Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Beta Pi Blog, Vol.2014, No.11 – Happy New Year!

Beta Pi:

IS  BETA PI BLOG WITHOUT ANY REDEEMING SOCIAL OR ARTISTIC MERIT?:  














YEA .   .   .   . or

 

NAY? 

 
Beta Pi Blog’s purpose: to bring ATO, Beta Pi Chapter Brothers and ATO Gal-Pals together.  The blog is not to be taken seriously - it is meant for fun. 

 The Beta Pi Blog is non-political.  It includes






pictures, like this one of Wallace Stevens,


Robert Frost
links,

Pablo Neruda
Archives of previous issues,

and other time-wasters.

To get there, go to web address: http://beta-pi-blog.blogspot.com

 

*      *      *

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Well, it has been an interesting year, and I have enjoyed being with you through it all.  We lost our brother J. Neal who died accidentally in a motorcycle accident, and we were grateful Tison Keel just happened to be in Thailand at the time.  I hope 2016 brings you blessings.  Auld Lange Syne.  Happy New Year, my dear friends!

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Some of you may recall a Feature we had a few years back, Poetry Corner.  It’s back!

 
POETRY CORNER:

It’s back because I have exciting personal news!  My book of poetry is published!  

 

It is called “Water, Wind, Spirit, Stone, Poems by Lawrence A. Simons”
It is published by Eveready Press,  1817 Broadway, Nashville, TN 37203.  www.eveready-usa.com .  It is available in paperback and e-book.  Here is the link:

 
Here is the story.

I was in High School when I first discovered that I love to write.   I wrote a weekly rag while at Columbia Military Academy. That's a picture of me and my Dad.
 
 
 
 
 
I got “bitten” by poetry there. I had a Poetry Professor who was inspiring, and innovative in his teaching techniques. 









I was genuinely inspired by him, by the poetry, and particularly by Walt Whitman’s poetry.  I had what you might call a “light bulb” experience, a creative awakening, which was not unlike that depicted in “Dead Poet’s Society” – just without the tragedy.

So, in High School, we dream big, yes?  I loved poetry, and music, so I went to Vanderbilt University, with the aim of being a great poet and songwriter. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 And there I studied Poetry, and also did intensive studies in girls, and guitars.
 

 
At Vanderbilt, Poetry Writing was my favorite class.  I had this moment, and I will never forget it.  The Course was taught by Vanderbilt’s “Resident Poet” - he was a mysterious fellow, very private.  At the end of the term he invited the entire class (about a dozen aspiring young poets) to his apartment for a social and poetry reading.  And, similar to class requirements, we were each to bring a new poem to the social. 

Keep in mind, in his class, writing a poem, then reciting it was like having a tooth extracted.  He taught using the critical method.  You recite your poem, then each of your classmates takes a turn “critiquing” it.  By hearing all of your classmates critique your poem, you learn the art of “self-criticism.”  And it really works.  You learn that you may write an entire page, but later when you self-critique it, there often is only one good line out of 50.  That, we were taught, is how poets refine their poems. 

So, back to the social.  I showed up with my poem, nervous, as usual.  When my turn came, I read my poem, and the Poet paused and said “there is something archetypal” about my imagery and my poem.  I knew from his tone it was a compliment, but he had never used that word in class.  I was really flustered, because – being me, I thought my poem was probably shit – and I was nervous at being singled out and complimented.  Add to that, I didn’t know what the frickin’ word meant (gimme a break, I was all of 20).  The other kids in the class were silent, you could hear a pin drop.  Not being shy, I asked him “What does archetypal” mean?”  He smiled and said “Something so original as to be first of its kind.”  WOW!  You could say my bell was rung! My "moment" lasted for weeks.

After that encouragement, I was determined to get published!  I managed to get that poem published in Versus, the Vanderbilt Student Magazine.  I made a submission, and I remember getting a call from the Versus student publisher, a somewhat arrogant fellow.  He said “Congratulations, we’ve decided to publish your poem . . . but there is an edit I’d like to make, why don’t you come over and we’ll talk.” 

