Sleepwalkers Path to Woodstock

A Sleepwalker’s Path to Woodstock

Review by Mike Gange

By the Time We Got To Woodstock: The Rock ‘n’ Roll Revolution of 1969
By Bruce Pollock
Backbeat Books, $19.99, 332 pages

 

“By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong,” wrote Joni Mitchell, in what has become the anthem for the famous 1969 concert in Bethel, New York. While Mitchell’s lyrics were factual, they were also symbolic, reminding us that it was not just one child of God making the journey, but a whole generation of young people, searching for themselves, searching for their brethren, searching for their place in the country.  Similarly, the concert known as Woodstock was not the only festival of peace, love and music in 1969, but it became a powerful symbol of a generation in turmoil, and how those young people could come together to define their values and their feelings.

American writer Bruce Pollock has written a dozen books on music, as well as numerous magazine pieces on music and musicians. He also publishes an annual reference book on music.  In this book, he takes us from the election of U.S. President Richard Nixon in November 1968 through to the on-campus fatal shootings of university students at Kent State, Ohio, on May 4, 1970, and marks the milestones by what was playing on the radio stations – both AM and FM – at the time. He shows us that the Woodstock concert did not exist in isolation; this was the age of  big concerts everywhere, as well as the age of Aquarius. He also shows how the music of the day did not exist in a vacuum, with songs such as Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s “Ohio” emerging after the shootings at Kent State. Pollock certainly knows his music, mentioning writers of songs that range from the best of the popular to the obscure.

However, if you are looking for the story of the music or its writers, you have come to the wrong place. The book lacks a real central focus. Pollock uses a scattergun approach to address all of the releases in the time mentioned, and as a result the topic is wide, but has no depth. At the end of the book, I was left saying “So what?” So what does this mean to a generation of kids? So how does this to impact on how music is played today? So what does this mean to music in the 1970’s?

Pollock starts and ends his book with a quote from Peter Tork of the Monkees. However, the path in between is rambling and disjointed.  At times  Pollock is also repetitive, to the point that I had to go back and look at the previous chapter to see if he had said those same details in the same language. The answer is not quite, but the very same details, and it proves to be distracting.

There are a huge number of quotes in this book, presented in long form without annotation or interpretation. As a result, the book has the feel of a serious thesis on music, but misses the opportunity to interpret the times and the music with the advantage and perspective afforded by time. These long form quotes in turn add to the disjointed feel to the whole book.  There are a ton of little details here, such as this one: Joni Mitchell wrote “Chelsea Morning” while living in the bohemian digs of the Chelsea area of New York City.” Again, so what, we say.  The rambling nature of the book never allows it to get focused or to expolore these details further. Instead of looking at the music of the time with a clear path leading us somewhere, this book is like trying to follow the footprints of all 500, 000 of those who went to Woodstock. Those music fans came from everywhere but eventually they had to disperse, returning to who knows where. Pollack would have been better served to follow just one of those children rather than the half million of them.

Woodstock: Never Again

Woodstock: Never Again

By Mike Gange

I was a mere 13 years old when the Woodstock Music and Art Fair concert was held in Bethel, New York, in 1969. I probably didn’t even hear of the event until almost a year after the concert. Just the same, I have always thought the whole concert had a cultural significance. When the movie came to our sleepy little town, I saw it – twice. I was one of the first on my block to have the multi record album. If I could ever find that copy, I bet it would be so badly scratched from a thousand plays on my old cheap turntable that it would be nearly unplayable.  

By the time I was 15, I was working in a radio station. I played selections from the album as often as I could. For obvious reasons I had to avoid the tracks where somebody was swearing. I had to cross fade Crosby Still and Nash, where they said it was their second gig, and they were scared…..well, you know. I just faded in something from their Deja Vu album, for example, and blended it in so it sounded like it belonged. I had to avoid Country Joe Macdonald and the Fish Cheer, although I can tell you now I played their Anti-Vietnam Rag on an Air Force radio station.

Until recently, I had never met anyone who actually was at Woodstock. I know a few people who said they were, but when I asked them about the mud, the parking, the torrential rainstorm or the lack of food, they always seem to come up short in their explanation. I have at least one friend who said he had tickets, but did not go. Someone I met recently said they were in the photo on the front of the album cover, so that is hard to dis-avow.  

