THE MESSENGERS TO EBBY: CEBRA G. Cebra Quackenbush G. (1898-1979) was from Bennington, the son of Judge Collins Millard G. (1872-1954). He attended Williams College for a year before enlisting in the Army in World War I, later read law in his father's office, attended Columbia in NYC in 1924, acted on Broadway 1924-27, went back to Vermont, served as State's Attorney in the Bennington district 1928-1932, then State Senator 1933-1935. He married five times, the last time to Lucette Caron Culbert in France, where he lived from 1954 till his death on January 1, 1979, at the age of 80. He met Lucette in the early 1920s through her brother Claude Caron, whose daughter Leslie (b. 1931) may be named after Leslie Cornell (I have written Claude's nephew, Lucette's son, Frédéric [Ted] Culbert, on this). In one of his Broadway stints, Cebe G. acted with Elmer Cornell, a cousin of Shep's and brother of actress Leslie Cornell. Cebe's son Jack Y. C. G., from his third marriage, was a year behind me at Yale (both of us in Saybrook College) and I've been in touch with him. Cebe's brother Van Vechten Breese G. (b. 1906), Brown 1929, still lives in Bennington. I have been given access to the transcript of a recording Bill W. made of Cebra's reminiscences in 1954, so I am using the proper AA form of reference to Cebra G.] The name Cebra reputedly goes back in the Quackenbush (Cebe's mother's) family to El Cebra (true name and surname unknown), a patriot in the Dutch War for Independence (1567-1609), who was whipped by the Spaniards (given stripes) so that he was said to have looked like a zebra (Cebra). The surname Cebra appears on Long Island before the American Revolution, and it presumably entered the Quackenbush family from the Cebra family then rather than in the days of the House of Orange-Nassau. Cebra G.'s first marriage was in 1921 at St Paul's Episcopal Church in Troy NY to Carolyn Caldwell of Troy, daughter of James Henry Caldwell, President of the Troy Trust Company. She was a 1917 graduate of the Misses Masters' School at Dobbs Ferry. Cebra is described as a graduate of the Westminster School and of Williams College. Recent research in Vermont has given us the name of Cebra's second wife Lenore Pettit (b. 1907), later a member of the Jackson Pollock world. After her 1933 divorce from Cebe, granted by Magistrate Collins M. G[-----] she m. Howard Baer whom she divorced in 1944. I tried to find a connection with the Margaret Pettit who is listed as the wife of Cebe's eventual brother-in-law Claude Caron and mother of Leslie Caron (b. 1931), but it is apparently a different family. On Lenore Pettit later on, here is an excerpt from the transcript of Tape 2 of an Interview January 14, 1976, with Matsumi (Mike) Kanemitsu (1922-1992) who eventually married Lenore Pettit (transcript in the Los Angeles Art Community Group Project, Smithsonian, Washington DC): In any case, after Willett Street studio I move to Front Street. Front Street is right off the Fulton Fish Market, between [it and] Wall Street. And I rent the second-floor studio. This lady rent the whole top floor of the building, and I get to know her. We started going together, but we lived in the same building. Her name was Lenore Pettit, and she was a fashion model, and she just get divorced to the senator from Vermont; I forgot his name [State Senator Cebra Q. G.]. Then she married to commercial artist named Howard Baer, and that end in divorce. So we started going together, and she have a house in East Hampton. And so, naturally, I go with her and help her to fix the house, carpentry and all this. And those days, East Hampton is artists move in, and the first person I met is our neighbor, Leo Castelli; later he open a gallery. Leo was there, and Bob Motherwell – he bought a place – and they were our neighbors. And across the pond, called Georgeca-Pond, is Alphonso Ossorio. And in those day, I remember Franz Kline and de Kooning rent house at Bridgehampton, so I get to see them very often in East Hampton in the summertime. Then de Kooning and Franz and Jackson Pollock, I naturally see often there in the summertime. And then [they were] closely associated with Harold Rosenberg, art critic, and Clement Greenberg. Cebe's third marriage was in 1936 to Mary Ormsby Sutton of 1170 Fifth Avenue in New York (residence of her aunt, Edna Sutton) and of Pittsburgh (residence of her father J. Blair Sutton). Her mother, Mary Phillips Sutton, was no longer alive. Mary graduated from the Fermata School in Aiken, South Carolina, in 1931 and from Sarah Lawrence in 1933. She was presented to society at a dinner dance at the Allegheny Country Club in Pittsburgh in December 1933, by her father and stepmother. The G.