Seems like I'm repeating myself as far as Frank Zappa is concerned. And I don't want to reveal someone else's hardwon research by gossiping ahead of time as some people are known and have been known to do, carrying stories told in a kindly sharing way that once heard become "their" stories. So until I can dredge up something from my own memory banks about Frank and his history in Claremont, I will remain silent on this topic. I could continue to write about books and records and meals out and small adventures in the environs, and people we knew in common, but I await inspiration before heading down those avenues.
In the meantime, I will only mention that sometime in 1971 perhaps I spoke with my sister on a rare telephone call. I was in Berkeley at the time, and she recounted how Frank had been injured during a trip to London, was in a lot of pain and in a wheel chair.
"He was really hurt!" she emphasized.
She regarded him as a friend always and always was concerned about his welfare and state of being and lauded his successes, as did I, I must admit because of all the history we had shared together. I sympathized truly with Frank's plight, but by way of example, the only one I had at the moment, I spoke of another of my friends who had recently been shot in the spine and the doctor in charge of treatment announced he would never be able to walk again. And on to the proud fact that he didn't really believe his doctor and within a year or so his wheelchair though kept for convenience was in a corner, while he gamboled about on crutches and wasn't "disabled" at all. We as humans always try to keep people inspired and believing in possibility of great outcome, or at least the happiest sort of ending we can currently find in life.