So, I found myself face to face with Mr. A. Sniff Sniffer.  He wanted to delete a line.  I paused, looked at the line, thought about it, and said "no, that line is essential to the character of my poem, there was a reason it was written" (a mystical reason, but I didn’t say that). He didn't appear convinced, so I let out all the stops, told him that I had been given an “A” for the poem by our Resident Poet, in Poetry Writing Class.  And further, that the Poet told me “there is something archetypal” about my style and my poem. 

I was feeling pretty self-assured, so I said “If you doubt that, call him up and ask him.  I am not agreeing to your edit.  If you choose not to publish my poem over this edit, it’s your call.”  He said, rather smugly, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” 




He never called, but in the next edition of Versus, my poem appeared, in full, no edits.  Needless to say, I was on “Cloud Nine.”  In hind-sight, I owe the snooty publisher my thanks. I am grateful he was there to push back against my ego.  The lesson for me was simple, always fight for what I believe in.

 


Well, long story short, after a stint in the Army, I spent several years after college in Nashville working carpentry by day, writing songs at night.  I had some great experiences co-writing and recording songs, but never figured out how to make money at song writing, except for a $200 publishing advance I got on one of my songs.  And when my son Andrew was born, I knew I had to get a real career, so I gave up on songwriting, and I became a lawyer.  So now it is lawyer by day, poet by night. 

In the 90’s, I was very active on the Nashville Poetry Scene, doing open mic readings and “performance poetry” under the name “Larry & Larry.”    I didn’t make that up, it was a nick name I earned.  I had a conga player also named Larry, and we both played drums to accompany my poetry reading performances, some folks liked it, and we were dubbed “Larry & Larry.”  Two of my poems were published in an Anthology commemorating Windows on the Cumberland, the heart of the open mic scene.  I made a few poetry videos with Beatlick poet Joe Speer, and he featured me on his TV show “Speer Presents.”  I was invited to read my poetry at the Summer Lights Festival, and won the Poetry Slam Event there. 

And now, I finished my book of poems.  As you might imagine, I am telling everyone, and I guess you can tell by this Blog entry how very excited I am about it.  I hope you will check it out.

 
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KEEPING TABS:





Claude Cody had a really good idea, to put a “memorial tab section” in the blog to help guys easily find the Memorials of departed brothers in the Archives, to make it easier to “keep tabs” on what other brothers have posted.  We use a free blog service, which is very low tech, no way to just push a button, but I loved Claude’s idea, and his interest in helping guys.  My solution is to put a permanent section here at the end, with user friendly references. You do remember the “Card File” at the Heard Library, don’t you?



 

If you have never explored the “Archives” in this Blog – it is toward the top of the latest “blog issue”, on the right. 

 You access it by clicking on the Month and Year, and it will drop down with choices. 

For example, if you click on December, 2006, it will drop down and list all issues that were published that month.  If you want Issue No. 68, you click on that, and it takes you to that issue.  You can then post a comment to that issue.  So, it’s great, because if you didn’t comment then, it’s never too late to post a comment, right?  Good luck, PIONEERS!  Just take the reference and look it up in “Archives.”

 
DAVID HOWE, died 11/30/2006.
Beta Pi Blog, Vol.2006, No.68, Archive: December, 2006.   
Beta Pi Blog, Vol.2007, No.30, Archive: May, 2007

MILES WALSH, died 07/2013.
Beta Pi Blog, Vol.2013, No.05, Comments Section (over 50 comments), Archive: Aug.2013

J. NEAL CRENSHAW, died 11/12/2014.
Beta Pi Blog, Vol.2014, No.08, Archive: Nov. 2014
Beta Pi Blog, Vol.2014, No.10, Archive: Dec. 2014

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BETA PI BLOG ROSTER STATS:   As of December 30, 2014, there are 37 Blog Website Members; there are 116 ATO’s on the blog list, plus 17 ATO Gal-Pals.  And, there are 6 Brothers who do not have e-mail. 

VTL,








Larry Simons

Beta Pi, 72

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Beta Pi Blog, Vol.2014, No.10 – J. NEAL MEMORIAL, PART 2














Beta Pi:

 

IS  BETA PI BLOG WITHOUT ANY REDEEMING SOCIAL OR ARTISTIC MERIT?:  

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
YEA .   .   .   . or

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
NAY? 