-Sutton wedding was conducted by Justice of the Peace Leo Mintzer in Harrison NY, with Mr and Mrs Elwood Kemp of New York City as the witnesses. Again, Cebra is described as a graduate of Westminster and Williams. He is also described as having been a State Senator in Vermont 1933-35. Mary Ormsby Sutton (G.) Moore was born July 16, 1915, and died in Sewickley PA on October 13, 2001. She was the mother of John (Jack) Yates Cebra G., Yale '62, Cebra's son. They were divorced in the later 1940s. On August 15, 1950, died in Southampton, Long Island, New York, the former Barbara Corlies, Cebe's fourth wife, Barbara Corlies G., daughter of the late Arthur and Maude Robinson Corlies and (fourth) wife of Cebra G. She was born in 1909/1910 and had previously been married to Allen Hall. Note that Jack G. has lived in Easthampton much of his life (and lives there now). Lenore lived in the Hamptons. So did Barbara. Cebra served up to the rank of Lt. Commander in the U.S.N. in World War II, used his G. I. Bill to go to Columbia School of General Studies and then the Columbia Graduate School, receiving his B.A. and then at least his M.A. in Classics. From 1946 to 1951 he was an Instructor in Classical Studies (Humanities) in Columbia School of General Studies After his fourth wife died, he reopened his acquaintance with Lucette Caron (Culbert), whom he had met in France around 1920-21. After 1954 he lived the rest of his life in France, where his son Jack visited him from time to time. Jack (b. 1940) recalls that his father lived a while in Pownal on Clermont Avenue, and even in his fifties, his parents (who died in 1954 and 1955) would still smell his breath and wait up for him if he stayed with them. He thinks his father was drinking during the brief fourth marriage. When his father was in this country and Jack was about 13 or 14, Jack asked his father to play ball – to play catch – and his father did, even though he had a hangover. Eventually he had to lie down, and Jack asked him if it would help if he placed wet washcloths over his forehead, which he did. Eventually his father asked Jack, What do you think of your old man? and Jack answered, I just think you're sick, Dad – and whatever he meant, his father told him afterward that his reply was a major step on his father's road to sobriety. When Jack's parents' marriage (Cebra's third) was breaking up after World War II, Jack, as a young boy, tried to mediate between them whever they had an argument – I tried to get them back together – and when the marriage failed his mother went back to Pittsburgh, where she was brought up. His father renewed an acquaintance he had made in France thirty years before – he had met Lucette Caron (Culbert) while fishing in Saumur with his friend and her brother Claude Caron, for champagne bottles. I believe, after his fourth wife died, Cebe went over to France, looked Lucette up, found she was a widow, asked her when she would marry him, she said Dimanche! and they went to Mont St Michel. He came back to the States thereafter, and then returned to France for the last quarter- century of his life. He told Jack that his desire for alcohol wasn't a thirst, it was a hunger. When in France, he went to a nunnery, for their cure – which involved giving him as much wine as he wanted (up to six bottles a day), to keep him off alcohol. It was at this point he decided he didn't want to die drunk in an alcoholic ward and put his mind to being sober. You see. Jack told me, he would be a pretty terrific success at whatever he tried – actor, attorney, state senator, soldier and sailor, scholar and college teacher – and then he'd get bored with it. He could have been a U. S. Senator if he'd set his mind to it, but he never did. But he set his mind to being sober, and after spending time with Bill W. in 1954, he stayed sober till his death on New Year's Day 1979. His pictures as an undergraduate at Williams show a startlingly handsome man. I have not seen photographs of him later in life. A transcript of Bill W.'s conversation with Cebra G. and his (fifth) wife, Lucette, is in the Alcoholics Anonymous General Service Office Archives in New York. By the courtesy of the Archivist, Amy Filiatreau, a copy of the transcript was made available to me. I had previously listened to recordings of several of Ebby T.'s talks in which he claimed, unconvincingly to my ear, that Cebra and Shep, who brought the message to him, were both former drinking companions. Cebra's own testimony (in this transcript) says that he was at least a sometime drinker with Ebby: I remain unconvinced on Shep. Here is a summary of the relevant portions of the transcript, not in direct quotation. Cebra first saw Rowland Hazard at a party at Cebra's parents' house in Bennington in the summer of 1934. Shortly thereafter (perhaps in July) Cebra and his father had an argument, with Cebra's father saying something to the effect of Bennington is too small for both of us, whereupon Cebra walked out of his office, without even locking the door, and started walking toward Williamstown (Massa- chusetts). After he reached the next city, Rowland drove up, presumably by accident, and asked where he was going. On finding out that he didn't know, he