I don’t think we will ever see another Woodstock. If it were in the plans, someone would complain, and the local town council would vote to deny the permit. You just know the complainant would suggest it was a good idea, but Not In My Back Yard.  If the concert got beyond the planning commission, it would be skuppered by the local board of health. Someone there would suggest that the concert needed at least another ten thousand porta-potties. If it got beyond that issue, then someone would suggest parking for 500,000 should be paid parking. Someone else would suggest the food services should be contracted out. Someone would suggest that concert goers needed 5 bottles of water, each, per day. Environmentalists would suggest that every one of those bottles has to be recyclable.  

The bands involved might even have a hand in derailing such a concert if it were planned these days. Their business managers would insist on selling T-shirts of their band at some centrally located kiosk. Because of the thousands of bucks they would make on those 20 dollar T-shirts, they would want law enforcement to stand right beside them too, so here is another problem. What kind of law enforcement can you impose on half a million seriously stoned young people? For sure, you can’t call in the Hell’s Angels to provide concert security. And the police would want a clause in their contract to ensure that no references were made from the stage about the “pigs,” or the “po-po.” They wouldn’t be too happy with Arlo Guthrie’s references to “bringin’ in a couple of keys” either.

Lawyers for the concert film makers might insist that every one of those 500, 000 sign a waiver, so their image or likeness could be used on the screen, in print or on-line, in perpetuity, without recompense or litigation. Well, you can see where that would go: in the garbage can beside the promoter’s kiosk, which is right next to where the “po-po” might stand. Red Cross or EMT would insist on a booth too, something for the “bad trips from the bad acid going around” and a birthing room where the moms-to-be would be accommodated. And the weather service would want to make sure there wasn’t a repeat of Hurricane Camille touching down anywhere in the area.

No, it could never happen again. The cultural significance is that it DID happen, despite the odds, the logistics and the nay-sayers, although they might all have been less formidable forty years ago.

Taking Woodstock Sirius-ly

Thanks to my friends at Sirius Radio, I have really enjoyed re-visiting the Woodstock music festival. On the 40th anniversary of the festival held on Max Yasgur’s dairy farm and alfalfa fields in upstate New York, Sirius gave over one of their channels for the weekend to replay the album I had acquired as a teenager. I remember listening to the whole album, repeatedly, as a teen, revelling in the brilliance of Crosby, Stills & Nash, or the energy of Santana, or the audacity of Country Joe Macdonald. No one in my circles those days was willing to stand up in front of a half-million people and say “Gimme an F!” (Today’s teenagers pepper their language with the F-bomb as if it were a verb, a noun and an adjective.) I fairly well wore out that multi-record set on my old turntable and I have long ago discarded it. Even if I could find the record, it would not be in great condition now. Listening to Sirius Channel 16 on August 18th then, was more than a trip down memory lane. I was amazed at the whole festival that underlined everything with “What if?”

I found it hard to believe that forty years had passed since that concert from 1969. I thought the Sirius DJ’s did a very good job of adding in some small details that I did not know, even though I consider myself a Woodstock aficionado. They occasionally interjected without actually disturbing the musicians and their set. I found myself singing along with most of the songs but pondering the things the DJ’s were saying. I did not remember that CCR had been there for example, and I doubt if I knew they had legal snafus that prohibited their songs from being included on the album.

I did not realize The Beatles were not there because John Lennon had some sort of a rap sheet from when he got caught with a few marijuana joints, and thus could not get past immigration. Compared to a few of today’s artists who get busted on a semi-regular basis and are in the paper for carrying guns or creating some public disturbances, a few joints of marijuana seems pretty harmless, but that was forty years ago, remember.

I got to wondering….if The Beatles had been there, what songs might they have played? I doubt they would have been put on stage at three in the morning, as were Crosby, Stills and Nash. I doubt they would have played their early love songs. I can’t imagine the crowd would have been too thrilled to hear “She Loves You, Ya, Ya, Ya.”

 The Beatles might have done well with “Revolution.” The crowd, in its marijuana-induced euphoria, might have enjoyed “Octopuses Garden.” I think “Come Together” would have done well at Woodstock. “Hey Jude” might have had a half a million fans singing together. I wonder if The Beatles would have allowed Joe Cocker to sing “With a Little Help from My Friends.” 

