"I am no prude. As a young boy working in drug stores as an errand boy in Philadelphia I'd had to deliver packages of medicine, candy, prescriptions, perfume, cosmetics, and so on to houses of prostitution on Arch Street and Race Street. And I've already cited in Part One incidents involving women in hotel rooms when Mr. Strickler and I were on the road. But I suppose after all, I am the son of a Church of England clergyman, and I suppose the deeply implanted sense of values, moral and social, and of the proprieties, are not easily uprooted. I looked on a while, speculatively, then decided to go into the kitchen, where I raided the icebox and had a sumptuous meal. The party was really in high gear by this time, the girls were giggling, the boys cutting up, and a lot of noise was going on. Two or three of the girls came into the kitchen to see what I was about, clad in their birthday suits. I looked at them, impressed, but then decided they were in all probability infected with V.D., and I returned to my meal. Disgusted, they left. They were drunk, although they insisted they were only high. But there is something revolting about a drunken woman which to this day I find nauseating. As the supply of whiskey gave out, and the girls started regaining their senses, they began to cry, some of them. Others ran into the bathroom and other rooms and locked themselves in, apparently hysterically aghast at what they'd allowed themselves to get talked into. I told Ben I was leaving, and did. He remained behind to try to quiet the weeping girls."
COMMENTS
I found this book one night about ten years ago, around 1989, when my friend Lori Lubeski and I were walking down Clement Street in San Francisco after having dinner.
As we passed the storefront at 2219 Clement, we noticed an elderly black man in the window, studying at his desk in a very cluttered room. The door to the shop described the business as "Ira Lunan Ferguson, Psychologist," and there was also a "Please Knock" sign. So, even though it was 10:30 at night, we knocked, and the man let us in.
As it turns out, he was nearly blind, and about 90 years old. The room was cluttered with copies of the nearly 40 books he had written and self-published. A few of the books were huge, 3-5 inches thick, all about his life, women, psychology.....He was frustrated in his attempts to become a doctor, he said--- he didn't even have enough money to go to Howard University, and "white" colleges wouldn't accept him. He seemed somewhat bitter, but so self-absorbed that he was able to also seem to be a happy, satisfied person.
We talked with him for about fourty-five minutes. He went on and on about as many aspects of his life as he could in the time we were there. Many on these aspects are covered in the book described above, which I purchased. I regret I didn't buy more books.
He was very tall, and could barely walk because he really was practically blind and had to have his hands all over everything just to grab something a few feet away.
He showed us letters he had recieved from Fergie, Princess Diana's sister-in-law. He had written to her because he was trying to establish a genealogical connection.
I think he must have died in the past few years, because I passed by the place on Clement Street and it was being rennovated. He's not in the phone book. I'll bet someone just threw away all his books--- because they were self-published, he had all the stock right there in his office. It's really a pity if that's what happened. He was an unusual man who unwittingly wore his unconcious thoughts unexamined on his sleeve for all the world to see (if they'd only read his books).
LETTERS FROM READERS WHO HAVE WRITTEN TO THIS WEBSITE DESCRIBING THEIR ENCOUNTERS WITH MR. FERGUSON.
OBITUARY
BIBLIOGRAPHY (not complete)
A LINK TO A DESCRIPTION OF ANOTHER OF HIS BOOKS.
Please write if you know anything else about this man or have any of his books!
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