MoreWritersThanReaders

Ray's Book-FireHouses

2012-02-07T10:25:00.000-08:00

Making good progressLet's get together just us and talk books. Hank doesn't know shit. You have to admire a guy like Hank, he's out there trying stuff but let us not forget the story Andy told us: the Adm got thrown out of ukelele class because he tried to take over the class as he thought he knew more than the teacher. To me, there are mainly two things that have to be considered: what do you want to do with the book and what are you willing to do. Something like LuLu is OK if you want one copy amd mostly do the work yourself. If you want a really good looking book that you are proud of, you have to go another route and set it up. Let's think toward next week for a sit down. on the rewrite/reprint of the Firehouse Almanac. More consultations in the near term for technical details. Hank has offered to help with the upload to the Web printer. Would you be interested in putting the Airborne Press cachet on this edition? No big deal, I think it would be a good fit.

I WILL MISS YOU

2011-07-07T10:13:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I find that one of the best ways to deal with grief is by writing, not so much about the grief itself as something related to it or a story. Take a look at this.

I’LL MISS YOU
By
GusDavis Aughtry

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us. Albert Schweitzer
Standing outside the door, I thought to myself, I'm not cut out for this. And, I wasn't. I'd run across many in the ministry who as clergy had some passion to be a hospital chaplain. Not me. The only reason I was in it today was through internal politics and a fluke. I'd just come back from Korea and was trying to get retired. Thus far, I wasn't having any luck. I was a Southern Baptist and there weren't all that many churches anyway. Plus, I was about as far removed from emotionally being a Southern Baptist as being on another planet. And, hell, they were political themselves and what Church wanted an Army chaplain anyway.
Ms. Byerly, (not her real name), looked at me but didn't really see me. One of the things I hated about hospital work was that I never felt I could do anything. A doc could give a shot or sound like they knew something and talk about treatment. I could say, I'd pray or some other innocuous bullshit, not that prayer was not important but nobody saw the results of it. Well hold it, I didn’t want to go overboard here. But, regardless, it always seemed to me to have a hollow ring like you didn't have anything else to say, so you said, "God bless you or I'll pray." Plus, it brought up all these questions in me. I could process the "mothers" in milliseconds. What about suffering, why did some suffer, others didn't. Why did the assholes of the world benefit and the good people suffer. F..k, during a hurricane or tornado, everybody in trailers or if you prefer mobil homes, got the shit kicked out of them immediately. See what I mean, I processed all of this in five seconds or less.
I said something like , Hi." And, then she threw up. All over my shoes. I got the nurse, the orderly came traipsing in: a big black guy who was imcredibly empathetic. "Don't worry bout it, this is my job and the chapain looks kind of scruffy anyway. This is good." He laughed. I laughed. But, I was ready to get the hell out of there but for some inextricable reason, I didn't but sat down in the chair beside her bed and watched her sleep. A couple of times, she opened her eyes and looked at me. So, very unlike my ADD self, I just sat. Finally, without opening her eyes she said, "Chaplain, there are three things I want to do before I die.” Without waiting for me to asked what, she moved on: “I want to go to Yosemite. I want to make peace with my mother and I want to have sex one last time. No, I'm not going to seduce you." She faintly smiled and then I could tell she dropped into a deep sleep.

Olivia and I became good friends. Once she was diagnosed with cancer, her husband had not touched her. We men are such f..king assholes. Then her Mom, from what she told me, was this narcissistic mother where everything revolved around her. We could be a TV movie she told me. My two brothers haven't spoken to Mom in years. She is on man three for marriage and several between. I suggested she call her. It was a disaster. It only works out in the movies or TV.

I didn't know the husband. He was a Sergeant Major stationed in Korea. I knew Korea. It is a culture that is inexplicably unknown unless one is immersed in it. I had believed for some time that we should get out of Korea. We had saved the country. The South Koreans had the best "ground" Army in the world. Meaning, of course, if they were attacked by the North, they could handle it and were prepared. I loved Korea but always stayed a little ticked off that they don't show more appreciation that we'd saved their ass. A GI, serving in Korea could get caught up in the milieu of life there: mainly involving a "business/working girl. Some might call them prostitutes. I never did as somehow I always thought they were doing what they had to do. Korea is a caste society. Plain and simple. It is governed by a strict Confucian code. If you were born the son or daughter of a taxi driver, you died the son or daughter of a taxi driver. Many of those on the lower rung of the cultural ladder, especially females moved to the little towns surrounding the military camps. It became a subculture that, for lack of a better term, trapped many a GI. He became ensnared, fell in love and the next thing you know, he's wanting to get married. At one count, there were 5000 American/Korean marriages a year. And, they did not all meet at the University.
When one of my young chaplains came with the request that we maybe could help in contacting Mrs. Byerly's husband, her pictured surfaced immediately on my radar screen. "Why couldn't she contact him?
"I don't know but one of the "Interns" thought would be good if her husband came home as she was terminally ill.
“Why wasn't he already home?” I suspected I knew.
"I don't know."
“I’ll check it out. “

Here is the basic difference in military chaplains and civilian clergy. Civilians will say God bless you and I'll pray for you. Military chaplains will say, "tell me what I need to do."

I wandered into Mrs. Byer's room on a Monday morning. She turned her head toward me and smiled weakly. We chatted for a moment. No, I take that back. We didn't chat. She looked like chatting was the last thing she wanted but she did do something very uncharacteristic. Reached out and took my hand. It was weak but touched me and said, "where have you been? I told you I was not going to seduce you." I smiled. She smiled and closed her eyes.
What the f..k, where is that sorry ass husband and then I ventured forth with a comment on him. "No, I'm fine without him."
" Why?"
" Well, he could have come if he wanted too."
"Sure but still..." My voice kind of trailed off and I thought to myself as she drifted into that drug induced slumber that took her away from my presence. I thought to myself,"looks like he's not coming and we can't make him". This was one of those times when I wish that I didn’t know about Korea. Are you sure now as I continued the conversation with myself. "I am sure."

I sighed as I left the room, still doing that 5 second think. This was one of those thousands of dilemmas that I often found myself in. A personality thing I guess. Nothing was required of me. But, I knew I wouldn't let it alone. Hell, I'd been fired four times in my not so illustrious career.

I had my suspicions about the good Sergeant Major Brown. The MFer was probably shacked up in Korea with some Korean business/working girl. I didn't blame him. Whoa! You don't know that. Reserve judgment until you really know what is going on. Give the man the benefit of the doubt. I'd learned a long time ago, none of us know what goes on inside families. This has probably been hard all the way around. Wife getting this insidious disease. A husband who couldn't step up to the plate. I don't believe my bullshit for a minute. The Sergeant Major, leader of men, this guy is suppose to be able to handle it. I was a little biased. I never could figure out what any Sergeant Major was suppose to do. In Vietnam, I remember thinking that all I saw them do was follow the commander around. Major Sansom, the Ops officer, probably prejudiced me as he kept saying, "if the Colonel stopped abruptly, the Sergeant Major would break his nose."
Anyway, this was all rolling around my head as I kept trying to find the Sergeant Major. Finally I chased him down at one of the support commands at Camp Humphrey. I knew it well. "Sergeant Major, this is the chaplain at Letterman." Long pause.
"Yes."
"I'm calling about your wife." Long pause.
"Yes." What is it with this fucker.
"Well, Sergeant Major, she's pretty sick."
"I know that. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Sergeant Major, I sure don't want to intrude but it might encourage your wife if you came home.”
"Chaplain, my wife and I have talked about it and frankly, it is none of your business." He hung up. Well, damn, that went well.
He would have been better off had he hit me in the face. One sorry son of a bitch. I walked around for awhile, went outside, sat down, stood up. I was seething. What the hell to do?
“Well Chaplain, if the Command Sergeant Major doesn't want to come home, I can't make him." Long pause.
“Colonel, you are his boss and this looks like one of the times for him to do the right thing. " Long pause
“Sorry Chaplain, not my call.” Long Pause.
Sir, I tell you and I understand but I can't let this go. My next call will be to the General or some general.” Long pause.
“Chaplain, are you threatening me?"
“I am” and this time I hung up.