I bet The Beatles could have brought the crowd to a highly agitated state with an elongated version of “Taxman.” Or perhaps not. It was forty years ago, after all, and both the crowd and the musicians at the festival were mostly kids – teenagers and twenty somethings. They wanted to end wars and bring about world peace. If they got together now, they might add their dismay at the high taxes they pay and the lack of world peace a trillion dollars really buys.

Father Knows Best

By Mike Gange

The Film Club: A True Story of a Father and Son
By David Gilmour
Thomas Allen Publishers, $18.95, 247 pages

 

Every now and then, you run across a wacky idea – so wacky that you stop and think, “well, it might work…” David Gilmour’s wacky idea was letting his 15-year old son quit school as long as the son agreed to a sort of home-schooling – watching and discussing three films every week with his father. There were some other conditions too, such as not using drugs, but the films, and the explanations and conversations they generated, were to become the extent of the son’s education.  “Well, it might work…”

David Gilmour is a former CBC film critic, whose insightful commentary and cogent analysis had always impressed me. And to tell you the truth, I got this book as much because I wanted to read what films Gilmour thought would be worthy replacements to what I see as a somewhat unwieldy education system. However, I was soon hooked on the true story of a dedicated and loving father, at wits’ end as to how to maintain a relationship with his son whose own life was on the edge of spinning out of control.  

Gilmour is the 2005 winner of the Governor General’s Award for Fiction. For a long while he hosted Gilmour on the Arts on television. He has written six other books, but this one is different, more touching and in lots of ways more meaningful than his other notable work. To be sure, this would not be an easy story to tell. It requires brutal honesty. It means opening your personal life to your readers. It means admitting your past mistakes and present foibles. In short, it means taking the risk of allowing your readers to sit in judgement of your actions. Gilmour does all of that with a candour that establishes his credibility, trustworthiness and integrity even in the moments when he at his most bohemian.

David Gilmour and his wife switch houses with his ex-wife in order to help then-15-year old Jesse who is seriously struggling in school. Gilmour moved into the ex’s house, she moved into his loft, and under dad’s watchful eye, the kitchen table homework ritual soon became a fruitless and frustrating experience for both father and son. Gilmour realizes that he still has to engage the mind of the six foot four teenager he can no longer control physically, and one day in frustration blurts out “Maybe you should quit school.”   The two establish some ground rules and embark on the unconventional educational and personal journey.

The first film the father-turned-educator shows the boy is Francois Truffaut’s 1959 film The 400 Blows. Gilmour’s description of the film shows how it parallels his son’s lacklustre academic world, a situation that is not lost on the 15-year old. The next day he shows the boy Basic Instinct (1992) with Sharon Stone. You might remember the movie shows Stone killing a man with an ice pick while engaging in intercourse with him and the subsequent cat-and-mouse game that engages Michael Douglas as the police detective. Sure enough, Jesse is soon involved in a relationship with a stunning but cold-hearted beauty who is more interested in ripping out Jesse’s heart than enjoying a real life and loving relationship.

Thus begins a very engrossing tale. Gilmour used a system of cue cards to keep track of the movies they watched together. Next on the list is Woody Allen’s 1989 Crimes and Misdemeanours, a movie Gilmour describes as “a movie that lets you see how Woody Allen sees the world – as a place where your neighbours really do get away with murder, and goofs end up with great girl friends.”  Of course the teaching/viewing list includes Citizen Kane (1941) and On the Waterfront (1954).

The list of fine movies and their significance goes on and on, but for me, the book pretty quickly became more about the relationship between father and son. Where does one draw the line as an authority figure and where does one let the 17-year old boy and his friends sit on the front porch and have a few beers? At one point the line shifts again, as the father, son and mother (the ex-wife) take a vacation to Cuba. Gilmour is forced into the role of protector when some street thugs lure the teenager into a bar, alone, late at night.

 Jesse has his ups-and-downs but eventually turns out all right. You don’t need a “spoiler alert” to know that, but the real story here is how the father never gives up on his son. The father feels every slight dealt to the son by the cold-hearted beauty. The father feels every whistle of approval or every jeer of derision when the boy performs in public. At a Christmas party, Gilmour’s aunt, a former school teacher, says “Don’t be fooled. Teen age boys need as much attention as a new born. Except they need it from their fathers.” Obviously, these words of wisdom are not lost on Gilmour.

