Greetings from Swiss exile! When I lived in my native California, I went to the cinema almost every day and saw one or two films. I did the same when I lived in New York City. I love films. I think they incorporate many different art forms. Unfortunately, here in Swiss Hell, about the only films we get are the lousiest mainstream HollyWeird films - the violent, ignorant type. I'm always craving good films, and this craving has gone on for the entire eight long years that I've been exiled here in this pathetic excuse for a "country". I saw some previews for a film called "Patch Adams" a few weeks ago, but whenever we see previews, we usually have to wait at least six months until the films arrive here. Sometimes, they never arrive at all. I've been feeling quite depressed for a number of reasons. One is the great pain I'm in from my various dis-eases. My migraine headaches and tinnitus are always with me. My birthday's this coming Thursday, and this has made me even more depressed and sad. When I returned from recording in Italy yesterday, I picked up the local newspaper and found out that there was a pre-premiere (complete with apero) at the local cinema of "Patch Adams". It cost much more than the normal $20 or so that films cost here, but I was willing to sacrifice for the possibility of seeing a good film. The previews didn't show much. It just seemed like a film about a clown breaking hospital rules by going in there and cheering up the suffering patients. Due to my wilting memory, I had forgotten who Patch Adams is. I had no idea he was a doctor. I assumed he was only a clown. I arrived at 5:15 PM for the film, which was to begin at 5:45 and saw many people there. It was a strange setting: clowns were everywhere - in the lobby, outside in the arcade, everywhere. They were blowing bubbles and making most people laugh - even some of the normally mean, grouchy Swiss. Oddly, about one-third of more of the people there were Americans! One normally doesn't see Americans in Bern. In Zuerich there are many, including many who live there. In Geneva, Lucerne, and other cantons, Americans and British are to be seen, but not in Bern. Reason: no one in their right mind would come to this pitiful, evil city for ANY reason, not even to pass through. The major international airports are in Zuerich and Geneva. I noticed that inside the lobby, there were a lot of reporters trying to interview a clown who appeared to be about 60-years-old, but in excellent physical condition. He was about 6' 6"; he had broad shoulders, a gigantic "gunfighter" moustache, and thick long grey hair which reached his waist and had rubber band type "ponytail holders" in several places throughout his long, majestic mane. He was speaking American English - without any of the regional accents that exist in America - he sounded more like a well-educated man from Connecticut or somewhere in that area. Perhaps California. There were numerous glamourous blondes very openly lusting over him, as if he were a rock star; everyone else reacted to him as if he were Jesus Christ, come back to Earth. He had an amazing presence, which I would have to say was definitely Christ-like. I asked one of the Bernese usherettes if he was perhaps Patch Adams. She told me he wasn't, and pointed to another clown, outside the lobby, whom she said was indeed Patch Adams. I went to the other clown, whom not as many people were paying attention to, and no one was lusting over. I heard him speaking American English, too. I asked him where he was from. He said "Lee's Summit, Missouri". I quickly told him about how the FBI had convinced my wife to get an illegal "quickie" divorce and kidnap our two small daughters, and how my youngest daughter, Shannon, had finally written me two months ago from her home in (guess where?) Lee's Summit, Missouri. I told him that I was so relieved to hear from her, and that she hadn't responded to my registered letter or gift package, which I assume were intercepted by her mother. He surprised me by nearly crying. He truly cared! He said "...that's the most terrible story I've ever heard." I told him how George Bush had destroyed my life and sent me here in exile. He wasn't one bit surprised. I asked him if he was Patch Adams, and he said he was not - the tall man inside whom I'm suspected was Patch Adams was, in fact, Patch Adams. The ignornant Bernese usherette was wrong. Bernese are usually wrong about everything, although each one of them considers themselves an authority on everything. The clown told me he and Patch Adams were touring all over the world, promoting the film, and that they would be in Vienna the following night. I had made the clown so sad, I wished him good luck with his tour, and went inside to try to meet Patch Adams, whom I still had no idea of who or what he was. I pushed myself up to Patch Adams and, as he looked at me as if he knew I was an American. In a soft,sad, depressed voice, unusual for me, I said "I used to have hair as long as yours." In the nicest voice, filled with sympathy, he asked "Why'd you cut it, then." I told him that when I began to lose it, it looked worse being long. He responded: "I keep hearing it said that if you keep it long, you lose it faster." I told him I thought that was true. He then smiled warmly and shook my hand, as he said: "I'm Patch Adams. I'm glad to meet you." He had an unusual strength in his handshake. The only other person I've ever met in my life whom I received such great, positive vibrations from was John F. Kennedy. The only other person I've ever met who looked so other-worldly as this man was the actor, Jack Palance, whose great heighth and stature had surprised me. At 6' 2", I'm not exactly a shrimp, myself. Patch told me that he's an MD. He said that he's started a free hospital twenty years ago and that whenever the people had no medical insurance or money, he'd taken them into his home to live and treated them there. He said he was a political activist, working to change things in the USA - particurly the abhorrent medical system. Goodness just flowed from him. I asked him if he only practised allopathic medicine. He replied that at his centre, outside Washington, DC, "The Gesundheit Institute", they practised not only allopathic medicine, but ayurvedic, homeopathic, American Indian herbalism, and many other types of healing, including faith healing. As I was having a more difficult time keeping him to myself with hundreds of reporters, lusting women and worshippers, I told him how sick I was, and how the Swiss doctors were incompetent, and had made me worse. He replied "Perhaps it's because of the hostility you hold towards them." I replied: "I didn't have any hostility towards them until over sixty of them had made me much worse. At that point, I lost out to the scores of people feverishly fighting for his attention. He excused himself from our conversation and began to speak to a radio interviewer from "Radio Forderbahn". Finally, we all went into the cinema to see the film. For some reason, there were many Secret Service type guards with earphones all over the place, and it was difficult to figure out whose life they were so sternly guarding. I've never seen anything like this in Swiss Hell. In the cinema, the president of the huge United Bank of Switzerland spoke, telling how clowns had helped cheer up his mother in the local Inselspital (hospital) as she was dying of cancer. He then held up an extremely enlarged copy of a cheque he said the bank was donating to Patch's Gesundheit Institute. I couldn't see or hear the amount for sure, but for one of the world's biggest banks, it didn't sound like very much. Then, the radio personality spoke and translated Patch Adams's words as he, too, spoke, and acted like a Charlie Chaplin type clown. Then, the film began. It was one of the best films I've ever seen. At one point, my heart palpitated wildly, and I thought I'd have to scream out for a doctor to help me, but with deep breathing, it was normal after a minute or two. It was frightening, though. It's frightening to be sick in a nation of incompetents. I intended to ask Patch what he recommended for my treatment-resistant high blood pressure after the film, but, sadly...he had left shortly after speaking. I'm still digesting all this. It was one of the wildest experiences of my life. I still don't know what to make of this. Patch gave me his business card for his Gesundheit Institute in Virginia. I found a rather simple web site for them on the Internet. He also authographed the large, special ticket I had to get into the theatre. (All the money for the film's showing last night went to charity). I asked the usherette to please not tear the ticket, since it had his autograph on it. She agreed and then....tore the ticket right after the word "Patch". Welcome to Swiss Hell. Cosmically, m i c h a e l - s a n