picked him up and drove him to the house of Professor Philip Marshall Brown, apparently an Oxford Group friend of Rowland's. They talked and the subject of alcoholism came up – and Rowland and Phil Brown virtually guaranteed that if Cebra followed the principles of the Oxford Group, he wouldn't drink alcoholically. He became active in the Oxford Group, toned down his drinking, went down to New York and went to OG meetings there, and after returning to what he considered normal drinking, he went back to Vermont, tried to make amends to his parents and follow the Oxford Group principles. After this return to Bennington, he visited Rowland in Glastonbury, and at the same time Shep was visiting there. Shep was very active in the Oxford Group. They were swimming in Rowland's pool, and talking about carrying the Oxford Group message. Ebby came into Cebe's mind – he had played golf (and had drinks) with Ebby in Manchester – and he decided they should carry the message to Ebby. The chronology of Cebe's recollections is not entirely clear, but it would appear that this was after Ebby had come up before Cebe's father in court, and after Cebe and Rowland had gone to Cebe's father to try to explain the Oxford Group principles to Cebe's father and to persuade him not to send Ebby to Brattleboro (jail). Cebe's father apparently said he'd make Rowland and Cebe responsible for Ebby (Rowland was closer in age to Cebe's father than to Cebe). Cebe recalls that he didn't know much about alcoholism at this time and he didn't have the impression that Rowland knew much about it either. Shep and Rowland were skeptical about visiting Ebby (I would guess Rowland wanted to be out of this), but finally Cebe convinced Shep to come with him to Ebby's house, where they found Ebby on the back veranda, surrounded by bottles, in a filthy suit, holding his head in his hands. So Cebe walks up and says something like, Hi! Ebby – You having fun? – to which Ebby responds something like, Go to Hell! Cebe answers to the effect that You don't have to live like this anymore. They take his (only) suit down to Manchester Center, rout the tailor out (it's Sunday afternoon), get the suit cleaned, get Ebby cleaned up, take him to a restaurant, and talk to him about the Oxford Group. This was (by Cebe's guess) in August 1934. [Cebe's brother Van recalls Ebby as a friend of Cebe's, but not Shep, confirming my impression that when Ebby said in talks he had drinking experience with Cebra and Shep he was overstating it.] A statement by Van G. to Lester Cole, a student of the Vermont origins of A.A., made in 2007, has important implications for understanding what happened when Ebby, that day in 1934, was released by Van's (and Cebe's) father into Rowland's custody. The statement was simply that Collins G. was not a Judge but was sitting as a Family Court Magistrate. (Van was a lawyer at that time and may have been an officer of the court: he was certainly in town and aware of what was happening with his father and brother and brother's friend.) The Family Court Magistrate sat not in criminal cases but in determining sanity or insanity for purposes of incarceration in the State Hospital. If so, it wasn't the jail at Brattleboro but the hospital at Brattleboro that Ebby had to fear. But instead Ebby went down to New York, to Calvary House (not Calvary Mission, according to Cebe), went to the Meetings, met the Oxford Group people, and joined the Oxford Group. From there Cebra's conversation goes to more of his own and Bill's experience with the Oxford Group and the early days of A.A., including some mention of Ebby later on. The story of Rowland's work with Jung (or Jung's with Rowland) seems to have come from Cebe to Bill in this conversation. Cebe recalls Rowland's telling him (during an afternoon spent with Rowland and Philip Marshall Brown) that he knew he had been having trouble with liquor, had tried a lot of places, and had gone to see Dr. Jung. (Cebe says he can't remember the year this occurred, but he thinks it was 1930 or 1931.) The mention of Dr. Jung intrigued Cebe, because he had read The Psychology of the Unconscious (in the Hinkle translation) and thought it a fascinating book. But, in 1954, Cebe recalled wondering how Jung could psychoanalyze anyone, so to speak, from German into English, especially Jung, with his symbolism, race consciousness, all that sort of thing, and how could Jung, no matter how smart he was, understand the race-consciousness of an Anglo-Saxon born in America? Rowland told him that after he had been going to Jung, more or less successfully, for a year or so, Jung discharged him – and in a month, he got drunk again, and came back in a state of panic or despair – and that was when Jung told him he needed a religious conversion. At this point, Cebe's chronology becomes somewhat (or even more) confused, as he is under the impression that all this had been relatively recent, perhaps a matter of months between his leaving