Broadway show, full of passion and emotion. All you needed was music.”“I get that a lot.” No one ever compared my lectures to theater before. Unless he majored in mixology, my instruction and Milton College hadn’t done his career much good.“Bob.” He shook my hand. “Bob Windsor.”A long rambling belch came from the poolroom behind me. A blustery, beer-bellied truck driver type lumbered from the room and stuffed a handful of bills into his jeans pocket. He wore a greasy green Transcontinental Transport t-shirt and carried an empty pitcher of beer. His shaved head, shirt and thick toad-like body reminded me of Shrek, without the ogre’s charm. To my great relief, he chose a stool at the other end of the bar.I came to drink, not to judge, but when Shrek cursed a perceived lack of service with a reference to Windsor’s mother, I muttered to myself, “Man is thy most awful instrument.”The bartender chuckled. “William Wordsworth.”“What grade did I give you?”“B plus.”“Perhaps I misjudged you, Windsor. You obviously deserved an A.” I finished the drink, and the young man brought me another.Shrek slid the pitcher toward the bartender, who filled it with draft beer and handed the pitcher back. The ogre took a long gulp from the pitcher then wiped his mouth with the back of a catcher’s mitt of a hand.He focused his attention on two college-age girls, a blonde and a redhead at a nearby table, who sipped fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas. The man made wet kissing noises to the redhead as she popped a cherry stem into her mouth and tried to tie it into a knot with her tongue.The girls wore jeans and t-shirts with only a hint of makeup. Even I could tell they hadn’t come to the bar to be hit on. They didn’t hide their annoyance with the intoxicated trucker. As his grunts and gestures grew vulgar, their annoyance changed to alarm. The blonde’s face flushed and the redhead covered her eyes with one hand.The coeds reminded me of my daughter, Cloe, when she was in college. Nice girls who wanted to enjoy a relaxing drink and not be bothered by a pig like Shrek. I nursed my drink, determined to mind my own business.The bartender had to see the ashen faces of fear on the girls, but he wasn’t exactly the bouncer type.The blonde grabbed her purse. “Let’s go.”“Terrific idea.” Shrek climbed off his stool. “I’ll walk you to your dorm, Sweet Thing.”Enough! I couldn’t tolerate the man’s treatment of the girls another minute. I slid the half-full glass of bourbon away, slapped a twenty on the counter and climbed off the barstool.
Continues...
Excerpted from Goodbye Emily by Michael Murphy Copyright © 2013 by Michael Murphy. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
What People are Saying About This
From the Publisher
“Michael I just finished reading your novel and found it a fantastic read and wonderful story! It would make a terrific movie. Thanks for letting me see it. cheers, Joe.”
Country Joe McDonald
“What we have in mind is a sweet look back at the good old days. We must have been in heaven, man.”
Wavy Gravy
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