The young chaplain spotted in the doorway. “Sir, the Sergeant Major is here.”
“Good.” I went to Olivia's room. The Sergeant Major and I were civil. Olivia seemed to be a little more alert. As far as she knew, the Sergeant Major came on his own. Maybe he did.
There's some postscript to this tale. I was in the hospital early one morning and Olivia was in the little snack bar. I was so happy to see her and she me. We chatted and suddenly she said, "Chaplain, I have some great news.” Without answering she said, “God has healed me. I just know it.” For a moment I was at a loss for words. OK, where are my five seconds?
“Oh, that is wonderful., how did it come about.”
“I just felt it and can’t wait to see my doctor. I seem to feel so much better.” Maybe having the Sergeant Major home has made her feel better. I saw it in men all the time who had been to Korea, once they were home, they took another look at that life in the “land of the almost just right” as we often called Korea.
Olivia died two weeks later. I was sad beyond belief. Her services were a few days later. As I sat toward the back in a full Church, the Priest did his thing and I momentarily thought, how in the hell can people get into this stuff. The priest in all his garb, waving something that was water I guess and then a pot with smoke. What the hell was that. I immediately slapped myself. My five seconds. What the f..k is wrong with me. I am an asshole. I’m going to miss my friend, wish I could tell these folks how wonderful I thought she was. I guess this was the Sergeant Major’s last “got you”, not including me in her services. MFer, asshole. I am so awful.
The Priest stood. “It is always my custom to asked anyone who is here if they would like to say a word. If so, just please come up and comment.” I was on my feet and moving toward the front. I stopped momentarily and put my hand on the casket. Thanks Olivia, I’ll miss you.

Encouragement

2011-04-06T07:48:00.000-07:00

Reverend Denise Autry and her husband Wally, have a wonderful ministry in North Carolina with prison inmates. Below is one among many with an interesting story. Hello. Thank you for visiting TYL CHRISTIAN CROSSES.I think you will find this site is a little different from what you usually see. If I may, let me tell you the reason and the meaning for our crosses.Seven years ago, after over 30 years in sales, I found myselfstanding in a courtroom in front of a judge. No, no drugs, noviolent crime, just,(as they call it), white collar/paper/moneycrimes. I had tried to do the right things, but ended up doingit in the wrong ways.If anyone had ever told me I would go to prison I would have told them they had lost their mind. You see, I had always tried to be a good person, to help people, and had gone to churchall my life. I took my children to church and, yes, had beenbaptized. But, as we sometimes learn, the Lord can bringyou to His purposes in some strange ways.As I lay on a plastic mattress, on the floor of the jail that firstnight, I closed my eyes and said, "Lord, I don't know what youdid today, but I know I trust you and that you will take care of meand my family." Thus, the journey began.I decided that instead of looking at it as being in prison I would look at it as going to college. I would read, learn, assess, research,and plan for the future. What happened was, I thought about the pastand what had brought me to where I was, and I studied, researched, andplanned new ideas for when I returned home. But most importantly,where I used to go to church once a week I now went 3 to 4 timesa week. I had read through the Bible years earlier, but I now took ayear and ahalf and studied through it, and then read it 2 more times.And, this is what I realized. I had had religion all my life, but there isa difference between having religion and having a relationship.I realized that it's not about me/us, it's about Him. We are here for Him.Of course, my entire outlook on life and way of living changed. I'm sureyou know and understand.Okay, where did the crosses come from you're asking? One of the jobs Ihad while there was in an engineering department. I had always worna cross, but had been without one for 3 years. I missed my cross. So,one day I hand made a stainless steel cross. I cut it out with a hacksaw,hand filed and shaped it, and polished it. Then came the idea to stampsomething across the front. I was so used to saying" Thank You Lord"all day, every day, whenever something good happened, or when I asked the Lord for guidence, that the perfect letters to me were, TYL, Thank You Lord.Wearing the cross, and touching it through my shirt each time I said this,gave me such a feeling of peace and comfort, but even more so it kept mein constant, all day, praise to Him. And, you know how when God gives yousomething you want to share it. I begin to think that maybe this was a wayHe gave me to share with you and maybe the cross would bring you somepeace and comfort and help you remember to give thanks each day to Him.The crosses are individually hand made from stainless steel, (chains are stainless also), so they will always stay clean and shiny. And last, in keeping with the teachings of the Bible, 10% of the price of each crosswill be given to -------------------. Shipping is free and each cross has a 100% guarantee.Thank you again for visiting TYL CHRISTAIN CROSSES. Have a blessed day. Jerry, for Bob it was considered a white collar crime. Basically he sold property that was not his to sell. He paid the money back to the individual but the judge still ruled prison time. Bob says he could have used the money for a "good" lawyer. He knows now there was a purpose for his time. He lived in Raleigh for a number of years but decided to move back to Lillington after getting out of prison a year ago. He stays with his 84 year old mother who has some bouts with dementia. He says sometimes he runs into old high school friends and they ask where he has been the last few years...then he has the opportunity to tell his story. Bob is 62 years old. He is involved in a local church in Lillington. He saved all his money that he made while on weekly work release in prison, he gets social security now. He also buys cars, makes upgrades and resells them. He also collects wood pallets that companies do not want and he resells them. He also sells scrap metal. He is not lazy for sure and has an entrepreneural spirit. He now documents all sales, saves all receipts for tax purposes for his own protection. You can tell he is thankful for his freedom. He does admit that $5000 was not a lot of money to do 7 years in prison but amazingly he has no regrets. Unfortunately most ex inmates do not have that attitude.

WRITING SUGGESTIONS

2011-02-07T07:41:00.000-08:00

I need some help with getting into the publishing world. Any ideas.

Cass, it almost seems criminal not to record these experiences you've had. I enjoy reading them. Publishing is so crazy and always has been. I've been working/messing with it seemingly forever, with limited or no success. I started Airborne Press to publish a children's book that my brother had written. And, it kind of evolved from there. I have had enough experiences about writing that I could write ten books. I go in these book stores and am blown away. Who is writing these books and who is reading them. Well mostly, nobody is reading the majority of them. And, for those who have a need to write, we have such a celebrity driven culture, it is super discouraging. Madonna writes a book on parenting, people are lined up for ten blocks to get a copy. You and I, even if we have it published, couldn't give it away.

The above is my realistic and discouraging view from experience. What somebody has to do is write out of their own need and decide what they want to do. For instance, for me, I mostly give away my stuff. Since I have a few resources, once it is ready, which I hire somebody to set up, I print just enough to give away and for Amazon. I tried publishing for Vietnam vets. It was a disaster as all Vietnam vets have things to say but with two that I worked with closely, attempting to edit their stuff was disastrous. What I do now is always buy lots of copies once they have published and give away.

It is mostly about marketing anyway. I've had an agent. We got to be great friends but she really didn't do much for me. I got a nice bite from UNC press on a memoir that my brother and I did but they wanted to take out mostly the very stuff that was important to me in particular and so said no. When I was at Leavenworth, I actually wrote, as I told you I think, this fictionalized account of my time in Vietnam. Of course, it was based on real guys. I sold it to a paperback publisher, Manor Books. Actually went to NY and met the editor. He said, "we'll publish as much of this sort of stuff as you can write." I thought I was off and running. Never heard from them again. They got sold, went out of business or something. And, they were a pretty big publisher, 200 titles a year. I still remember how impressed I was because they had dome a biography of Anwar Sadat, much in the news now of course.

Because I am a self diagnosed ADD and based on my own personality, once I have written anything, I do something with it and then forget it. I keep up about 8 blogs. In fact I have one called, More Writers Than Readers. Also, I put a lot of stuff on a site called, smashwords.com. It helps me with my needs. The last thing I put on there were three short stories which was a small book. I made them free but could have charged. You might want to check it out.

Cass, I've written a book here. I guess what I saying is that you have to decide what you want to do with your writing/experiences and charge. You have had, in a sense, more experience than me in terms of marketing your cartoons and it is all pretty similar really. I would like to use enough of your story to explain the cartoon on the AP website. My niece is the webmaster. I pay her to keep it up. We get about five thousand hits a week which isn't much but for a noncommercial site, pretty good I think, especially as the hits are so consistent.

THE HEARAFTER

2010-11-14T07:50:00.000-08:00

My granddaughter and I saw "Hereafter", the Clint Eastwood directed "cogitate your navel" story. I really liked it. My granddaughter gave it a six. I gave it a nine on a 10 point scale. I thought the story narrative moved pretty well, not slow and just enough reflectiveness by shuffling between the stories to make it interesting. Three stories from very appealing characters could hardly miss in my view. One having had a near death experience trying very hard to put it in context of her life. A youngster with tragic loss in his life and desperately wanted to settle unfinished business. And, of course Matt Damon as the catalyst. Some of the things are so enigmatic to the story that only someone of Eastwood's statue, not to mention clout, could have gotten this movie made. And, one does wonder if his 80 plus years didn't have something to do with the question: "Where do people go when they die?"