Jung and his interaction with Cebe in Vermont in 1933-34. In any case, on a drive from South Williamstown to Pittsfield, Massachusetts, Rowland had taken his usual bottle along as a companion, and that, all of a sudden, he had heard a voice saying to him, You will never take a drink again. He took the bottle and threw it into the bushes, and that was the story Rowland told Cebe at Philip Marshall Brown's house in July or August 1934. At this point in his reminiscence to Bill, Cebe remarks that he thought Christianity was all very well – he didn't disbelieve in it – but Jung was a very considerable person indeed, and flinging a bottle away was something no alcoholic was likely to think of with the monkey on his back. He remembered asking Rowland about the hangover, and being told more or less that Rowland could bear it – which was more than Cebe thought he ever could. In fact, he tells a story about going to an Oxford Group meeting and commenting on a young lady there, to the effect There's a good looking doll, and being told that he was offending against the laws of Purity, and responding to the effect, Purity, my eye! I joined this outfit to get over a hangover. (On the good looking doll, we should remember Cebe was once a Broadway actor, and he was married five times. He remarked in his conversation with Bill that he didn't do well with the rarefied spiritual atmosphere of the Oxford Group.) We can see that much of Bill's information on Rowland may have come from Cebe (unless of course Cebe's came in a roundabout from Bill). Three other points emerge from the conversation, besides what has been noted here and in our last issue. One is that Cebe joined AA in New York in 1940. One is that it was Cebe (not Shep and certainly not Rowland) who knew Ebby before 1933: Cebe recalls playing golf with Ebby, and says he had known him for many years in Manchester. And one is that Cebe remembered Bill telling him, at Calvary, that the Oxford Group was fine, one couldn't complain about its principles, but he (Bill) didn't think it was the right thing for alco- holics. Here is a brief summary of Cebe's account of his introduction to A.A. in 1940. Cebe reports that he really knew nothing about A.A. until 1940, when he was hypnotized in an effort to get over drinking and had promptly gotten drunk again. He saw a friend of his, an older woman, whose husband had died from cirrhosis of the liver and other alcohol-related problems, at the age of 92. She asked him what was wrong and he told her about the failure of hypnotism to cure his drinking. She asked him if he remembered Morgan R. and how he used to stumble and fall around? He said he did. She said Morgan hadn't had a drink in several years. Cebe went to see Morgan, who was busy, but gave him the name of Bert T. He went to see Bert and went to a meeting that night and saw Ebby there, at the clubhouse on 24th Street that had just opened up. He expected to see people from the Bowery, but that didn't bother him, because he figured that was where he belonged anyway. He reports he had no trouble accepting the first step because he was licked when he got there and seriously felt he was crazy – so he was happy to find he was an alcoholic and amazed that there were people who could do something about it. (Cebe carried the message to Ebby in 1934; he came to A.A. in 1940; he did not finally get sober until 1954.) In a letter written to me in June 2008, Jack writes My father, Cebra Quackenbush G[---], who was born on August 26, 1898, once told me that if I wanted to know what his upbringing had been like, I should read Samuel Butler's The Way of All Flesh, the satire on Victorian ways. Being the eldest of Collins Millard and Florence Quackenbush G[-----]`s four sons, who lived in Bennington, Vermont, he was, I suppose, Ernest Pontifex, though the parallel is by no means exact. As with Ernest, though, things ended happily for him. His last 28 years were spent with the love of his life, Lucette Caron, in France, a country that because of its intellectual bent and broad- mindedness, he far preferred to America. He was classically educated, at the Westminster preparatory school, and was a fine teacher, scholar, and linguist, though he was also a soldier, in France in World War One, a Naval officer in World War Two, an actor on Broadway, in the 1920s, and a State's Attorney and State Senator in Vermont in the `30s. Concerning his many-sided career, he told me that once he learned the ropes, he became bored. His `greatest trick' was to have completed, in just a few years following World War Two, two years of undergraduate work – he studied at Williams in 1916, before enlisting, and spent a year at Columbia in 1924 – and his Master's and Doctorate requirements, while teaching Greek, Latin, and the Humanities in Columbia's Classics Department. Had he had his druthers, he told me, he would gladly have been a professional student his entire life. He did not make much of his