As a teacher, I see countless boys like Jesse, Lost Boys who you just know are not going to make out so well. When this happens, I start to wonder about the future of society. Gilmour is unconventional, sometimes downright wacky. Nonetheless, we need more fathers like him. Fathers who will admit their love of their children, fathers who will step up when they most need to be counted on, fathers who give the gift of their time. And we need more writers like Gilmour, who can plumb the depths of family love and can write about it, sharing their stories with naked honesty. Then our society just might work.

 

Mike Gange teaches media studies and journalism at Fredericton High. He is the proud dad of two teenagers.

 

 

Who Me? Yes You.

Review by Mike Gange

Stupid White Men

Michael Moore

Reganbooks, $37.95, 277 pages.

Michael Moore has it in for U.S. President George W. Bush. It’s nothing personal and he is not threatening or dangerous. But Mr. Moore hates all those, like George W., who have used their position, prestige and family connections to grow richer, or to help their friends grow richer, at the expense of those who can’t. Stupid White Men by Michael Moore starts out as a rant, aimed at those in power who have repeatedly proven they are unwilling to work to make things better for the average Joe, the environment, the poor, equal rights, education, justice, the electoral process….

While the title implies Mr. Moore takes issue only with white males, he says that is because the predominant rule makers and oppressors are white males, but he includes all those who have forgotten about other social and environmental issues, no matter what gender or race. Just when you think Mr. Moore is a left-leaning wing-nut raving about everything, he begins to cite his sources. His argument then goes from shrill aggravation to be well researched and logical. Mr. Moore uses sources like BBC News, Miami Herald, Washington Post, PBS, U.S. News & World Report, NY Times and the World Health Organization to consistently make his points. And one of his points is George W. stole that election. While the voting hung in the balance for a couple of days, the outcome was already decided, says Mr. Moore, because former U.S. president George Bush, George W.’s father, called in favours from family, friends and even Supreme Court Justices to get Jr. elected. Under Florida Governor (and brother to George W.) Jeb Bush, the electoral laws were quietly changed months before the election, disenfranchising anyone who had been convicted of a felony. Many black voters were likewise eliminated from the polls because they might not have met strict residential rules for voting.

Mr. Moore sees the election of George W. as a disturbing trend and he is clearly upset by the right wing agenda he sees being pushed on the U.S. and the rest of the world. Mr. Moore’s anger stems from the abuse of all those issues by those in “Corporations USA” who have pushed, bullied, badgered or bought their way into the public awareness while leaving their social consciousness behind. Michael Moore’s style is extremely “in your face.” He successfully employed that with his hard hitting movie about automobiles in “Roger & Me” and for the most part it works here too. Sometimes Mr. Moore is really funny, making the reader gleefully laugh right out loud. Sometimes he is deadly serious. Other times, he is motivational and inspirational, issuing a call to arms, saying the only way to achieve change is to get politically active, to become involved at any level, whether that be running for school boards or city councils or beyond.

Throughout Stupid White Men Mr. Moore trashes the obsessive money culture and self righteous business agenda and the deceptive messages being sent. Remember the last recession? Mr. Moore wonders how the rich corporations could continue to make obscene profits for share holders, the executives could carry away huge pay packets, while the average worker was being cut back. How can the U.S. call itself a peaceful country, when it sells more handguns than many other countries combined, he says. How can we be concerned about the ozone when oil companies are allowed to work unfettered in National Parks, continues Mr. Moore. How can we be told there is an energy crunch when Detroit is still selling huge gas guzzling SUV’s, questions Mr. Moore.

What Michael Moore says isn’t always pretty, but it needs to be said. Some of the issues coming out lately in the news, stories like Enron, Worldcom, Exxon and the insider trading scandals, are proving Michael Moore is much more than just a left leaning wing-nut. Rave on, Mr. Moore.

Mike Gange teaches media studies and journalism at Fredericton High.

Rave on, Mr. Moore!

Review by Mike Gange

Dude, Where’s My Country?

Michael Moore

Warner Books, $37.95, 249 pages.

 

If you tried to compile a list of those known for their consciousness-raising efforts you might include Woody Allen or George Carlin, Pete Seeger or Joan Baez. Maybe we ought to add Michael Moore in there too.