In some ways it is the "near death" stories of a few years ago: the white glowing light, people pulled from the brink of the abyss wherever it might be. Good movie and I will use it for discussion with my buddies for a long time. (I hang out with a bunch of old guys like myself two or three times a week. Several have seen the movie) As a Christian, I accept the mysteries of heaven. Streets paved with gold. I doubt it and accept the Biblical views as metaphors but doesn't make any difference. I believe in the very existence of heaven. I don't have any doubt where people go when they die. It is the mystery. It is even the "faith" of it. And, the idea of heaven is tremendously comforting that this life is not the end. That in some great mysterious expectations, we'll see our loved ones again. See what I mean? The "Hereafter" evoked these comments from me and maybe Clint had this in mind. Probably searching himself.

Writing the Rose Book

2010-10-21T12:03:00.000-07:00

Recently, I"ve been discussing the process of writing the Rose book. The blog is www.Tuesdayswithrose.com and I'm been working close to two years to turn the blog into a book. It is very hard.

Just a little background. I became Rose's transportation for treatment mainly because she was having to expend this enormous amount of effort arranging transportion. My thinking was that when you are as sick as Rose, you don't have the energy to do all of this. What the hell: I'll become her transportaion and every week, she'll know that I am going to be there for her. It worked and in that process of every Tuesday with Rose, I watched her die slowly. And, it took a much greater toll on me than I could possibly have known. During the process, I kept a blog and after Rose died, I thought, "someway I've got to honor Rose's bravery of fighting breast cancer.

Rose's doctor and I have been discussing where I am in the process and I emailed her the following comments. The second thing I wanted to comment on was the idea of writing about Rose, maybe what I hope to accomplish--might be better or do a greater good or see a wider audience--surely in a broader sense, more than one woman's struggle. I don't think so. Not for me. When you write, especially someone like myself, you never know how it's going to end up. I don't have a clue but I know it will and I'll use it to do what I promised Rose I would do, a fund raiser. I do wish you would help me though. You could write emails whenever it strikes you, when you have something you want to say about how you are doing your job, thoughts, etc, anything.

BREAST CANCER

2010-07-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

THE MIDDLE PLACE. This is a book kind of coincidently about breast cancer with all it comes to mean, i. e., cancer taking over your life-- a big meaning is that you can fight and beat it. The author did. No small thing. It is also about what makes up a family.

The author is a good writer and lots of talk about the Irish. She has a couple of hilarious stories about her Dad in particular and hence the title of the book--"middle place," idenity with parents and idenity with her own husband/children.

Good story teller: One has to do with a time when she was trying to break in on the dotcom craze. Her description of that time has to be read, can't be told second hand.

The diagnosis with cancer sounds very much like always: the shock. The anxiety. Cancer taking over her life. Her trips to the Infusion Center for treatment. And for me, a kind of Gestalt, an "ah hah" moment. There's a vast difference sitting in the Infusion Center as a patient getting treatment, a family, in support; and even more of a difference when you are a supportive friend. Hard to explain. I use to sit by my friend Rose's bed and almost always experience every single emotion possible.

A question I always ask about books: is this a book I want to give to someone battling this horrible disease? Yes! Most cancer patients already understand the risks, will laugh with the book and more than anything appreciate the hope.

A Book By Email

2010-04-08T08:05:00.000-07:00

Often, people say they want to write a book, their memoirs, the great American novel. However, they just can't seem to get with it. Email is a great way and one of the best ways I've found to encourage those who want to write. Simply sit down and write someone you know an email with your story and keep it up, daily or whatever or however you can. Below is a war story of Vietnam. I have two guys I'm encouraging to write their experiences. I am having trouble with them but if they get off their asses and start out, the first thing you know, we'll have a book.

I remerber the day like it was yesterday. B Company had just had this gosh awful firefight. It went on for what seemed like forever. In actuality, it only lasted a day. We had sustained about a dozen KIAs (kiiled in action) with about twice that many badly wounded.

I had just left the company when it started. Probably a company sized unit of NVA (North Vietnam Army). They were regulars, not guys in black pajamas.I took off to Phu Bai to the hospital to see my troops. They were really banged up. I was always pretty crushed after I saw them and knew that the grim reaper would probably claim a few more and if not, some would lose arms and legs and sight. War was a sorry business.And for me, by this time in my tour, I knew the war was bullshit. I had been reading stuff and simply had to do everything in my power to suppress my feelings to the Higher Ups. They were still doing what they do, bullshit to me but to the ones I was exposed to, I could deal with it. They were mostly just doing their jobs I guess. I was down to a double digit midget and figured I coud do this standing on my head.I was the chaplain, the poor man's psychiatrist and needed to focus on my own misssion of being the chaplain. I did the religious stuff. For men at war, ritual is important. And, I could accept the "Foxhole Religion" idea. They could sort it all out after the war.

I was bone tired and walked outside, not really outside but these mobile hospitals were set up in such a way, they snaked in all kinds of directions with kind of hubs which were like a bunch of intersecting hallways. Most of the rime, I got lost but this time for some reason, I found myself at the right spot. Across from the hospital was the Chaplain's office and my absolute best friend, Father Vince. I had first met him in Basic at the Chaplain's school in Brooklyn: good old Fort Hamilton. It was the Army's best kept secret. Right at the foot of the Verazano's Narrows Bridge, fabulous is all I know to describe it. To think that we were getting paid when I often felt like we should be paying someone to be in such a glorious spot.The chaplain's school's basic was suppose to teach us how to be soldiers. For most, they failed miserably. It was two or three months of a combination hell, play, study. We learned to wear the uniform, salute. I stood in front of the mirrow for hours practicing my salute. We went to the field and played war. It was at a camp in Virginia called Camp Picket. We made a joke: Camp Pickett, way down in the thicket. When we finished Basic, we were suppose to be ready to go to war.Father Vince was this "Eyetalian" and proud of it, Giamono, he would say and elongated it, Giamonooooo. We would laugh. He took me under his wing and vowed to show me anything and everything in New York. He would introduce me as a guy who hated yankees but was OK. I learned that in a big Italian family, to have a priest was a big honor. In Vince's family, besides him, a sister was a nun.

Standing in the little outside waiting room till Vince finished talking to some young troop, I made up my mind. I was quitting the war. How do you quit a war. Damn if I know. Maybe Vince had an idea. Regardless, I QUIT.

GOOD STORIES BUT BAD THEOLOGY

2010-03-28T11:53:00.000-07:00

I am often encouraging my friends or most anybody I meet to write their memoirs, start a blog, anything if they think they might want to write. And, I am amazed constantly at the fact that everybody has a story. Really and for us older than dirt types, when we "hit the road," our story is gone if we don't write it. So...The below are some comments to a couple of my Vietnam buddies that I am trying to get to write their stories. What they can do is send to me on emails or write it as though they were telling me the story.

As an example of what I want you and Larry to do for our book, here's an example: My wife and I have watched two movies of late. Both very religious. It happened by accident as I am in charge of selecting our Netflix movies. The first one was called Faith and Potatoes. It was very evangelical, not subtle at all. Good story, farmer in South Africa, well done but bad theology. Meaning, of course, that life does not work where God rewards the good and righteous and zaps the others, just makes God too arbitrary. "OK, I'm zapping this one, giving this one cancer." See what I mean. Please! The second one was done by the Catholic Church, very subtle. Also, a good movie but bad theology. A handsome young guy comes into town and transforms it: rebuilds the Baptist Church which are mostly AA. Encourages Priest who wants his own parish but has another senior priest looking over his shoulder and not liking his approach, etc. Then he restores sight to blind girl to show that some faith healer who has a tent revival is scamming the people. And, he takes a black man, stuttering who wants to be preacher and raises him from the dead and he no longer stutters. (Are you still with me. This is why I love to write, could you imagine telling this story to the GFs)) And, finally he is summoned to Rome where he tells the Pope that the Church needs more love and less judgement. In the little town back home, they are all a bunch of Republicans loving each other and saying "yes." Just kidding. But, amazing to contrast the two movies. Jackie and I had long discussion as we were both raised in the environment of the first movie; much of it is still with me but more healthier I hope. Amen. God bless.

Therein is the lesson for you and Larry to write your stories and I'll collect them. Why not start with your joining the merchant marines. People would love it. God bless. I am going to attempt to be more on top of my responsibilities. Let's plan a trip but GFs to Tahoe. I'm ready for one night.

2010-03-27T12:38:00.000-07:00

This is a great comment and one to keep in mind as you look for help in your writing.