drinking, nor of his work with A.A., with me. I only saw him drunk once in my life, when I was twelve, on a summer visit to Bennington…. I had inveigled him into playing catch and, nursing a hangover, after a few minutes of this, he had to excuse himself to lie down. As he lay there, he asked, `What do you think of your old man?' I put a cold washcloth on his forehead, and I said I simply thought he was sick. It's probably the best thing I've ever done. It was his view, too, that he was sick. I've learned that in going through some of his papers. There was wine on the table whenever I visited him and my stepmother in Paris and Urrugne, in the Basque country, where they had a house. Everyone drank it but he. In fact, he said he thought that I drank more than he did, day in and day out. He was of a religious bent, throughout his life, persuaded, as I think he was, by St. Thomas Aquinas's logic, and enamored, as he was, of Latin, from an early age. He was interested in Buddhism, too, but, in the end, he said that when it came to religious matters, he was `a Westerner.' His religiosity played a large part in his battle with alcoholism. He converted to Roman Catholicism while in a clinic at Dax over the Christmas holidays in 1954. In the end, he said, it was `the sight of Sister Marie Joseph standing over my bed and smiling down at me that had accomplished it.' 'I feel it impossible for me to describe that smile,' he wrote in an account he wrote at the time. `It was not the smile of a professional greeter; it was not one of amusement at the plight into which I had gotten myself; but it was one of compassion, sweetness, and perhaps, above all, it was a smile of perfect confidence that I would get well, and gave me a feeling of hope that I shall not attempt to describe. I have been to many hospitals and sanitariums to recover from alcoholism, and, on several occasions, have been treated in a perfectly kindly fashion, but I am not conscious that I have ever been received as above….' 'I am certain that everyone who has been converted towards or away from any belief or way of life has a strong desire to understand what has happened to him and to tell others of the great event, to the end that they, too, may be brought to peace, happiness, and a useful life. I have read many such accounts and, though it never occurred to me to doubt the fact of the conversion, I have never been able to see how it was accomplished: i.e., the one converted seems never to have had anything to do with his change of heart. At least, so it was in my case.' 'Not for one minute were all my problems solved, but from Christmas Day I was convinced that, despite all my sins, (1) I could be saved, and also (2) all hatreds and resentments vanished in a moment. I wish to emphasize that, in so far as I was conscious, my will played no part in either of these feelings. I am certain that the first was largely inspired by a terrible fear, but I have not felt it before; and, as for the second, it was as automatic as the love that one suddenly experiences for a person towards whom one is unconsciously drawn. I wish to emphasize that I endeavored to strike no bargain with my Maker: I did not say, feel, or promise, actually on in effect, Lord, if you will save me from a living death, I will give up my dislikes and hatreds. I merely knew that the people whom I felt had offended me acted as they had because they could not help it, and I no longer considered them blameable in any way….' 'Nevertheless, if it can be said that one person converts another, it was not the logic of Thomas Aquinas, but the smile of Sister Marie Joseph and my subsequent treatment by my Catholic brothers and sisters that melted and changed my heart and mind….' 'If a man who is truly religious is guided by God to say the right thing to those in need of help – and I firmly believe this – le Chanoine Gayan could not have struck a more sympathetic chord in me than he did in his counsel after my confession. He did not give me one bit of specific advice about avoiding the sins I had confessed, but spoke to me only of the Grace of God and that I must always remember I was completely dependent on it. Intellectually, I must have known this doctrine for years and have even lectured on it, but I never understood it, as I did when le Chanoine Gayan spoke to me for two or three minutes on the afternoon of January 1 [1955].' He read from the prayer book he received from Sister Marie Joseph every day. He died at the age of 81 on December 31, 1979, in a hospital in Bayonne (near Urrugne) as the result of a hole in a lung that caused him to suffocate. Undoubtedly he would have lived longer in America. His younger brother, Van, who lives in Bennington, is 102! But he was, he said, ready to get off the merry-go-round. When I last saw him, he was sitting in bed having some chocolate. `Don't worry about me – I've got a good thing going,' he said with good cheer. While I'm sure Sister Marie Joseph's