My mother’s name was Little Trout. For some time she was a Vonnegut junky and changed her last name from Demore to Trout in homage to the great Kilgore Trout. Dad would often tell me that she was pretty “spaced-out” and that the fictional character from a quasi sci-fi author fit her perfectly. Later she was involved with a commune in the redwood area of way Northern California. Somewhere near the Jedediah Smith Redwood State Park. She needed a more Native American name than Dorris, so she called herself “Little.” Little Trout.
When I was born my mom looked down upon me and said, “This being is going to be as strong as a redwood tree. Just like the ones I love in the Jeremiah Smith State Park.” My dad said to her, “You mean Jedediah Smith.” She said, “Whatever.”
Dad said she was pretty high on some of that Northern California pot when I was born. Maybe that is why she messed up the name that fateful morning. I asked her once about it. She said she couldn’t remember.
When I was 18 I officially changed by name to Billy. Billy Pilgrim. I had sort of become a Vonnegut aficionado myself. Hatchet Jack is my camp name.
Most of that was many moons ago and time travel is still something I enjoy. I am stuck between the web and the stars above. I think.
I promise to work hard for the camp and be a good camp counselor. I have worked here before. I began as a Pirate with no clear religious affiliations. I helped create a wonderful treaty to keep the world moving forward. Then I was a doctor from Europe. That was just nuts. During that time I did however develop the wonderful concept of a “Twitter Hug.” Then I tried to be a picture frame. That was just strange. Most recently I tried to form a group of family members that did not go over so well. But ya gotta keep trying and never give up!