And I do want to say something here and hope you understand my intent. You have asked me, previously, to work on two projects for you (marketing Brothers...and now you see you really did NOT need me at all...and then trying to get your writing published in magazines and newspapers), and I declined both. I want to make sure you understand that I declined both of those kind invitations based solely on the fact that I felt strongly that I would not be able to help you (at least not enough to justify you paying me) with either. Just so you know, I always love working for and with you, but have to assess each project with an eye to whether or not I could do you any good at all. Since you are now working on another book - and I'm about to sound VERY bold here - I would love to be considered when you look for an editor for that book, if you decide you need an editor. But I won't be at all distressed if you decide on someone else....I just wanted you to know I really love working for you when I think I might actually be of some use. ES

2010-01-08T07:47:00.000-08:00

An email group that I'm involved with, called the 10 chaps have decided to do a collective book, mostly of their calling into the ministry. We think, not sure so stay tuned.

I would encourage all of you to write your memoir. Everyone of you have one in you and when you've hit the trail, your experiences, etc. are gone forever. "Brothers" is the hardest thing I've done, primarily because it was so difficult getting our stories straight as much of our extended family had died.

I think the best comment was somebody said it was the best example of how to do a memoir they had seen, i.e., tell a story as opposed to geneology stuff. I think that's what they meant. The struggled was worth it I think, even if I would not do it again. I thought I offered to send you guys a book. I will, have a few left and have gone for a reprint. All the proceeds go to four charities. I don't have the figures yet but so far, looks like we've raised about $5000 for them and that is very rewarding.

One thing that might interest you guys as the skim is coming over your eyes, Plus, as I am thinking, I was planning to do one more book, this blog I've kept while I drove Rosey, a breast cancer victim, to her treatments each week. I want to honor her ten year bravery in fighting the insideous disease. But, now that I think about it, I am going to retire with the chaplains book. So, file that away and keep writing. Where are we with that? I have some of mine written and some from Dave. When I get time, I'll get us all an email of what we said we'd do. I think we are all ADD anyway. God bless.

jda

I am beginning to put my input together, but it will be at least February, maybe later. Thank you for taking on this project. LH

No sweat. We are talking probably two years down the road. So, the goal is that none of us can "depart the area" until we get this book done. I will have to say that the one thing that happened to my brothers in the seven years that it took to write Brothers is how their health had changed. When I do a book, both as author but mainly publisher, I carry the rough draft around with me constantly, look at it, read it, go to bookstores, look at books, maybe finding one I liked. With my next book about the bravery of Rose, this gal I took to her chemo treatments and watched her die slowly. I have something in mind but I don't have something in mind. I'm hoping to see a book like I want hers to be. It is for me, an enormous process. All this to say, stay working and let's keep it on at least the back burner. JDA

BROTHERS

2009-12-04T07:43:00.000-08:00

Last night I saw a pre-release screening of "Brothers," a film directed by Jim Sheridan ("My Left Foot," "In America," "In the Name of the Father") and featuring Toby McGuire, Jake Gyllenhall, Natalie Portman, Sam Shepard, and others. It'll be widely released very soon. DO NOT MISS THIS FILM. It is the most powerful film about war, the military, and the people affected that I have ever seen. Fine films like "The Deer Hunter" and "Coming Home" pale in comparison, and it is vastly different from the usual action films like "Full Metal Jacket," Apocalypse Now," and those of the Rambo genre. "Brothers" is very tough to watch, and it never, ever lets up. Sheridan never goes Hollywood, so in the end, he does not take the cheap way out. Don't miss it, but be ready for a very rough ride. A truly remarkable film. kk

I'll definitely see it. Great review.

I've had a little of a hard time seeing the war movies. There's something about watching a war movie while the war is still going on that is almost sacriligious for lack of a better term. I personally think it has to do with the detachment of most of our society from the military. As a society we have bought into the concept of somebody else's children fighting our wars. I keep waiting for the voluntary army to fail--it has other than in numbers as it is a far cry from bring representative of who we are. However, kids keep joining and the powers that be keep proclaiming how successful we are.

I saw In the Valley of Elah which is the best I've seen. For years I could not watch war movies. I went with a friend to see Platoon and almost broke out in hives. To me, Hamburger Hill, is the most authenic Vietnam one to my experience. jda

You make an interesting point. A war film will affect us in the context in which the conflict it portrays rages, certainly when that conflict is being burned contemporaneously into our individual and common experiences. So, "Sands of Iwo Jima" (WWII) will necessarily affect us differently from "Hamburger Hill" (Viet Nam) which will affect us differently from "Brothers" (Afghanistan). But while comparisons may be awkward and difficult, even specious, if I use my emotional response as my guide, I found "Brothers" to be the most affecting for me. Ripped me apart. I'll be very interested to hear your comments after you've seen it. Don't go alone. KJH

Feedback on Brothers:

2009-11-27T15:15:00.000-08:00

Michael ordered 5 books from Amazon as soon as he heard it was out. They delayed his delivery until 1st week in December.

I would love to see my Dad honored. He is very humble about things like that so we might have to talk him into it. I agree and think there is so much more to his war times. He has talked about it very little over the years. He is a little better about it now, but only talks about some of the better times if there were any.

I just want you to know that I think the book was awesome. As many stories we have heard over the years, there were plenty in this book that we had not heard. As our family is constantly discussing this book, we all agree that it gives us some great insite to our Dad's upbringing and his family.

I was crying as I read different parts of the book and within minutes laughing so hard I was crying.

I am letting one of my friends read it. I want to see if an outsider of the family will get the meaning as much as we did. daf

Donna, I doubt that most will get it in quite the same way as family but hope they do. I think the remarkable thing about your Dad and at least, Raz and Corb, somewhat Wallace but mainly your Aunt Margaret is being poor and not really knowing it. And, knowing how they were all surrounded by Uncles in particular who were huge bootleggers and drank and ran around and yet your Grandpa never got caught up in it. And, as you, better than most know, your grandma had a subtle strength about her that was often underestimated.

Thanks for the comments. We want to put together a book party for your Dad. He is a central part of the book and a pretty remarkable brother. In doing research, in what little we could find out, I think he was probably much more than we really know: I've always thought that maybe he was nominated for the Medal of Honor because it was incredibly rare for a lower ranking enlisted man to be given the Silver Star unless it was an interim award. And, of course, paper work is lost, disappears, etc. But, a book party would be a good way to honor him and your Mom too, of course.

2009-11-26T15:19:00.000-08:00

Just read the book last night as a matter of fact and LOVED it. I don’t have the time to read like I did once (wonder why! Ha!) but I stayed up last night after Sanibel went to bed and read it….all of it.

I just loved reading about your Dad. I feel like I know him now. Had to laugh over Aunt Gertie’s biscuits (we called them cat head biscuits, because of their size), because I, too, ate many many many of those. Did I ever tell you that Aunt Gertie made a SPECIAL Sunday dinner every Sunday just for me? I didn’t care for the fried chicken as much as I liked HER baked BBQ chicken and once she knew that she began making THAT for me. I loved those meals – good times. And, of course, I’ve told people over the years when they don’t know a thing about lard that I saw it in action. And, I can still to this day picture Granny making those biscuits. I was probably eagerly awaiting them to be baked and I would stand next to her in the kitchen and watch her hands form those biscuits and pop them onto the baking sheet. She would just fly through the process like she’d done it a million times and no doubt she HAD. Those were the tastiest biscuits.

It is what it is. I couldn’t believe it when I read that, because that’s a staple phrase at the bank. We all use it. Can’t change the situation and IT IS WHAT IT IS. Maybe Granddaddy coined it!

All of the stories were enjoyed immensely. I’ve already told 2 friends about it and they’ll be reading the book next. I cried over Margaret. (Feel like I know her now, too.) I cried over Rob. I didn’t know about Corbett’s love story – and how sad. (What happened to Bella? Does anyone know??) And, honestly, it made me cry over what I lost – the family I had, yet didn’t have. I’ve missed out and would have really loved being a full part of the Autry family.

White Line sounds like another sad place. I’d never heard of that. And, poor Betsy. What a life. Sounds like she overcame it. Zack must’ve been a character!!

I think I’ve heard Daddy talk about Royston and the food he’d eat. And, I got a big laugh over your Mom saving the “scraps”. LOVE THAT.

Thank you for writing this book. I’m so appreciative. It makes me want to hightail it out of FL and head ‘home’ to NC! I’ll be sending a note of thanks to Raz (R-A-I-S-E, ha ha), too! la

So happy that you read the book, identified with all these people in our family's lives. And, I must say, as I said in the front material, really the story is about four brothers and a sister. By the time I arrived, most were out of there to live their lives. And, so many of the things you've recounted are the things I also remember. I can still see that lard stand and Mom dipping into it. They were somewhat tired by the time I got up some size and so the hustle and bustle of life was not the same.

