(also winter, springs and fall)

As you may have noticed Foam-Fare wasn't published in June.
As you may have noticed Foam-Fare wasn't published in July.
As you may have noticed Foam-Fare wasn't published in August.
As you may have noticed Foam-Fare wasn't published in September.
(how's that for blank verse)

No, it wasn't suppressed by popular's just that the editor has this "thing" about hibernation--every year from June to September. So, my apologies to all you dead-icated readers of Foam- Fare, and to all you enemies of the "fee" press--Hah! I'm back!

FOAM-FARE SCOOPS TOP MAGAZINES!: True Romance; True Confessions;
Good Housekeeping; Dog's Life

Yes, F.F. is proud to announce that through its efforts the Sahagians are one big happy family again. When star swimmer David "Abdul" "Wooly Bully" Sahagian told us of the plight his poor old dad was in--relegated to the "Lawndale" for several weeks through a family misunderstanding (I said misunderstanding, not miss-understanding)--we just had to interfere. After all, Mr. S. has long been an inspiration to us as a gentleman and a tried and tempered philosopher (school of hard knocks), and Mrs. S. is without question a main-string in that "harp of harmony" which is Patton. So, if everybody else loves the Sahagians, why shouldn't the Sahagians love the Sahagians? Well, it was all taken care of...and they lived happily ever after.

I stopped by to talk to them. Mr. S. was reminiscing on a dance he'd taken his wife to at the Palladium on their honeymoon. "Spade Cooley was there," he recalled, "and my wife had just washed her feet and couldn't do a thing with 'em." At this point Mrs. S. threatens me: "If you put that in Foam-Fare, so help me...." I happen to know that Mrs. S. was one of the trimmest packages to ever come out of Western High, and Mr. S. was a power-packed football player, with a soft-spoken personality, and the Armenian love for a full life. Shortly after that, he had his own band...but he couldn't make the transition from good music to rock 'n roll. He turned down a chance to manage both Tony Clark and Nathaniel Mayer, rock 'n roll stars who sub-sequently sold and made millions. The latter's "Village of Love" (million-seller) was recorded in a bathroom, Mr. S. recalls delicately, "and they never lost the atmosphere." But back to the honeymoon.

"After the Palladium, I took her to the 'Porcelain Room' (White Tower) for dinner," he says fondly. I asked him if he was glad F.F. helped him get back home. "You can quote me," he replied in confiding measured tones: "if it wasn't for that &$#%!#?/" Foam-Fare I wouldn't be back here now. Cancel my subscription!"

At this, his wife offers me a can of Halvah, retorting: "And you can quote me...Sahagian, McDevitt and White are all back from outer space!"

With that, Mr. Sahagian resettles himself in the chair and begins to recount some of his gambling losses. "I bet this long-shot," he tells me, "the odds are practically off the tote-board. Lo-and- behold the horse swallows everybody up." His slow, deliberate phrases change to the clear-cut articulation of excitement. "He's coming around the far turn--nothing but an act of God can stop him now! And then--I swear, by an act of God--the horse bolts for the stands, stops, and throws the jockey over the rail."

There is a brief pause while the memory settles. "Now I bet 'em by the color of their tail and the white on their hooves," he reveals facetiously. Too much. I had to leave, but I know that even if he's left a million in the streets, Mr. S. has 2 million at home.


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