The Last River Run by DAVE RICHARDS Igot a call from Molly about a year ago. She was in Seton Hospital in Austin for one more of her never-ending bouts with the medical profession. For some years we had talked about rafting the Grand Canyon. Her message to me was quite direct. A friend was arranging a Grand Canyon trip for September 2006. Her question was, “Will you promise to go with me if I am still alive in September?” “Of course,” I replied. That was pretty much the total conversation, and it captures, for me, her indomitable spirit. She was also not one to linger on the telephone. She addressed her life and her illness head-on, no wavering, no equivocation. Molly first showed up in our lives sometime in the early ’70s, when she signed on with Kaye Northcott as a co-editor of The Texas Observer. My law office was an old house on Seventh Street, and the upstairs housed the Observer and the Texas Civil Liberties Union. This was where I first came to know Molly’s notorious dogaptly named “Shit.” A Texas black hound that spent most of her days lying around our offices, her name alone was sufficient to alert one that Molly’s sense of humor knew no bounds. These were heady times. The liberal takeover of Austin was under way, the Austin music scene was exploding with the Armadillo World Headquarters, and Scholz Garten was the preferred watering hole. Molly fell fully into the moment. She and Kaye set the FEBRUARY 9, 2007 THE TEXAS OBSERVER 27
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