And, I must say, that I've enjoyed getting to know some of the details too. Over time you finish a book or at least I do, I always want to say, "the writing of the book is almost better than the book." For instance, I kept pretty good notes. Things that Corb., who was a great source and seemed to have a better memory than any of us--He told me things that way down the road, he doesn't remember telling me. Corb's life is the greatest mystery of all: he was so incredibly secretive and what we know now is that at one time, he was very wealthy, making so much money selling sugar to bootleggers that he literally did not know what to do with it all. The IRS moved in and instead of hiring a lawyer, etc., he just wrote a fat check and all this did was give them a license to come investigate. Eventually, they broke him down to nothing. Now, this is a story we didn't include. Well, we wouldn't have as the book was just growing up years.

The Memoir

2009-11-26T11:30:00.000-08:00

i told her how much i was enjoying your book. i told her to tell you that in your next book you needed to include names with the pictures ! how about a picture book with all the autry siblings and their children and grands, and great-grands.......and pictures of your parents and siblings and cousins, etc.....!!!! your next project

Thanks for the suggestion but a youngster needs to tackle that project. Laura is a super writer, I nominate her.

A Memoir

2009-10-21T07:08:00.000-07:00

HOW HARD CAN THIS BE? This was the feeling of the authors when they first thought of doing a family memoir. Seven years down the road and finally, Brothers. So, what has been the difficulty? To the authors, coordinating the stories. Although they are involved with each other, almost daily through phone calls, emails, text messaging, you would think this should be a cinch. What they learned quickly was that often they had to deal with the same story but various interpretations. Talking about real places and events, yet under the best of intentions, sometimes they are not so sure they got it right. After struggling for awhile, they finally decided on the subtitle, "a somewhat true memoir." You only know what someone else told you or how they think it was. All the brothers thought this was pretty hit and miss. One said, we are describing a past event that we hope brings us to at least a semblance of the way it was.

When the brothers started out, by their own admission, they didn't have a clue what would evolve. One brother set about to state the facts. This is the way it was as he remembered it. And, it was impossible not to tag on some opinion. And, where was that in our story? Our idea was that we wanted this for our children and grandchildren. The reality is that we wanted it for ourselves. It would be fun remembering and what we knew is that we had lots of stories to tell.

When asked what would be the advice to someone who wanted to write a memoir, the brothers feel that the best thing is to "just start." The story will take over says Raz, who is 13 years older than his youngest brother. Naturally our perspective may be somewhat different but our love of family and our surroundings growing up became very real as we wrote about it. As we wrote the book, manuscripts were flying back and forth between California and North Carolina.

The authors laugh that their childhood traumas were really few if any. Jerry says, "I can’t begin to tell you how often we wrestled with the idea that we can hardly believe our lives were so good growing up. The "proud poor" is a term we've coined and surely not original with us. Poor but not knowing it. In order to make the best story, we needed some trauma and dramatic events."

What is readily apparent listening to the authors is a feeling that this has been hard but good. A kind of tribute to their parents, their upbringing, and to their community. And, such a great love of country and recognizing that their service in the military forever changed them and in a sense made Brothers possible.

2009-09-01T08:40:00.000-07:00

How about telling me, I’ll keep it confidential if you like, what you think should be done about providing health care in our nation. If you were King, what would you do? You have both hospital experience and family member input. One of my brother’s daughters is married to a physician. I have talked with him and he wants things left alone, to go on as we are. If I could decide, I don’t know what I would do. I want some kind of universal health care, but I can see no practical way to provide it. I am not resourceful enough in my brain to devise a workable solution. CN

Very hard to make comments about health care without sounding political. I am a Democrat and so support health care reform, mainly because to say that I am a Democrat is the easiest thing to do.

The arguments are all over the map. My real believe which nobody will deal with is the selfishness of who we are. To have real health care reform, those of us who are in good shape with good plans literally might have to give up something and we don't want to do that. And, for you and me, we have been in a super public option for a long time: the VA.

And, the cost of health care reform is a bogus issue I think, as the cost over time of most anything that involves us is enormous. I, at one time, thought health care was a shoo in but am beginning to be doubtful. The private interests and out and out spin looks like it has such a hold that I just don't know. For every argument I give, there are dozens of counter arguments; some truth and many half truths. For me personally, the status quo is simply no option.

The saddest spin to me has been about the "death panels" which is an out and out lie. Here's an example why we need some counseling at some level. I had a wedding over the weekend, my last one I'm ever going to do. I've said it before but in this case, true. This was a former parishioner who has breast cancer and needed to do this for insurance although they would have done it anyway. Wonderful couple, really stand up guy. Anyway, at the reception, even amidst my shingles (hope you have had the shot--you do not want shingles), talked to lots of my former church members. Many old, some very old and was amazed at how few have made end of life decisions. For instance, one 87 year old with an invalid wife who is maybe 85, when asked by me if he had any plans in case he were to go before her. He said, "I'm hoping I outlive her." I was kind and merely nodded but wanted to tell him that "hope" was not a strategy. jda

Adam

2009-08-26T15:41:00.000-07:00

***Adam is an autistic adult, normally called, Asperger syndrome , who can't find a place in the world. Space and the stars seem to be his only escape from reality. He's lost his job at an engineering company and needs some way to pay the rent. When a girl moves into an apartment in his building, he opens up his alternate universe to her; but it turns out she has troubles of her own, and needs a man who can help her through this tough times in her life--a man who can take control and knows the right thing to do.

Adam is not this man. In fact, he is the one who needs help. Beth, Adam's new neighbor, helps Adam find a job and helps him get his life together, all the while wondering if this is what she wanted.

This movie made me laugh and cry all at the same time. It made me think what would I do if I fell in love with someone who wasn't right for me? Do you think it would be hurting yourself, always having to take care of someone else even when you're the one who needs caring for? Or, does it matter at all, as long as you know you will always be with them? This movie makes you think and it touches you whereas most movies fail to. This movie makes you think about possibilities and most of all what love means to you. Amazing only begins to describe this movie, seeing it will warm your heart and make you feel good.

***The above and the review below are written by guest reviewer, Lupe Jaccobson, age 13, and author of My Grandma Has A BlackBerry.

The Time Travelers Wife

2009-08-26T15:16:00.000-07:00

This movie is many different genres packed together. Not only is it about time traveling but its also a love story, and somewhat of an action packed movie. The main character of this movie was a time traveler, he could narrowly escape death by traveling to a different time and place before even being touched. He could also go back in time and visit people.

Time traveling as we found out comes with many set backs, such as he can't control when he goes on these trips, and he can't control where to. Though this movie is a creation from a book, (that I didn't read) I thought it was well done. The settings, and the scenery were fantastic. Although the movie didn't come out with a good ending, it was well thought out and produced, so I urge you to go see it. Not very realistic, but if you need a break from reality, or something to think about, The Time Travelers Wife is a movie you should definitely consider.

The Personality Factor

2009-06-11T18:30:00.000-07:00

Somebody sent me this and I don't know who to credit. Sorry. I will surely credit the author if I find out. This is just too good.

JL
ENTP

THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES

2009-05-26T07:44:00.000-07:00

"You are just another unemployed war hero." This might have been a line out of a modern day movie but it wasn't: it came from the classic 1950s, The Best Years of Our Lives, when America, fresh from the "big war" was trying to figure it out. A really great movie with all the issues of what it means to start over.

The same issues that soldiers face today are the same ones they faced then--the struggles of Reentry, getting back the check book, and fitting in. And then there were the hastily conceived marriages born of desperation, soldiers going off to war and not knowing what tomorrow brings.

The story is built around three reentering servicemen who meet on their way home. Unlike present day soldiering, these men have not been gone for months, rather years

The three bond and although not as likely as the movie presents then, they still hang together in the context of the story. Dana Andrews as the bombardier with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) called "shell shocked" back then. A sailor, having lost both hands, is the second emotionally scarred serviceman with the third of the trilogy being a banker who was a top sergeant in the war but now confronts the cruel banking system where promises to vets is more likely scrapped than made. One issue then is tight credit for veterans. Sound familiar.

In the end, it all gets resolved. Dana Andrews calms down and finally gets the right girl. There's some questions, never answered on how he became an Air Force Captain. But, it's the movies. Our sailor finally accepts who he is and the people who love him. And, our banker, although maybe drinking too much, does the right thing.

A wonderful movie that is as relevant today as it was then. Let's hope that the modern American society has learned the lessons of living up to the promises made to vets but I doubt it.

ANNIE

2009-03-16T07:11:00.000-07:00

The President and family would do well to spend one evening watching Annie. Here could be his theme song, The sun will come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar, there'll be sun tomorrow. Just thinking about tomorrow, so you have to hang on till tomorrow. Come what may. Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, you are always a day away.

If I were him, I’d do the version of Daddy Warbucks with Albert Finney and Carol Burnett. It was precious with Daddy Warbucks as a Republican tycoon and FDR’s New Deal.

