As stated on the Robert Pirsig Association website, “April 15th, 2024 marked the 50th anniversary of the publication of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig. Part novel, part travelogue and part philosophical treatise, the book and its reclusive author shot to overnight meteoric success in 1974. Generations of avid fans have been deeply influenced by the book’s quest for quality and reminder that “the place to improve the world is first in one’s own heart and head and hands.”

To mark the occasion of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’s 50th anniversary, I am facilitating a Chautauqua to discuss the book and the author at the Rapid City Public Library from 12:00-1:00PM on Saturday August 3rd, 2024. You are all cordially invited to attend and partake in the Chautauqua.

I’ll pause a moment while you excitedly scramble to circle and star the date on your calendar…

What is a Chautauqua? My pals, Merriam-Webster, define Chautauqua as, “Traveling shows and local assemblies that flourished in the U.S. in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, that provided popular education combined with entertainment in the form of lectures, concerts, and plays.”

Basically, a lyceum. You remember those don’t you? There was nothing better than the announcement of a lyceum during my tenure of a less than studious student at Burke Central. In my aged mind and dusty memory, Mabel Falck’s angelica voice, would politely interrupt whatever the teachers were trying to teach us unteachable knuckleheads via the brown wooden speaker that hung high upon the wall in each of the classrooms with, “Please proceed to the gymnasium for the lyceum.”

Mabel would never use the word “gym” in an official announcement that was projected through brown wooden speakers that hung high upon the wall in each and every classroom. Why did we always look at the brown wooden speaker when a voice made its way through it? Can we hear and comprehend a brown wooden speaker better when we look at it? Many such mysteries pervade and persist.

One distinct memory I have of a lyceum, was when a NASA astronaut graced the wooden floor of the Burke Central Gymnasium when I was in the 3rd grade. The astronaut had a space suit with him that had been used in actual space. Perhaps gymnasium space? He wouldn’t have been lying. Space is space I suppose.

The astronaut asked Sandy Larson, my 3rd grade teacher, “If you could send any of your students to space, who would you send?” As the hands of all the kids completely enamored with all things outer space (you remember them) shot up excitedly, Mrs. Larson, without pause, locked her gaze on me, and said, “Josh” to the astronaut. I assume Mrs. Larson had more than the space in the gymnasium in mind.

So, I got to wear a space suit. It was peaceful in the inner space of that bubble helmet. The sound of my breathing amplified a bit, and the astronauts voice, carrying on about outer space and such, muted some, as I stood, my wee 3rd grade frame wobbling a bit under the weight of the space suit and the gravity of the gymnasium space.

A pivotal portion of the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is when the author completely engrosses himself in the contemplation and exploration of “Quality”. What it is? How to recognize it? How to teach it? Questions that eventually drive him insane, or, at the very least, exacerbate the authors schizophrenia to a degree that necessitates his institutionalization and the administration of electrical shock treatment. True story.

A good read that has given me much to mull over through the years, as I drift through this time and this space. A time and space sometime adorned with brown wooden speakers that forever contain, and sometimes project, the voices of memories from another time and another space. So it goes.

As Pirsig wrote, “Sometimes it’s a little better to travel than to arrive.” Enjoy your travels and whatever time and space you find yourself occupying this summer.