 

 
 
 
 
 
Beta Pi Blog’s purpose: to bring ATO, Beta Pi Chapter Brothers and ATO Gal-Pals together.  The blog is not to be taken seriously - it is meant for fun. 


 
The Beta Pi Blog is non-political.  It includes

 

pictures, links,
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Archives of previous issues,

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
and other time-wasters.

 

To get there, go to web address: http://beta-pi-blog.blogspot.com


*      *      *

J. NEAL MEMORIAL, PART 2

 
 

I posted the yearbook picture from 1974, because it has one of my favorite shits of Neal.  We had so much fun doing the "Pirates" for our yearbook picture.  Neal was into it, so was Tison.  Travis was definitely "in command" that day, we got in cars and drove to Fort Negley ruins, near downtown Nashville.  At the time, it was a heap of ruins from the Civil War Fort Negley which had a commanding position on high ground just southeast of Nashville.  Today, the place has been restored to a Civil War Memorial Park - but back then, it was piles of huge granite block, overgrown with weeds, snakes and such.  It was big fun.  That day, we were kings of the underworld of Pirates.  Arrrrrghhhh!

 
 
 
 
 
FROM TISON KEEL

As you know, by fate or sheer coincidence, Tison Keel was in Thailand and had plans to meet with J. Neal Crenshaw, when we got the news of Neal’s death.  Tison and Neal had planned to meet on Saturday at 1:00 p.m., and Neal’s Funeral was held at that time.  Tison attended, and here is a beautiful and heart felt Eulogy Tison has written for Neal, along with pictures he took:
 
 
 

It is with heavy heart that I can confirm that J. Neal Crenshaw’s soul is no longer of this earth.  I attended his funeral service on Saturday, November 15 and tearfully witnessed the open coffin containing the earthly remains of our dear brother before it entered the crematorium. But let return to the beginning of the story.

Neal and I met as ATO pledges in the spring of 1972.  We grew close gradually over the course of the next years at VU, and by senior year he and I were spending a pretty fair amount of time together at the Tic house, and though I forget the details, I recall him coming from Huntsville to Birmingham once or twice for fun summer weekends.  Senior year we spent time together at his bungalow style rental house just south of campus (Blakemore Ave??), property that was seized by the University under a controversial urban renewal land-grab, and condemned to allow expansion of the campus in that direction.  A fond memory was the Destruction Party held at the house just before graduation.  Knowing it was slated for demolition, Neal had a kegger and invited attendees to do their worst – punching holes in sheetrock, kicking in doors, making like Keith Moon in a hotel room!  What a great party and a finish to a college career!

Neal was always a character, diligent in his engineering studies which he finished in four years, but I think he sort of regretted missing the Summer of Love, and adopted a definite hippie look, language, and lifestyle.  He loved his ATO brothers, Alex & Laura, his MGB-GT, his music, and his taste in women ran to what he liked to call “earth mothers” which I will leave to you to define.  Neal was always kind and considerate of other people’s karma; his political leanings were way left of George McGovern’s, and he would vehemently discuss and argue politics at the drop of a hat, but without any rancor whatsoever.  I recall clearly spending some time with Neal Senior year when we were joined in his house by brother Pete Velis.  We chatted with Pete for a while, and then he left, and I expressed concern that Pete appeared to be doing some serious mind-altering substances without company.  Neal explained frankly that Pete had indeed experimented and was now seemingly experiencing permanently altered consciousness.  Neal said he was encouraging Pete to come around as often as he wanted, as Neal hoped to nurse him back to reality.  I think I am correct in saying that it was Neal who ultimately contacted Pete’s parents and got him some help, and the episode illustrates to me the kind of caring, hippiesque, but grounded engineer that was Neal.

I actually got even closer to Mr. Crenshaw after college because he and I took our first employments in Dallas, he for the EPA District 5 (I think that’s right) and I for Union Carbide.  He loved to rib me about the deadly chemical companies destroying the environment, and referred to my colleagues as “Carbanions.”  Neal bought into TEXAS mystique fully – bought a red pickup truck, took to wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, and joking about the “Messcans”.  We ended up in apartments only about a mile apart, and spent lots of evenings and weekends together, exploring Dallas, learning to make nachos, listening to music (Little Feat was a favorite band of his at the time, and of course The Dead who gave a memorable concert there in either 1976 or 77 (for some reason my memory cells of that time are fuzzy).  He frequently mentioned a vision he had, becoming a colonial “Patron” in Central America, wearing high boots on a white horse and running a prosperous and peaceful hacienda.  We went dove hunting, in Vernon, TX with another friend we made in Neal’s apartment complex, ate at a drive-in served by roller-skated waitresses, rode motorcycles.  During this time together we became fast friends and I’m proud to say that I grew to love the man! 

