Hey, this is Dwayne Betts of the Allman Bedspan, and you're listening to Walking the Floor.

I'm Walking the Floor Over You, Walking the Floor, I'm Walking the Floor, Walking the Floor Over You.

Oh, las and yours, and senior retests. This is Chris Shiflett, and once again you are listening to

Walking the Floor, Episode 184 of Walking the Floor. We're closing in on that 200 episode mark.

We got to do something special when we get up there. I hope your week's going well. We're back at

you a little quicker. I'm trying to work through a backlog. I got a ton of interviews. I got more

interviews that I have time to handle or process at this point, so they're getting kind of dusty,

and I'm trying to get through up some, going to step it up to about once a week, moving forward

until I get through all the old stuff, getting into some new stuff. A little bit of a sad news this

week. Lawrence Firling Getty, the poet, passed away earlier this week, and it reminded me, he was

101 years old, apparently. What a life. What a nice long life that that guy led. For all you young

folks out there, just Google Lawrence Firling Getty, if you've never heard of him, or Google

Beat Poets, or Google San Francisco, Google Anything. I don't know who my phone young people don't

listen to this show. It's just a bunch of crusty old folks like me. Anyway, Lawrence Firling Getty

passed away. He was a famous poet, kind of the last man standing of the Beat Poet generation.

From way back when, and it reminded me that my dad, John Schiflett, when he got out of the Navy

in the late 50s, I believe, he moved to San Francisco. Consider himself a bit of a beatnik,

and I remember he had a few of Lawrence Firling Getty's books. I remember him telling me that he had

bought them actually from Lawrence Firling Getty, who was working the counter at City Lights

bookstore when he went in there way back when, early 60s, late 50s. So I dug those out and I thought,

you know, I'm no expert on poetry or anything, but I do enjoy a bit of poetry now and again,

and I thought I would read you all a poem from one of my dad's Lawrence Firling Getty books.

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