I cannot believe it. It's 23 years later and they are kicking Mike Kennedy out of town again, this time from his home. I do not vie for the name of sourdough; I came to Alaska only 23 years ago. Besides being an important number in the history of free thought, it is also exactly half of my life. Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, which entitles me (I think) to some creditable observation and commentary.

Seriously, numerology aside, I have watched this "Cosmic Hamlet by the Sea" develop over a quarter of a century. And what a marvelous development it has been (I can't understand myself if I am being sarcastic). Homer was a very one-horse town back in 1986 and the first place I was taken to (by my friends who were infinitely richer in their Alaska experience, since they arrived three months earlier) was Kennedy's Last Chance, the most wonderful emporium of second-hand treasures and the veritable social center for a certain class of Homer citizens.

Let me digress a bit, Alaska in general and Homer in particular, seem to be the last refuge on this great North American continent of this specific subspecies of Homo Americanus, Homo Americanus Liberaphilius. Translated from Latin it means Freedom Loving American Person. We all profess to love freedom. It's the land of the free and home of the brave, after all. But do we all agree that every single one is entitled to celebrate their freedom in their very own way? I forestall the questions with the axiom that the field of personal freedom knows no boundaries, save for those that define the other person's freedom. Meaning: Live and let live. So, do we agree?

Kennedy's Last Chance burned down that very winter. Being out of town (but not out of state) I do not know the details of the event. All I know is that they wouldn't let Mike rebuild the store, even though it was on private property, belonging to Brother Asaiah, who later gave it to them, and whose heart they broke when he had to fight for his belief, that none of the words commemorated in the letters that make up the name of the park Wisdom Knowledge Freedom Love warrant the celebration of violent and armed international conflict, which a war memorial is in its primal semantic essence.

I miss Last Chance. Coffee was awful but local news and gossip fresh and friendly. I bought my very first Air Force issue, felt-lined, rubberized canvas mukluks there. (Now they make them pretty, call them Sorrels and other fancy names, and sell them for a lot of money). I got many used car parts and recycled building materials from Mike over the years.

I do realize that the steamroller of progress, seemingly responsible for Homer's paradigm shift cannot be stopped altogether. When I say paradigm shift, I mean the change from Quaint Little Drinking Village With a Fishing Problem and Cosmic Hamlet by the Sea into Gated Retirement community with boxy condos along the ocean beach and equimowed lawns all the same size.

And if we are talking about eyesores, I really doubt there is an architecturally inclined mind out there that would consider the Alaska Islands and Ocean Visitor Center building beautiful, and that sits at the entrance of Homer, while you really have to look for Mike Kennedy's yard.

I think people like Rick Abboud confuse clean living with Lysol-sterilized, herring-bone-tiled latrine of the Mega Office Complex, and rarely stop to think about what is it that drives the steamroller of progress. It's money and greed.

Where were you people when Alaska Propane and Home Run Oil poured four feet of pit run straight on top of six feet of rich, fertile soil of the crane field across the street from Pudgy's. My wife still cries genuine tears when we drive by it, because she remembers watching sandhill cranes do their courting dance in that field and that will never happen again. Never. Nobody could forget seeing that. Is it ironic or tragic that picture of a bird rarely seen in Homer graces the same front page of the Homer News? To the world it looks like we care about the birds. (Not to mention that I spent 10 years making soil on my piece of swamp and I know agricultural value of black, rich soil.)

No one protected them.

Is it that unimaginable, that the city instead of squabbling over zoning that doesn't mean squat to a tree, buys the most agriculturally feasible plots and facilitates volunteers with means of communal gardening? Big communal compost pile? Facility for super-salvagers like Mike Kennedy? Am I dreaming?

If Mike Kennedy is not leaking toxic waste onto other people's land, than, I say, nobody in the great US of A has a right to tell him how to arrange his yard. Nobody is bugging Suburban Propane about the alignment of tanks, why bother Mike? Because he might affect the property values around his place.

Quaint, remember? Cosmic! We all live here because we liked what we saw when we came here. If nothing else Mike Kennedy should be grandfathered in, since he has been here before everyone who complains about him. I don't know if there is a petition of protest but I am ready to start one at the Observance of Hermits Bookstore. If that doesn't help I am ready to chain myself to Mike's junk, and I'm sure I will not be alone.

Yan Kandror

Observance of Hermits

3585 East End Road, Ste 7

Homer, AK 99603

(907) 435-0488

Cell # 617-851-3727