Annie the orphan believes immediately and Daddy Warbucks, the selfish business tycoon follows, won over by the naive and ultimately pure Annie. The scheming potential parents of Annie represent the Wall Street tycoons and selfish money grubbing bankers. It all ends well as our crisis will even though we are not the same as before but wiser and better.

WE'RE REALLY GOOD AT MAKING MOVIES

2009-02-22T09:11:00.000-08:00

Making good movies could be the best thing we have going for us. An example is surely, The Reader. One fine movie. I had planned to see it but went also on behest of my degenerate buddies who couldn’t stop talking about the Kate Winslet sex scenes and constant moaning about where was a woman like that when we were teenagers. Silly us, the movie was only slightly and I do mean slightly about the Kate Winslet’s involvement with a young boy of 15–the sex is almost beside the point. .

The Reader is really quite a story. The movie holds you. The boy does lots of reading to Hanna, Kate’s character. It really doesn’t become clear until later down the road what the “reading” is all about, hence the movie title.

The intimacy ends. The movie moves on. In a kind of happenstance, the adult character played by Ralph Fiennes, now in law school, witnesses Hanna’s trial as a Nazi war criminal. Obviously, as a young boy, he had no idea and now faced with facts known only to him, he has a choice to make regardlng her. Basically his ethics are overwhelmed with collective German guilt over the holocaust and the fundamental question that still haunts the Germans: how much did they know? He fails to do the “right” thing. Down the road, he attempts to make up for it by again becoming her “reader” and that is basically all I can tell without possibly giving away the movie. SEE THE MOVIE.

Is it the best movie of the year? I don’t know but for me, it cements again one thing for sure that Americans are good at: making movies. A very complicated and unweildly story and yet these movie makers succeeded in tying together a very cohesive, pensive, and timely story. I would like to have seen a couple of things more fleshed out, i. e., did his emotional involvement with Hanna affect him in his relationships down the road. The implication is yes but not sure. A good movie.

Editorial Comments

2009-01-31T08:02:00.000-08:00

Recently, I communicated with a free lance editor with these comments. My guidance is be an editor or what I would think one would be. Don't worry about money, rewrite where you think it should be (I can accept or not), do the grammar, spelling, whatever. The front material is not numbered. And, the beginning is really a teaser story to paint the picture of what readers can expect: a family where nobody is ever a stranger. Also, look for consistency and repetition.

Sue Knopf, who always puts Airborne Press stuff together, does some editing but as I've said often, most writers who may be the only ones who think they're writers, have a style and so to maintain that is also important. Most anybody can put words on paper but to communicate is another thing. I still get feedback on GTC, a memoir, Gun Totin Chaplain). And, that which is meaningful is when someone says, "Reading the book was like sitting down and talking with you. "

As we know, the book business is so convoluted that no wonder it is always under attack from non readers, meaning that reading may be a dying sport for the majority of Americans. The other day I met a book packager. He told me that he has about three contracts to write books which are assured of selling well because Barnes and Nobel has their own publishing arm and they will simply make the book do well: all their stores, prominently displayed, all the stuff they have to do. I actually have one of his books, a picture book, well done and sold according to him. 200,000 copies. It sold as he said, because of his pipeline. This is not sour grapes, merely what is. Without justifying, as an ADD type, I am very clear on what I'm doing and what I want, at least in this area. Thus ends the commentary.

GRAN TORINO

2009-01-24T08:01:00.001-08:00

Gran Torino is terrific and different than what we would think. Eastwood is somewhat Eastwood but is an old codger, cranky and grumpy to the max--so thankful that I am not that way and please Lord, help me not to get that way. The basic story is that the Hmong mainly take over Eastwood's old neighborhood. The Hmong are not a country but a people, much like the Montagnards, both were terrific allies in Vietnam. The sad thing as the movie points out: so many of the Hmong (and other immigrant groups) have been affected by good old American culture, meaning you can do what you want; in this case, most of the young men chose gangs. The girls go to college and the boys to jail (this was actually said in the movie).

Clint's wife is dead and he has next to no relationship with his two sons. A young priest is constantly hounding him as per the instructions of his dead wife. Eastwood's language, especially the non PC stuff is hilarious. And, the neighbors, a Hmong family, take to him and inadvertently he helps them and is then subject to their customs. Reluctantly, he comes to grips with what it means to live next to a culturally different group of people. He bonds with the young girl and her brother and begins a kind of journey to keep the gentle young Hmong boy out of gangs.

The title, Gran Torino, was very symbolic and represented the fact that Eastwood was an auto worker for all his adult life, minus his military stint.

Although I really enjoyed the movie as a different take, what often happens to me is that I wish they had explored other areas, i. e., why was he such a bad father. And, as was slightly referenced, as a combat vet of Korea, suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) even if he didn't name it; still, true and how much did that effect his crouchedy nature.

This movie evoked in me what I always feel when I read or see anything that relates to our sorry involvement in Vietnam. What if we had never interfered in that country? How would it have been. This is not to disparage any of us who served there. We were soldiers and did what we were told. But, think about it. These kids in this movie had to deal with their fellow countrymen who have become gang members. An American phenomena, there's an entire culture wrapped around the gang life. If these youngsters had stayed in Vietnam, not subject to American culture, would they be better off? In the movie's case, the gang members were going to end up in jail after they had wrecked havoc upon their own people.

Because I have a friend who has been very involved with the Hmong in LaCross Wisconsin, I decided to indulge my own curiosity and wrote her this email: I told her about the movie and then said, The Hmong are such an interesting people and I immediately got out the book you did for The Pump House, this non profit in LaCrosse Wisconsin. It is such a good book, Hmong Lives, From Laos To La Crosse, a wonderful history and tenacity of a people transplanted to our Shores.

My question to my friend, how are the Hmong doing in LaCrosse? Here is her answer. My impressions is that the Hmong people in La Crosse are doing pretty well. I see a lot of kids on the "high school student of the week" page in the paper, and the Hmong Community recently redid a large building (formerly a big supper club) as sort of a community center and also a place to hold gatherings like funerals and have classes. They have huge, long funerals--several days long with people coming from far away. Some of the children of the people who originally came here are grown up and starting their own families, typically much smaller than the families they were raised in. A couple of years ago, when the Thai refugee camps closed, another wave of new Hmong people came to La Crosse, but this time I think many were sponsored by relatives who already lived here--when the first group came, people from local churches sponsored them and helped them get places to live. I see Hmong names among Realtors, pastors, teachers.
Sue Knopf, book designer, Graffolio, LaCrosse, WI.

Sue's response makes me feel better and I guess that the question I always asked is simply unanswerable. See this movie.

MECHANICS TOOLS

2009-01-15T12:39:00.000-08:00

Recently, I received a promotion from a writer. I always want to encourage but could only think, "talk about someone in for a few disappointments." But, he is an example of how us lessor lights who love to write and want to make some impact have to do: self promote, self promote, self promote. I admire persons like this in a sense, as they are willing to do it. I don't have it in me so to satisfy my need to write, I stick to blogs, etc.

I do get lots of emails from wonderful folks, especially my age (retired from a real job) or close, who love to write, who, email the Airbornepress website wanting to see if we will publish their writings. They have wonderful stories and want to be an author. My suggestion is that they have to do it for themselves; but, if they expect to get a reading from some big publisher, it is going to be lots of rejection. It is simply the nature of the beast. But, if writing is just a hobby as it is for me, maybe they might be better off getting some mechanics tools. I am always kind.

With this writer, even though naive, I don't think he needs much encouragement and has a "pair" of them. AMEN!!!!!

INTUITIVE

2009-01-07T08:36:00.000-08:00

I write to process my thoughts, to make sense out of my “conflicted” world. I do not think I have the stamina nor the gifting to write anything new. I am a high “iNtuitive” on the Myers-Briggs scale :-o (Oh no, Mr. Bill!).

I appreciated Paul Tournier’s approach on “thinking and hearing.” He said he always had a paper and pen to process his thoughts, even in his times of silence, “… through the words in my mind or through my inborn unconscious faculties, the recipient of thoughts that come from God.” (A Listening Ear).

Like I quote to my students, “I have never said anything original or profound in all my life.” (author unknown).

Everything is borrowed, only restated db

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRES

2009-01-04T08:08:00.000-08:00

Slumdog Millionaires is a riveting movie. But, it ain't as my buddy says, "a feel good" movie. The only "feel good" aspect is what movies can do, if they desire, "they can make anything happen they want to happen." In this case, it was "feel good" at the end where the Slumdog wins the prize. I know, I know, I have given away part of the movie. Not really as one thing is evident: the risk of the Slumdog (great acting by the way) is a philosophical thing: if he lost, he really was only where he began anyway. Meaning of course, that if we have no "real" risk, it's easier to risk.