Moore is sometimes held in the same regard as the big bad wolf in the children’s story The Three Little Pigs. Like the wolf, Moore huffs and puffs quite a bit but is often dismissed as being too loud, too driven, too frank. His last book, Stupid White Men, was virtually ignored by major U.S. media, despite spending more than a year on The New York Times bestseller list and becoming the largest selling non-fiction book in 2002. Moore’s documentary film, Bowling for Columbine, won Moore an Oscar last year, but his politically slanted acceptance speech was booed (although in fairness it was no worse than some previous Oscar winners’ commentaries). His 1995 television show, The TV Nation, was too much for NBC and it was cancelled after only a short run as a summer replacement. Michael Moore’s latest book will probably also be dismissed by the major media because, as he continues to be blatantly opposed to U.S. President George W. Bush, he will be viewed again as too loud, too driven, too frank. If this work is dismissed, it would be a shame, because in Dude, Where’s My Country? Moore shows why he is someone we should recognize for his social conscience. True, more than half of this book continues to be a vitriolic attack on George W. , but instead of just bashing Bush, Moore conclusively proves this U.S. President has a hidden agenda and it is not about what is good for the free world.

Moore gleefully, aggressively and thoroughly shows how Bush’s agenda is about making himself and his cronies more money and ruthlessly grabbing more power. For example, among the Bush family’s close friends and business partners are such notables as the Bin Ladins, the ultra-wealthy Saudi Arabian family whose brother is Osama Bin Ladin. Over the past 25 years, many of the Bin Ladin family have been regular visitors to the Bush family ranch in Texas and they invest millions of dollars in the same businesses as the George W. and his father. Members of the terrorist group the Taliban were also wined and dined extravagantly in Houston while George W. was the Governor of Texas. Many of these terrorists, says Moore, may have met with the U.S. President as recently as six months before the 9-11 attacks on the U.S. Moore’s proof comes from meticulously harvested details published by some of the major media’s most trusted sources, including the BBC, the CBC, the New York Times, and the Washington Post. True, there are a couple of low points in Dude, Where’s My Country? That whole chapter where Moore has God address the reader is pure goofiness. So is that bit about drafting TV talk show host Oprah Winfrey to run for president. And true, Michael Moore’s style is still ‘in your face,’ and his writing is alternatively inflammatory, funny, angry and thought provoking. For a change, though, Moore comes across as less angry and more concerned about the long term and far ranging effects of Bush’s decisions and the favours he has done for his friends, ultimately allowing corporations more control of our lives. Moore writes, “Companies including Disney, Nestle, Proctor & Gamble, Dow Chemical, JP Morgan Chase and Wal-Mart have been secretly taking out life insurance policies on their low and mid-level employees and then naming themselves – the corporations – as the beneficiary! That’s right: When you die, the company – not your survivors – gets to cash in…And what does Corporate America call this special form of life insurance? Dead Peasants Insurance.”

If Michael Moore continues to write about the ongoing corporate control of North America and the erosion of personal rights, and writes about it as effectively as he does in certain parts of Dude, Where’s My Country? he will long be remembered as a writer with important things to say. Meanwhile, he continues to huff and puff, and try to blow the house down – George W. Bush’s White House, that is.

Mike Gange teaches media studies and journalism at Fredericton High.

More Moore! More Moore!

Review by Mike Gange

Adventures in a TV Nation: The Stories Behind America’s Most Outrageous TV Show.

Michael Moore and Kathleen Glynn

Harper Perennial $19.95 (PB), 241 pages.

Alas, I never saw TV Nation when it was on TV in the mid 1990’s. I don’t know where I was while those short lived, summer replacements were running on NBC. But I missed the show, and after reading Adventures in a TV Nation by the shows producers, Michael Moore and Kathleen Glynn, I sure wish I had seen it. Adventures in a TV Nation: The Stories Behind America’s Most Outrageous TV Show is an interesting look at how the show was conceived, constructed, and carried out. It is both a serious social statement about how we live and an irreverent, insubordinate, in your face kind of activism. It is the kind of book most high school kids need to read.

One of the social statements: how come taxi cabs regularly bypass Black men waiting for a lift and zoom over to the white guy a block away, even when the white guy turns out to be a felon and the Black guy an award winning actor? On the irreverent side: image getting the Serbs AND the Croatians to sing to each other the Barney theme song. As for in your face, let’s get a group of people all to swim to shore to party on a secluded, private beach in Greenwich, Conn. Encourage everyone to party within the limits of the high tide water mark and dare the cops to come and get you out.