Alas we were separate by work transfers in 1977, but Neal came to visit me in Louisiana and we attended the New Orleans Jazz Festival together a couple years with a group from VU and Huntsville.  The last time I saw Neal alive was 1979.  I had moved to Ohio, and Neal called to invite me to join him and other Merry Pranksters on a jaunt to Jamaica.  He had arranged the event, which involved renting a 5 bedroom house for 5 guys in Ocho Rios, with a pool, a live-in cook and a maid.  Needless to say I was in-but-in-but-in! 

Neal was a planner, and had three major objectives for the week:  visit a ganja field, catch a large billfish (a Hemingway thing, I guess), and get a taste of Brown Sugar.  I wanted no part of item one and tried to dissuade him (“people get shot for that” I argued to no avail).  Nobody else was interested in that risky enterprise, but Neal persisted and he claimed to have succeeded after befriending some local Rastas, and why should I doubt him? 

I was absolutely ready for a fishing expedition.  What Neal failed to mention was that he knew quite well that he got violently seasick on a pond.  We were no more than 10 minutes out of the harbor when Neal was over the rail, where he spent the next two hours.  The boat crew had an 8-track with only one tape, so we listened to “Exodus” at distorted high volume for the entire day.  We actually hooked a Blue Marlin about 3 hours into the mission, and we pushed Neal into the harness seat, thinking that his stomach had to be empty and the distraction of fighting a huge fish would cure the mal de mer.  No way!  He heaved, reeled and heaved and finally left the chair, much to the chagrin of the Jamaican crew, fearful of losing their trophy (and food for a week).  Another Huntsville guy boated the fish, so I guess Neal could say he achieved objective 2. 

As for #3, a gentleman may not comment… My favorite memory of the week was the fact that Neal and his Huntsville friend Mike brought their guitars; every night after dinner we sat on the veranda, Neal and Mike would play and we would all sing.  Neal encouraged me even though I thought I could not carry a tune, and he actually convinced me that while not a rock star, I could actually belt out a song and enjoy it.  I can’t hear “Wild Horses” or “Friend of the Devil” now without singing along and recalling those great evenings.  Thanks, Brother!

I was cursed but blessed to be in Thailand immediately after Neal’s accident.  I landed in Bangkok on business the evening of the crash, obviously knowing nothing and looking forward to seeing him in a couple days, because we had planned by email to meet on Saturday.  On my way to our first meeting on Thursday, I got the Beta Pi Blog on my iPhone, and was stunned, to say the least.  The Udon Thani blog got me connected to the events in Issam (the region of NE Thailand and Laos of which Vientiane and Udon Thani, or Udorn as the Thais often call it, are a part.  Since meeting Neal in Bangkok was now out of the question, I decided to visit his adopted home town, as he had frequently encouraged me to do.  I got up early and caught a flight, about an hour.  There I found a friendly cab driver who was happy to drive me around and promised to get me to the Buddhist temple where the service was planned.  I can see why the place appealed to Neal, while it may not to everybody.  Udorn is old-style Asia, gritty, busy and earthy, compared with the new glitz of modern Singapore, Shanghai, and Bangkok.  I visited a few local landmarks and then walked about 1.5 miles into the center of town.  There are many Buddhist sites and temples, as in all of Thailand, with some pretty trippy stuff, right up Neal’s freaky side.

 







 
One site included lifelike replicas of famous deceased local monks, so I communed with one.  (“I’m just mad about Saffron…”)

 



The Udon Thani Main Drag is a low-rise vision out of a 50’s Asian movie, but with more motor scooters. The street markets are classic rural Asia, stuff that existed in Hong Kong, Beijing and Kuala Lumpur for eons, but have largely disappeared.  Groceries are purchased on the street and in local “wet markets” and not in your local A&P.  I can understand why the everyday parts of this place would also appeal to Neal’s earthy side; nothing ersatz here, unadulterated Southeast Asia!