The movie was good on many levels. The techniques of the film in flashbacks was especially effective, I thought. The flashbacks peeled away the mystery of how a kid from the slums could know answers to trivial questions. The knowledge went way beyond the scope, even of those with advantages much less a Slumdog.

I always liked the American version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire even if the stakes were considerable higher in these; the contestants (or anyone for that matter) could be tortured. The term, slumdog, is pretty telling and thought provoking in itself. The sad fact kept running through my head as I watched--there are really kids who live the life of slumdogs in horrible and squalid conditions.

My daughter asked me whether it would be OK to take her teenager to Slumdog Millionaires. Absolutely. A great teaching opportunity. This is life for kids in many countries and the "teaching" lesson is how lucky to be an American--a fate of birth. Our absolute worst is far better better than the "slumdogs" of the world. We should be so thankful.

Just as an added benefit, the movie maker slipped in a couple of digs at Americans: overweight and thinking that throwing money at a problem will solve it.

See this movie. The Little Miss Sunshine of this movie season but more sober. Three parachutes.

THE BLUE ZONE

2008-12-19T15:59:00.000-08:00

The Blue Zone is another in the book genre of healthy living. This is my category, more or less. Two of my favorites among scores of the same type of books are The Denial of Aging by Dr. Muriel Gillick and my favorite health guy, Dr. Andrew Weil and his 8 Weeks To Optimum Health. I like these two because Dr. Gillick tells it like it is and the best philosophy goes to Weil. I especially like his idea of compressed morbidity. All of us at some late age if we take care of ourselves can hope that our end time will be short.

The Blue Zones are places on the globe where there is a discernible group who have aged to a point that they are living long and good lives. And, their life styles are measurable. In other words, they have lived a certain lifestyle which have made them vibrant and alive and living long and well. It is what we have heard: exercise, what they eat and drink, their interaction with their fellow human beings. This is a fairly simplistic view of the book.

The author has developed the book into a scientific journal with the collaboration of other scientists on the science of longevity. The Blue Zone is a literal place: Sardinia, Okinawa, Loma Linda, California and Costa Rica. I've read and now rereading.

I must confess that I recently had the opportunity to spend time with several older types, several 90 plus types that I have no doubt will make it to at least a 100. The question with them is not The Blue Zone type issues of your life style but how did you make it this far and do you want to go any further. These are philosophical questions but those that fit our society at large much more than questions of The Green Zone. Most of these have had multiple operations, maladies galore, suffering the insensitives of old age bigtime. Several had canes or walkers, about half still were driving. Most were still living independently with several in some type of home as opposed to house or apartment. Several had hearing problems and were noticeably having trouble getting around. I had a good bit of trouble engaging them in meaningful conversation about what brought them to this point in their lives. Why? I don't know.

Read The Blue Zone. It can't hurt. I read the dust jacket first and I can tell you that it did not live up to its hype in terms of formula: know why? There is none. I think personally it is philosophy. Somewhere along the way, you kind of develop a view of how you are going to live and that is as important as exercise, eating right, whatever. All of this is so intangible but insight into yourself cannot be overemphasized as you age. And, here is the rub; I don't quite see it in the older people I meet.

My models were a seminary professor, Dr. W. W. Boyce. I can still remember his insightful views toward life, not only in the classroom but sitting out on the little bench at my seminary, Erskine, in Due West, S. C. His wife had died early on and was sick before that: he nursed her and made taking care of her, his life. He never remarried and had the philosophy that he wanted to devote the rest of his life to his students. When he taught me, he was about 80. In fact, while I was in his class, the school decided to retire him. We objected vehemently and threatened a demonstration which would have been unheard of in our day. They relented.

The second model was an older woman, at least 80 or so when I knew her. I was a busboy at the college cafeteria. She constantly solicited info from me about my life, my future, any and everything. At some point, she decided that she wanted to invest a small amount of money, like $200 dollars per month in helping me. At that time, I had about four jobs and her gift meant I could quit a couple and devote more time to my studies. It was a Godsend to me and the only stipulation, which was self imposed, was that I reciprocate at some time in the future in helping others. I have and rarely do it that I don't, to myself, say this is in honor of my dear friend, Nonnie (I never learned her real first name: her last name was Kendrick). Now, with Dr. Boyce and Nonnie, how did they get that way? I don't know but I know this, their philosophy of life reflected an attitude that just didn't happen.

THE LAST TIME I SAW MY FATHER

2008-12-09T10:05:00.000-08:00

The Last Time I Saw My Father is one of those relational movies that seem to more or less cover the same theme. Although British, decidedly American in outlook, meaning lots of “navel” gazing. We are the best at attempting to figure how how we got to be who we are.

Are we hopelessly screwed up because of Dad or Mom or whatever. I use to love to quote author Tom Harris from his book, “I’m OK, You’re OK” from the seventies. This is an aside but I’ve always wondered how the theory of Transactionsl Analysis, fell out of favor with psychological theorists or did it? Regardless, I haven’t heard it mentioned in years. Harris said something like: “It is pretty sad if I think I am what I am today at 40 because my Mom hit my Dad with my potty chair on Christmas eve, in Cincinnati.”

This movie is a little like that. I kept wanting to say to Colin Firth, get over it. Jim Broadbent did a good job of portraying the less than insightful father with an outsized ego. Firth played the “hang dog” looking son even as a teenager.

What I did like about the movie was the fact that it dealt with reality about as well as movies do. Americans would have probably tried to tie it all up in a neat bow at the end. With the way the Brits handled it, gave us more of a chance to coginate our navel. 2 parachutes

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AMAZING GRACE

2008-12-04T10:43:00.000-08:00

A very unusual and pensive movie. Must have gone directly to video and I don't know why. The story is so intense that getting it on a movie of two hours is pretty tough. They got the basics: one man's passion for doing away with the slave trade in his native England. It was the driver in his life. What a wonderful thing to have a passion and never give up. And, I might add: to have a forum, a pulpit, to get the message out there and to actually change things. As an aside, I will admit that there was some wishful thinking on my pet cause of National Community Service but without much of a chance to make a difference. And, can anyone think of anything more terrible than trafficking in human souls. Well, asking a few Americans to fight our wars is not far behind.

There were lots of nuances to this movie, the protagonist's sickness for one thing, probably chron's disease. Then, there was the song, Amazing Grace, the power of the hymn was simply overwhelming.

Some things weren't totally fleshed out as well as they could be but OK. It sure struck me, although subtle in the movie: the English slave trade was greatly enhanced by the Americans. And, it surely didn't escape me that America, who practised the slave trade and helped others do it a little more than a hundred years ago has now elected a President, who, very well may be descended from slaves. God bless America, we are still trying to get it right. Good movie, 2 parachutes.

UNTIL THE RAINS

2008-11-15T08:48:00.000-08:00

Before the Rains is one of those movies that slipped under the radar. In fact, it was so far under that I'd never heard of it. It is a British movie, I think. Are there British movies?, other than Masterpiece Theater of which I'm a huge fan.

The basic story is a tale of India marching into Independence. However, this is a back story told incidentally through circumstances by way of an entrepreneurial tea farmer who makes stupid personal and emotional decisions. The consequences of his bad judgement are amplified through enormous cultural differences.

I can't tell much about the story without giving it away. However, the teaching aspect of the movie was something I had not expected. The clash of cultures was so obviously transparent with unintended consequences that jumped out at you big time. If we ever had any doubt why Iraq and Afghanistan will not work, see this movie.

The India culture in Before the Rains, although different than Iraq and Afghanistan, display the same tribal and Klan mentality. So foreign to us. The sense that we can't understand it is the understatement of this movie and underscores it over and over: the "stoning" mentality of a culture locked into the stone age. Although this sounds like a put down, not from my view, it just is and we simply can't understand this mentality--not a judgement, just from our perspective.

A good pensive movie that makes you sigh and think. 2 parachutes.

APPALOOSA--An Ethereal Movie

2008-10-27T14:33:00.000-07:00

Appaloosa is no Lonesome Dove but having said that, it was a good and enjoyable cowboy movie. All westerns have pretty much the same theme. There's a bad guy or guys who run rough shod over the good folks. Then, there's a good guy who, against unbelievable odds, takes on the bad guys. It is good vs evil and as a rule ends in a gunfight and some sort of finality. I LOVE WESTERNS.

Most of the time, there's a woman. In Appaloosa, which was the name of the town, all the elements were there. Both Ed Harris and Viggo Mortenson were perfect for their roles. They remind me of characters in the Ayn Rand novels, "individualism at all costs."