smile played a big part, I think he was really saved by Lucette Caron, his fifth wife. Their story is fascinating. He met her in St. Moritz while fishing for champagne bottles in the mid-`20s, through the instance of her brother, Claude, who had admired my father's dexterity. When it came time to leave Paris – he and his first wife had been footed to a trip there by her father – he told Lucette that he'd look her up in twenty-five years. Twenty-five years later – and without a word having been exchanged between them in that time – he sent her a telegram, J'arrive [I'm coming]. Having lived an interesting life after a brief marriage in the `20s to another American, she was beguiled, but worried too, on receiving his telegram. He had been very handsome, yes, but that was twenty-five years ago. Would he still have his hair, his teeth? She asked her son, Teddy Culbert, what she should do, and he advised that she meet the bus at Les Invalides, which she did. My father and she took up where they left off, and soon were off to Mont St Michel and a life together. Even France Dimanche, generally a scandal magazine, was touched, and wrote it up. In that article, I think, Lucette was quoted as saying that while she went out with Frenchmen, she always married Americans. They were a compelling couple: he, the handsome, worldly intellectual whose encyclopedic knowledge of history was much admired in France, and she, the mercurial journalist (Paris-Soir, Paris Match, Mademoiselle) who had been a Captain in the Resistance, and who was described once as `one of the five tyrants of the fashion world.' My father loved it that she was not a reformer, as apparently some of his American wives had been. With nothing to rebel against, the decision was up to him. Give it up or die in a crise alcoolique. When my father told her he would give up drinking if she would return to the church, Lucette said she would, and off she went to confession – her first in many, many years. With a smile, he told me she had said, when the priest asked what she would like to confess, Well, I haven't done anything that anyone else hasn't done … [Note: Lucette Caron was the translator for at least one French film made in Morocco in the early 1920s and also of Michael Arlen's Le Feutre Vert (1928). She was born February 17, 1898. Her brother Claude married an American dancer, Margaret Petit, and their daughter is Leslie Claire Margaret Caron (b. July 1931). Teddy Culbert, Lucette's son by her first marriage, still lives in France.] Cebra G.'s Religious Beliefs: Text of Carbon Copy of Document [Undated]: I believe in an all-powerful and benign force that has ordained a system of immutable laws by which the universe is governed. When these laws do not seem to operate, it is merely because they are not at all, or imperfectly, understood.. I believe that our well-being, mental, physical and spiritual, proceeds from a conformance with these laws, consciously or unconsciously. I do not believe in sin in the sense that it is an offence against some deity, but that it consists of a refusal or inability to keep the laws that govern our every thought and action. I do not believe in a personal God who takes an Interest in our individual behaviour, regardless of our own attitude in the matter, but I do believe that by an act of will or desire we can make ourselves a part of the orderly harmonies of the universe, and that by so doing,' the ears of some of us will be attuned to a celestial music. It is by this conscious desire to accept the universe that we draw to ourselves those qualities and conditions which can result in the good life for each of us. I believe that the measure of each human action should be whether or not our lives tend to be permanently enhanced thereby. I believe that the past should be without regard, except for whatever pleasant memories it may hold for us, or warnings with respect to our future conduct, and that regret is a luxury that the human race can ill afford. I believe that all men are brothers and that this is .a fact unwise to ignore. I believe that there are many errors but no sins, and that repentance should be limited to a decision to act in a wiser and maturer manner in the future, should a similar occasion of error arise. I believe in an afterlife of some sort, the details of which I am unable to understand, but whether individual or collective survival, I dare not speculate. I believe neither in salvation or damnation in the conventional sense, except in so far as they are self-decreed. The duration of each is a matter of individual choice. I also believe that the form which our after life will take will be largely determined by the use we make of the one we have. - - - - > From: rstonebraker212@... > Date: Thu, 22 Jan 2009 06:18:44 +0000 > Subject: [AAHistoryLovers] Cebra Graves biography > > I am trying to find a biography, or at least > an obituary, of Cebra Graves. Any help would > be greatly appreciated. > > Bob S. |