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I spent about ten or fifteen minutes in the room unpacking. Before going back downstairs in search of the symposium registration desk, I used some of the hotel stationery to write a short note.

Dear Jennifer,

Enclosed is a poem that I wrote a number of years ago. It resulted from a challenge by a couple of black friends of mine in Toronto who claimed that not only couldn't white men jump, they couldn't rap either.

Battered, tattered and alone, I stood in the harsh beam of the spotlight. Weak and uncertain, I placed my hands firmly on the two turntables before me and surveyed the crowd that had gathered in anticipation - i.e., my two friends.

I began to make noises with my voice and mouth which became a sequentially blended combination of wind and percussion instruments. I added a layered set of sounds with deft, rapid, rhythmic motions of my wrists that ran the surface of the records on the turntables against the needle creating unique, exquisite electronic skidding sounds (I first tried to do this with a portable CD player, but couldn't figure out how to make the necessary sounds).

Finally, when the acoustic ambience of the moment was just right, I began my: One Hundred Second Rap on Civilization. Before actually presenting this creative effort in its entirety, unedited and uninterrupted, there are a few liner notes which accompany the presentation.

You should know, since most Americans know almost nothing about their northern neighbour, that York was the name of both the fort and the town which, eventually became the present city of Toronto. Furthermore, the name of York is still heard today in Canada through such things as the county of York, the cities of York and East York, as well as York University.

As is frequently said in promotional literature, the batteries necessary to set this whole thing in motion are sold separately. Therefore, you will have to supply your own energy source in order to produce the appropriate electronic skidding sounds, along with the requisite wind and percussion accompaniment of voice and mouth.

Now, here, on our stage today, without further delay, we bring you, entirely unsolicited, a white man who is too old to jump, doing his version of a rap song.

There may not be

A history

You'll hear or see

Like one from me,

So listen up

What's coming down

About a town

That has a sound

Still heard today:

Y - O - R - K!

Way back when old

Worlds descend on

Distant shores of

New horizons,

There was a fort

At the bay's end

That did defend

Some of the men

Who would contend

For goods and land.

Around it grew

A town of new

Aspirations,

And soon there were:

Proclamations,

Incorporations,

Innovations,

Generations

Of changing hues.

Buildings, people

Came and went;

Money, careers

Were earned and spent.

Town turned city

More's the pity:

T - O - R - O

N - T - O - T

O - R - O - N

T - O - T - O

Words that repeat

The name of the

Government seat

Where people meet.

This common place

Helped set the pace

Which shaped the face

Of things to come.

Fakes and rakes mixed

With true and blue ---

Doctors, paupers

Wanting to heal;

Lawyers, tycoons

Waiting to deal;

Traders, merchants

Needing a start;

Artists, writers

Making their mark;

Soldiers, sisters,

Church and nation,

Pagans, seers,

Lords of station,

Trappers, hunters,

Those who were wild,

Loggers, miners,

People self-styled,

Rail roads, farmers,

On their way west,

Seekers searching

To be their best;

Mothers, teachers

Prepared their quests

To take the land

Where all are guests.

Hail Toronto,

What's in a name?

History and

Mystery and

Plenty of fame,

Tears, fears, smiles too,

Courage, worries

All wax and wane.

Strange how things change

But stay the same:

T - O - R - O

N - T - O - T

O - R - O - N

T - O - T - O!

Love,

David - see you soon, I hope.

I folded the note and the poem and placed them in one of the complimentary envelopes I found in a drawer of the table by the bed. I sealed the letter, affixed a stamp that I had been keeping in my wallet, and quickly wrote Jennifer's address on the front of the envelope.

Taking the letter with me, I left the room in order to find both a place to mail the letter as well as the location for registering at the symposium. Soon, both missions had been accomplished.

I began to study the listing of talks and gatherings for the afternoon session which had come with the registration material. The only event that struck my fancy was a moot court session on evolutionary theory to be held on the fourth floor, beginning at 3:00 p.m., about twenty minutes from now. I decided to go and see what it was like.

I fully expected the worst. At the same time, I held out a certain amount of hope that there might be some degree of entertaining diversion to be derived from the trial.

The whole thing would be very trying, indeed, if the participants took themselves too seriously and lacked a sense of humor. Equally daunting was the prospect that few, if any, of the individuals taking part in the moot court might know anything about modern evolutionary theory.

Images of Spencer Tracy and Frederick March came to mind from 'Inherit the Wind'. There had been a remake of the movie in which Jason Robards played a Clarence Darrow-like character to Kirk Douglas's version of William Jennings Bryan.

I had enjoyed both movies but always felt the cards had been stacked rather unfairly in the debate. The crux of the drama had not really centered on evolutionary theory per se, but on a clever lawyer's dismantling of a simplistic presentation of a narrowly conceived religious position held by a somewhat flawed personality. Hopefully, the moot court session was not going to repeat the same mistake, except in reverse- that is, to use a clever lawyer's debating tactics to defeat a simplistic presentation of evolutionary theory.

If done properly, the trial setting could provide a valuable opportunity for a good educational experience. I preferred not to think about what the result would be if things were done improperly.

I eventually found my way to the indicated room. When I walked through the doors, two things surprised me.

For some reason, I was expecting a relatively small venue, perhaps from having seen too much of the stage settings for the old, pre-revival, Perry Mason television series. The room selected for the trial was quite large and had been set up like an actual court, complete with a jury box, witness stand, lawyers' tables, a raised desk-like affair for the presiding magistrate, and a large area at the back of the court room for the audience.

The other feature I found interesting was the size of the crowd. Nearly every seat was taken. I was lucky to find a vacant chair.

The members of the jury already were assembled in their seats. Those who were acting as lawyers were at their respective tables.

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