Ken Langer teaches music theory, lives in Maynard with his wife and daughter, and has written eighteen books on paganism. I met him at Sweet Bites, our local coffee shop. Ken usually stops between dropping his daughter off at daycare and driving to work. He typically sits alone with his laptop and his latest inspiration. Our group, not so productively inclined, shares stories and laughter. Ken, not quite as focused as I thought, joined the verbal fun from afar, and after a while, he permanently moved to our table and stopped writing.
Last June, Peter Langer, Ken’s eighty-year-old but very active father disappeared. Peter still regularly collected fossils, carved wood, traded stocks, and ran his apartments. Peter lived a solo life, so days went by before anyone noticed his absence. It seems he just got up from fixing his clock at his kitchen table and vanished. No trail. He left no credit card expenses, bank withdrawals, or sightings of his bobbing head above the sagebrush.
If you enter his home now, you will walk past a row of scruffy boots, all the same style, all near their discard date and all loosely laced, just as he wore them. Always up before dawn, he’d step into his shoes and out into the desert, sometimes stopping to feed the neighborhood hounds or bark back at them. Two hours later, he’d return and greet his neighbor, Sam, who loved to tinker in his garage, crafting custom motorcycles from parts he found at the junkyard.
I know what I know about Peter from Ken, from Peter’s neighbor, Sam, from Peter’s apartment manager, Mike, and the detective assigned to the case, another Mike. I flew out to Pahrump, Nevada, in late October because I knew in my heart that I could find Peter. Oh, just as I knew I could save Diane’s life by putting my hand on her forehead. I failed both times, but I don’t feel a need to pat myself on the head because I know I’m delusional.
Ken, not so woven into the fabric of his fantasies, will someday fly to his father’s town, walk the desert cairn trail Sam and I found (the perimeter of Peter’s property is peppered with cairns), and then say his goodbyes. I want one last stab at finding Peter, but I can’t fly out there again. That town taps into my run-from-at-all-costs dark side. However, I can send my friend, Chris Grosjean (Goose). He will be in Tahoe in January, and it’s only a short flight to Pahrump. To better understand the man he is tracking, Goose will sleep in Peter’s house, talk to Sam and Mike, and then walk far past the end of the cairn trail to the caves I did not have the time to explore.
I figure it’ll cost about $800.00 to send Goose and maybe a friend if he can find another curious soul. I can’t afford all the expenses; I spent enough last October, so I’m asking you all for small donations. People raise funds to walk across Antarctica. This trip has real meaning for lots of people. So please make a small donation, whatever you can, to Goose. Thank you on behalf of Ken, his lost dad, Peter, and myself.
Michael
All donations:
¨Chris Grosjean¨
54 Central St.¨Acton, MA 01720
El Kib
I’m in — amount T.B.D., but probably on the order of ten percent of that.
Goose
The fact that you posted this on my birthday…..i find meaningful…something great will come of this. My video camera is ready, time to fly!
Glenn
It will be in the mail Monday. Thank you for including me in such a worthy cause.
Syarif
Inelleigtnce and simplicity – easy to understand how you think.
Sabrina Sandoval
I often gave Mr. Langer a ride up the highway so he could take a day hike. We met when I rented from him for a short while. I had moved from the area when I learned about his disappearance. One of the last times I saw him, he had made me some zucchini bread. I will never forget his kindness. He was a very intelligent man.