 








The driver picked me up as arranged and took me south of the city to the temple where the service was to be held.  A very attractive site on about 10 acres.  I found a small group of Caucasians and confirmed they were there for the same reason as I.  Most of the group were locals who were also musicians, and who all frequently jammed with Brother Crenshaw.  I met his drummer, harp player, bassist, a singer and several other guitar players, all very nice folks, mixed Brits and Americans, all with Thai wives.  Interestingly, no Western women to be seen.  The building with the very tall spires and the lower, long building on its right turned out to be the focal points for the funeral.



 
The services began with the arrival of the “hearse” and a following train of personal vehicles.  The lead was a pickup truck carrying an enormous ornate casket in the bed.


 
Two saffron-robed monks appeared and attached a long, knotted silk rope to the casket, which was pulled out ahead of the casket-bearing truck.  The mourners, myself included, took hold of the rope and “pulled” the casket around the tall, narrow building, led by the two monks, and with a group of mostly Thai mourners gathered around and behind the vehicle with their hands on the casket.  All very mournful and symbolic, though none of the Western participants could fully explain the ritual to me.  (I researched the matter upon my return, and readers may want to do the same.  For example I learned the silk rope is called the Bhusa Yhong ribbon is a common feature)

http://www.buddhanet.net/bfuneral.htm  

We proceeded to circle the building three times, during which time I was surprised at the volume of tears I shed for my long-missed friend.

 


Having finished the ritualistic triple circumnavigation, most of retired to some shade (it was 1:00 pm and the temperature was 90-something) while a group opened the large casket and pulled out a smaller, more conventional-looking casket inside.  Turns out the larger outer case was owned by the monastery for shared use, and inside was a wooden vessel for the remains of our brother.  That was manhandled up the steep staircase of the building which I now learned is a self-contained crematorium.  The body was placed in State at the top of the stairs, with floral wreaths, a large photo of Neal and signs were arrayed around it.  Many people walked up, so I followed, and could see that in the back of the building was a stainless steel vault with a single large door, obviously a modern electric furnace, and I realized that the large “spire” at the rear was actually a tall exhaust stack for the crematorium.  Obviously once the rituals were done, Neal was going to be transfigured on the spot into his component elements.  Bit of a shock, but why not?



 
The entire party then moved into the lower building next door, and the aforementioned Bhusa Yhong ribbon turned out to be much longer than I thought, for it was extended from Neal’s casket into the shelter and the other end affixed to a point next to the gold seated Buddha at one end of a long dais.  Again very symbolic, I’m sure, but I did not receive a detailed explanation.  Brother Neal apparently merited a first-class sendoff, because there were 12 robed, lotus-position Buddhist monks on the dais, who proceeded to chant in a tenor monotone that was initially soothing, but frankly got to be a bit of a bore after about 30 minutes of it.  While many in the congregation(?) maintained a palms-together prayerful position throughout, I glanced around and noticed many side conversations underway, apparently without offense being taken by anyone.

 


Next, a man with a microphone launched into a lengthy monologue in Thai, leaving me in the dark until it was explained he was summarizing the major points of the deceased’s life.  The monks resumed their chants for about 10 minutes, and members of the crowd brought forward gifts for the monks, mostly new saffron robes, but also envelopes that I must assume contained more material contributions.  We were then invited to all turn and face the crematorium/casket to pay our last silent respects to the remains of our ATO Brother.  A line then proceeded to the crematorium, where each person picked up a paper flower and walked up the stairs.  I was a bit shocked at the top to find the casket had been opened, and there was my friend, coins on the eyes, wearing a too-small cream-colored suit that he had probably not donned for many years.  Without too many details it was clear that his hands and head had suffered major trauma from the motorcycle accident (more later).  We dropped a flower into the casket and I gave our friend and brother a farewell pat and a “VTL”.  A few ensuing practices were a bit unusual for a Westerner.  There were many children attending, some of the family threw candy from the area next to the casket, and the kids scrambled for their shares, much like the breaking of a piñata.  They then passed out small trinkets to all the adults:  nail clippers, bottle openers, key rings as mementos, I guess, and then fired off many rounds of percussion bottle rockets, to scare away evil spirits, I was told. 

