Jesse Lang doesn't know if he's a coward. Given the nickname "Rabbit" because of a premature encounter at an Idaho whorehouse, he's struggling with his manhood as he gains maturity during the turbulence of the antiwar movement in the late 60s. No Direction Home takes place in the idyllic and magical city of Bellingham, Washington and on the campus of Western Washington University. The town has become a peacenik epicenter for radical protests against the illegal police action in South Vietnam and a hotbed for counterculture activity and cosmic growth. Rabbit befriends several student leaders, finds the love of his life, learns the value of pharmaceuticals, battles his draft board, organizes demonstrations, and teaches his rugby teammates how to inhale and hold it. His primary mentor, Myron, educates Rabbit and fellow students on the absurdity, crimes, and greed of elected leaders in one fact-filled discussion after the other. Always, the beauty of the city and the university provide a glittering framework for the story as Rabbit takes on the Selective Service and fights his induction into the United States Military. The book bounces from the serious to playful in order to display the swiftly changing times and the need to escape the carnage on the Evening News.
About the Author: Born Irish Catholic, I was shaped more by the nuns than the priests. Even with the pull of the Vatican and the Sisters of Providence, I escaped into the 60's like a penniless starving boy crawling toward freedom. The evolution of a small town star quarterback, married to the head cheerleader, was the path of least resistance. Armed with a university degree and time in law school, I began my adult working career as a car antenna assembler, soon moving up to a sheet rock hauler. A daughter crawling around the house brought a change in my views on the worker's revolution. I began to exploit my comrades like every reborn capitalist. The highlight of these years was my company's planting of nearly five million trees in the blast zone surrounding Mt. St. Helens. Tree planting was seasonal, and the hot weather found me trying to squander all the profit on some scheme to make millions. Eventually, I ended up in a paternity testing lab, helping design a program to accept and track specimens. HIV/AIDS was just surfacing. The condition was called "gay cancer" and the lab was attempting to expand their services by introducing the newly developed mechanized HIV antibody test. Exploiting the minds of numerous research scientists, the result was invention of a rapid home test utilizing both blood and saliva for the detection of HIV antibodies. The company went public in 1992 and I became the CEO, fired in a corporate coup in 1996. Since then, the medical diagnostic field has held its allure and several faltering companies have resulted. The late 1990's and early 21st century was the start of writing and learning to write. I didn't know the word "craft" applied to writing, but was prompted to educate myself by a girlfriend who read my first semi-autobiographical work. Recently, I died 19 times. Of course, I wouldn't be writing this unless I had been revived by both CPR and the paddle. I don't remember much except hovering over the turmoil of a guy flopping around on the carpet, frantically being attended to by unrecognized men. As I nonchalantly watched, I drifted toward a bright tunnel of light. Now I know this is a relatively common response by those who have died and are re-born. The experience has prompted me to compose a non-fiction book entitled I Died and So Can You. Self-publishing became a reality through the prodding of the wonderful woman with whom I am now living. She not only encouraged through her kind actions, but also put in cash.