He was in his mid-twenties and had recently moved to Kalamazoo, MI following a three-year stay in San Francisco, during which he fancied himself a folksinger/songwriter. There was just one thing: the young man had a rather severe case of stage-fright and the self-confidence of a cockroach. Well, maybe not quite a cockroach. It was more the limelight that bothered him. Regular light was fine. So, one day he hand-lettered a provocative quote from someone other than Andre Breton, the founder and chief theorist of the French Surrealist Movement, onto a piece of cardboard and attached it above the doorway to apartment #4. It was his apartment but he wasn’t about to let that stand in his way. I’ll become a surrealist, he thought to himself. And he did.