Most then returned to Neal’s house for food and drink, a familiar worldwide funereal ritual.  There I learned more about Neal’s demise, though some of the accounts were contradictory.   This much is clear, that Neal and his son Michael (from his first marriage, to a Korean woman) went for a ride on Neal’s custom Harley chopper.  Neal drove and Mike rode behind.  At full speed they came around a bend in the rural road, and ran broadside into a cow that had wandered out.  Both Neal and Mike flew through the air, Neal absorbed the worst punishment, Mike suffered very bad “road rash” and a concussion.  Mike still does not remember the actual collision but believes he landed on or into his father, cushioning the blow somewhat.  By one version some of Neal’s friends picked up on the emergency radio frequency that an accident had occurred, deduced it was Neal and made it to the hospital at the same time as the ambulance.  They said Neal had been already resuscitated once or twice, but was speaking, not coherently, when he arrived at the emergency room.  However, he went out again soon after and subsequent attempts to revive him were not successful.  In the casket it was clear that his head had absorbed major trauma.  Neal never wore a helmet when he rode, technically required by law in Thailand, but apparently almost never enforced.  He said he loved the feeling of freedom that came with riding bare-headed, which I understand.  Neal lived free and easy, he understood and accepted the risk/benefit tradeoff, and I like to think he died as he lived, though much sooner than I would have wished!

Neal’s home in Udorn, of which he was very proud, was quite beautiful!  He left behind a lovely wife, Poom, a fine looking son Michael (battered from the wreck but recovering, and he will be fine) in whom I think we can all see strong traces of his father’s genes, and two daughters.  The youngest, 10 years old, seemed not to have absorbed her loss yet, and was not present at the service, but I met her at the house.  His other daughter, Maria, full sister to Michael, lives in the US and was planning to make it to Thailand last week, staying long enough to tend to her father’s affairs.  I enjoyed the hospitality of Neal’s family and had some very nice conversations with many of his local friends, all of whom I would have enjoyed meeting in any circumstance.  I felt that Neal acknowledged my presence at his home in an unusual way, or maybe not unusual considering his sense of humor.  While sitting in a rented plastic chair at Neal’s home, drinking beer with a whiskey sidecar to numb my pain, and chatting with some of his friends, I felt and heard the chair creak twice under by backside.  I was not leaning back or putting any unusual strain on it, other than the mass of my larger-than-Thai frame.  I commented aloud something like, “I think this chair is not going to make it.”  No sooner were the words out of my mouth, and before I could move again, the chair virtually imploded, and I was unceremoniously dropped to the ground, bathed in the drink that I was holding and surrounded by shards of polypropylene.  I had some thoughts that perhaps I had been the butt of a Crenshaw-spirit joke, but said no such thing.  However, that it was maybe Neal making a statement from the Other Side was suggested by others at the time, independently.  In any event, I will carry that memory and choose to think that Neal was simultaneously welcoming me and chastising me for not having visited sooner, when we could have met in the flesh.



 
Neal was blessed with a loving family and a large group of good friends!  Any of us would be lucky to have the same said of us upon our own demise.  I will end with a collection of photos kindly forwarded by Neal’s circle of friends in Udon Thani, who have been quite nice to recognize my grief at the funeral and to send me some memories of a guy I had not seen for too many years.  I miss you bro!  I won’t see you no more in this world, so meet you in the next one, don’t be late!

 





 

Tison, in my view, a person could not hope for a nicer or more sincere eulogy, thank you so much for sharing it with us.  I love you brother, and I am glad you were there for J. Neal.

*      *      *     *

HERE'S HOW to “JOIN THIS SITE”: All you need to do is JOIN "GOOGLE +" -- click ACCEPT to invitations or click on "JOIN" GOOGLE + FOLLOWERS.

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BETA PI BLOG ROSTER STATS:   As of December 2, 2014, there are 37 Blog Website Members; there are 116 ATO’s on the blog list, plus 17 ATO Gal-Pals.  And, there are 6 Brothers who do not have e-mail. 

VTL,

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Larry Simons

Beta Pi, 72