Forrest Fenn is a dude, apparently.
He made lots of dough on Southwestern artifacts. You can surely see how that happened.
When he found time to confront his own physical demise, he wrote a poem with nine clues about where he buried a small chest or artifacts worth two million dollars, somewhere out in the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains.
Where? Idaho, Montana, Colorado, or New Mexico.
A cult of treasure hunters going after this treasure was inevitable, but so far the most anyone has gotten out of it is a good yarn.
I went to see Patti Smith talk with Kevin Baker about Albert Camus last night at the CUNY Graduate Center, in what they call the Altman Building.
It was an amiable chat about the great French writer’s first and last books, both unfinished before he died (The Happy Death and The First Man). Smith read from each and talked some about her love of reading, especially French literature in translation.
The talk ended with Smith telling a story and singing a song.