I read Adventures in a TV Nation: The Stories Behind America’s Most Outrageous TV Show because I had just finished reading Michael Moore’s Stupid White Men. Sometimes Michael Moore and company are really funny, making the reader gleefully laugh right out loud. Sometimes they are deadly serious. Other times, motivational and inspirational. I know some of his pranks are a bit immature. Still, I wish there were more TV shows that were willing to take on the establishment, tell the sponsors to “bite me” and bring those pseudo reality shows crashing down with this kind of reality.

Mike Gange teaches media studies and journalism at Fredericton High. He regularly reviews books about media for the Saint John Telegraph Journal.

It’s Magical How Things Add UP!

 

Orland Magic vs. Phoenix Suns NBA game

March 3, 2009

Large Soda                    3.75

Water                            3.75

Hot Dog Combo            8.00

Nachos                           4.00

Popcorn Tub                  4.00

Beer                               5.75

Magic Magazine             5.00

T-shirt                            24.00

Magic Sweatshirt           100.00

5 “Stuffed Bear              12.00

Dancing Mascot/Stuffed 35.00

 

 

 

Reflections on Florida

 

To Each His Own

·       There are so many old timers there…many of the public service jobs seem to be taken by these oldies….toll booths, pancake houses, gift shops…one woman said to me, “Honey, I lived in Wisconsin, and when you have had enough winter, moving south is like finding the fountain of youth.

·       Hotel we were at had six bars, 3 pools, 2 “hawt” tubs.

·       None of the pools that I saw were designed for swimming laps.

·       Most of the old men have a 75 degree forward lean.

·       Beer and wine are sold in grocery stores. Liquor stores abound too, with funny names…Pappy’s Liquor, Coco’s Liquors, Pasadena Liquors.  They all seemed to have something on special. However none were called the “Fountain of Youth Liquors” but I am not sure what was served in the hotel bar at the Ponce de Leon Hotel.

·       Read the Tampa Bay Tribune ….full page ads for medicare, insurance, hearing aids and real estate.

·       Besides Americans (from Bwoston, De-troy-it or Wisconsin) Canadians are the second largest group of tourists there. Apparently Germans also love to come to Florida. Canadian really stand out in Florida: sunburned faces and white legs.

·       Gas was $2.00 a gal, which means 50 cents a litre!

·       Oranges in a grocery store were labelled “California goodness.”

·       Everybody walks the beach in Florida. Some in sweatshirts, some in jackets, but not all…I saw one woman in her late 70’s I would guess, in a long winter coat, scarf, broach, winter hat…but she was walking the beach at 7 a.m.

·       One young woman on the beach was wearing skin tight jeans, high heels, talking on her cell phone.

·       Guy near me at a pool, on a recliner, suntanning, shirtless, in swim trunks, talking on his cell phone, giving explicit directions to the office back home. His talk was blunt, direct and unambiguous – far from the relaxed pose he struck at pool side.  

·       Another man beside me at a pool said he was from “Bwoston” and if you cut him open he would bleed black and gold. Said it has been a long time since “Bobby Orr.” Said he fears playing the Montreal Canadiens, because they always find a way to break his “hahrt”, and it’s usually in the last three minutes of the game.

·       Daughter E. said she had a dream about returning to school and having no one notice that she was tanned.

·       I dreamt about an ailing father who was not responding to chemo-therapy, although he had been gone a dozen years.

 I realized that to “each his own” also means nightmares.   

 

Sears Sucks, Part 2

After the catalogue incident, I called Sears, and then I got on the email, and sent them my last post. Within a few hours, I had the following reply. I will keep you posted on the outcome. Meanwhile, it is snowing here again. We are likely to get another ten inches of snow tonight. My snow banks are already ten feet high. I doubt if I can throw snow that high. But I am back to shovelling.

Here’s the the reply from Sears.

Hello Mr. G.

Thank you for taking the time to bring your concerns to our attention.

We value you as a Sears customer and regret that you have had an unpleasant experience.

We have directed this important issue to our Corporate Customer Service department where one of our specialty agents will be in touch with you to rectify this matter.

We look forward to discussing this matter further and working with you to find a suitable resolution.

We appreciate your continued patience and apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.

Thank you for shopping at Sears.

Sincerely,