On To Oregon - The 50 States Series

The one and only time that I've been to Oregon was on a road trip that Bisque and I took back in 1996. Yes, this was the trip where we got busted at the Canadian border. That's another story for another blog. As we made our way down the coast from Vancouver, we decided to check out a few places in Oregon. We took in lots of nature, slept in a yurt, hiked Crater Lake.

One of the main reasons for us to spend time in Oregon was a man by the name of Liebler. Another ex-friend of my dad's, Liebler used to live in New Orleans. I met him around my senior year of high school when he and my dad were practically inseparable. He had moved to New Orleans in the late 1980s to work for an AM radio station called WSMB. Liebler was an older beatnik, I guess you'd say. I guess you're old, by virtue of being a beatnik, right? Long white hair, a New Yorker from way back, a pothead...but now, a pothead with a raging hiatal hernia.
Sometime around the mid '90s, Liebler had high-tailed it to a tiny town near Ashland, Oregon, when he found out that he had a son there. Okay, let me clarify: apparently, Liebler had been sleeping with a woman who turned out to be a born-again Christian, who later shunned him and denounced him as a heathen. BUT - she had a baby in Oregon whom she claimed that Liebler had sired. However, she refused to let him do the blood tests. Liebler took her word for it, and moved to Oregon to provide this 5 year old boy named Leon with a Dad - a Dad who was not full of fire and brimstone. One who liked to hang out by the creek, carving wooden statues of a vaginal nature. Liebler wanted this kid to have a fighting chance.
When we showed up to stay at Liebler's place , we immediately noticed his issue with the hiatal hernia. He couldn't get too many words out without burping. Funny at first, but really like a speech impediment. The marijuana he smoked continuously throughout the day was medicinal and served to relax his esophageal sphincter. The other thing that made a big difference in his condition was the Lithium spring-fed water fountain in the town of Ashland, just 20 miles away. Shortly after arriving, we had to cruise out there in his white Chrysler LeBaron convertible. People swear by the healing powers of the Lithium springs...it made a huge difference for him. The results lasted about an hour or two, and then he'd have to smoke, since it was a bit of a trek. Unfortunately, the Lithium water, once bottled, lost its powers.

I can't remember how we spent our first night there, but we spent the next day with his 5 year- old son, Leon, on the property/farm adjacent to a creek. Liebler, as I mentioned, busied himself with whittling & sculpting. His son was great with numbers and negotiating, so Monopoly was the natural choice for the day's events. It didn't seem impossible that Leon was Liebler's son, but it wasn't perfectly obvious either. A request was made for me to return to the house to get the game board as well as some other supplies. When I came back to join the others by the creek, I innocently put my hand on a gate that had previously been propped open.
Doesn't everyone need to be shocked by an electric fence just once in their lives?? Apparently, I let out a shrill scream and wound up on my back - Monopoly pieces, get out of jail free cards, Marvin Gardens - all of it whirled around. I recovered quickly and played badminton afterwards.

We traveled to Ashland each day we were there for Lithium water as well as entertainment. On that trip, we saw 2 horrible movies: Striptease with Demi Moore and Independence Day (which we actually watched on Independence Day). On the way home, our host mentioned that his botanist son had left him with some opium poppies which he had stashed in the trunk of his LeBaron the entire time! It was a miracle we were never pulled over, since Liebler drives
like a maniac...a burping maniac, at that. We requested that he remove the contraband from the vehicle, since we were trying not to get arrested that week. The three of us contemplated trying the opium, but somehow never got around to it.

The kicker is that Leon is not Liebler's son. A DNA test proved that there was not a drop of Jewish hippie blood in that cute little blond boy. It was just a coincidence that he was great at Monopoly. I would imagine that he and Liebler grew very close during the years that he spent in that remote area of eastern Oregon. I have no idea if they're still in touch.

I just spoke with Liebler back in September. He's living on the Oregon coast, in some tiny town up north. He was still burping throughout the entire conversation, but it seemed better. He is still sculpting spread-eagle women and had a mixed media installation at a gallery in his town. The state is paying him to live in the house he bought, since it's an historical marker. He's in the process of restoring it and living off of the mammoth vegetables he grows, since he says he has practically no money.
He told me that he is still searching for the potion to cure him of his hiatal hernia.
In the meantime, he is sticking to his vigorous daily regimen of lunges, squats and chin-ups that he does to a Fleetwood Mac mix-tape that I gifted to him after our visit.
I hope that little Leon, who would now be 17, remembers his few years with the dad who really wasn't his dad. I've managed to stay away from electric fences since that time in Oregon, but I'd like to go back and check out Liebler's new digs and meet any new possible offspring of his.