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I met Burroughs only once. It was during a "Beat Writers" convention or something at the Civic Auditorium in Santa Cruz, California. My mother, Carolyn, who was a speaker at the event, and I were sharing cocktails at a sidewalk table outside of the Cooper House on Pacific Avenue, when Bill walked up, and man, he looked pretty Beat. But after all that he had been through in his life, it was understandable. Like when he "accidentally" shot his wife in the forehead while playing "William Tell." He missed the apple. Never a good game to play with a junkie, but that's just my opinion. And some people don't know that the band "Steely Dan" was named for Bill's dildo in "Naked Lunch." Ah, leave it to Dan And Walter. Then one night, Bill Jr. showed up at my door in Santa Cruz. He said something like, "hey, it's the son of William S. Burroughs and the son of Neal Cassady. Let's party!" He had just gotten a liver transplant, one of the first ever, in Denver. He said, "check it out." He lifted his shirt to reveal a big whole on his right side. I almost hurled. He had a gallon of red wine in his bags, and I said, "Bill, I don't think that this a good idea." "Why not? I can always get another liver!" Apparently not. After about a week of this behavior, I rushed him down to Dominican Hospital in my VW, where he died. May they both Rest In Peace. John Allen Cassady

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