The movie did something that movies rarely do, explore the relationship between men. Mortensen was an articulate former West Pointer and Ed Harris was always out to improve his mind--themes usually not pursued in westerns. With this one and Lonesome Dove, my favorite, to include recent Westerns like Open Range, good dialogue appears to be as important as gun play.

The female played by Renee Zellweger hit the mark, exploring relationships with some of the best dialogue ever. Ed Harris says about Renee on praising her qualities even while recognizing her less than stellar character, "She is clean, takes a bath everyday."

There are way too many nuances in this movie to fully explore, less I give it away. Mortensen understands quickly about Zellweger's philosophy, "If you ain't with the one you love, love the one you're with." She is headed toward choosing a more powerful and rich former bad guy played by Jeremy Irons. Mortensen knows a woman like Zellweger and understands what will happen in the relationship with Harris, his sidekick. For his old friend, Harris, Hitch (Mortensen) performs a final act to secure Virgel Cole's (Ed Harris)) relative happiness.

Good movie, check it out. Two parachutes

LOOKING FOR THE LIGHT

2008-10-17T17:27:00.000-07:00

City of Embers is an amazing movie about a city underground. This city is working only because the generator is keeping it up. But when the generator starts to shut down.....enter the problems.

The city came about because the world had gotten so evil that to preserve it for future generations, it had to be underground. The creators of the city had created an entire set of keys to allow a mystery to be solved to get the people back to the light. This was the premise for the movie. This idea was slightly confusing but not a great deal unlike many mysteries. It took two teenagers questioning the common thought to find the answers to help the people to the "light", and to find a way to exit the city without hurting any one.

When they put together the pieces, it all becomes clear; and they found a way out. This story is good, a little unbelievable, but still good. It kept your interest. The two teenagers played their parts nicely and worked together to find the answer. I got some things out of the movie, mainly, not to give up or just accept the status quo if you think something isn't right. I had to laugh at the end as a monster ate the evil mayor who was only interested in himself. We never quite figured out where the evil monster came from. I think you should go to this movie, with children under the age of 13. My little sister would like it.

Lupe Jacobson

THERE ARE QUOTES AND THEN THERE ARE QUOTES

2008-10-17T17:23:00.000-07:00

I MARRIED LATE IN LIFE, AT AGE 41. MY HUSBAND WAS A PROFESSIONAL MAGICIAN WHO WAS HYSTERICALLY FUNNY AND INCREDIBLY TALENTED. I WAS LUCKY TO HAVE FOUND HIM. WE WERE MARRIED ALMOST 10 YEARS BEFORE HE DIED. I MISS HIM A LOT.

Susan C. Schwab, United States trade representative as quoted in the New York Times.

GOOD WRITING IS WHAT READERS SAY IT IS

2008-10-10T12:59:00.000-07:00

The Nobel Prize. Where is mine? I cannot get this. On occasion, I read something about writing and prizes and it makes me smile. Awarding of the Nobel Prize is one. What makes a good writer of the Nobel prize calibre?

What is Nobel calibre? Damned if I know and doubt that the Swedes who award the prize know either. Is a good writer who they say it is?

To them maybe but not necessarily to the reading public. And, they are about as objective as some right wing political commentator on Fox News. For years, the awarders of the Nobel selected only Swedes. The fact that the benefactor of the Nobel prize was from Sweden and all the judges were Swedish--think that influenced them? I'm smiling. There are eighteen judges for the Nobel, all Swedes and they serve for life.

The last American to win was Toni Morrison. I like her but hardly think
she was the best writer in America when she won the prize. And wonder what part political correctness played in her selection. I don't even know those who have won or not won but can bet the house on this: none of the ones I like have won. How about Louie L'Amour before he hit the road or Ayn Rand. What about myself and the thousands and thousands of writers who keep toiling along waiting for their just rewards.

All I'm saying is that a good writer is who the reader says it is. When people asked me about what I'm reading, I can tell them based on what I like. I determine my own Nobel Prize, without the money of course.

Mrs. Paltrey at the Claremont

2008-09-30T07:26:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Paltrey at the Claremont is a more sane and slightly acceptable film than one it is compared too: Harold and Maude. Joan Plowright is a terrific English actor: superb is more like it. She shows up at the Claremont, a hotel for those getting old, put out to pasture and out of the way mostly by family. In a happenstance (this is the great thing about the movies, they can put together a good story: not so easy in real life), she has a fall just as a young Renaissance type guy happens by. They have instant rapport. He becomes her "make believe" grandson, replacing an unresponsive one; and, the adventure begins.

Great characters and good story and a chance to think about getting older and our responses to our own older loved ones. 2 parachutes

TWO WEEKS

2008-09-18T08:25:00.002-07:00

Two Weeks is the second movie I've seen recently that deals with death and dying. Let's face it, we all die.

Two Weeks attempted to convey how four siblings dealt with the death of their Mother. Having seem the movie, I am still trying to figure out how well they did. With such a weighty subject, a Director would have to be unusally talented to do justice to it.

This movie would be ideal to have student discussions around, all the way from undergraduates to med school. Not only the subject but the characters and their depth or lack thereof, would lend itself to ample comment.

As this family struggled to come to grips with the Mom's death, the family dynamics left something to be desired. And, of course, as viewers, we get a chance to observe the dysfunctional nature of who they are. Sometimes, you just wanted to say, "grow up."

It is hard to say exactly what made this picture so unsatisfying. Unappealing characters? To be fair, I think the movie tried to do too much in two hours. Americans are so impatient and have the attention span of a tree.

Sally Field was great. She pretty much carried the movie. I liked the way they did these little vignettes with her on camera, not penetrating enough, however. I'm glad she's back at work in TV. I've felt that she got way too much negativity from the "they really love me" parody when she won an academy award. Oh well.

Even with reservations, I still recommend this movie. See it, two parachutes.

RIGHTEOUS KILL

2008-09-18T08:25:00.001-07:00

Righteous Kill is one of those movies where everybody gets killed but the director. Al Pachino and Robert DeNiro play themselves. And, to me they are always delightful. And, in this movie, being reasonably objective, they are.

A good story with a twist or two. I think that the basic premise of the movie is something all of us mull from time to time. We would like to see the bad guys really get it. Those heinous crimes where the evilness of man emerges: the college student kidnapped and killed, the drug dealers who destroy lives, on and on--they get to court and get off or slapped on the wrist. Well, in Righteous Kill, there's a final justice for these low lives. Kind of reminds me of the TV show Dexter, a righteous serial killer who has his own way of taking care of the bad guys. Instead of saying, "the person should be killed," we say, they should be Dextered.

See Righteous Kill, it, at least, will take care of your vicarious need to see the bad people get it. 2 parachutes.

TELL ME A RIDDLE

2008-09-18T08:25:00.000-07:00

Tell Me A Riddle is a movie mostly about the finality of "age" in crisis. There are so many nuances that simply cannot be conveyed in a two hour movie and consequently the viewer is left to guess lots of things. Hands down, however, if you are someone like myself wanting movies to have some redeeming purpose, this one does.

The story is about an old Russian emigrant couple at a stage of their lives where decisions have to be made about their futures with the wife soon to go on to her rewards. Selling the the family home is kind of symbolic of change. The wife doesn't want to sell and move to an assisted lining facility. The husband is gruff and comes across as a patriarchal insensitive type but not really. The children seem a little flummoxed about the whole thing. In a kind of peculiar happenstance, they end up with a granddaughter in San Francisco, every visitor's favorite city for it's beauty at least. The granddaughter is a nurse and I guess is the reason they end up with her. She has her own dilemmas which adds nothing to the story, however. The dying mother has flashbacks to her time in Russia, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) type flashbacks. Interesting movie. I liked it. Two parachutes.

LONGSHOT

2008-09-05T15:43:00.000-07:00

Longshot was an outstanding movie about a girl who was bullied in school. Her father left her 5 years ago and her uncle is the only one who has time to take care of her. At first he is an annoying uncle who won't leave her alone, but as time goes on they start doing little things.

The Uncle was playing football with a couple of friends when he drops the ball at her feet. Jasmine (the niece) picks the foot ball up and throws an amazing pass back to her uncle. So he starts passing and training her to tryout for the boy's football team. She gets really good, so after the coach considers it, she is finally put on the team, but is never played. When the Browns (the name of their team from Milton) were losing by a ton, the coach finally decides to put her in. They win that game. Jasmine gets her team all the way to the Superbowl for the Pop Warner League. In the last minute, the team loses.

This is a movie about a girl going through stress but is able to pull herself together through a game. Jasmine and her uncle go through a journey where they learn more about themselves and each other. It teaches a great lesson that you can be what ever you want to be when you grow up. I strongly suggest that you should see it.

Lupe Jacobson, age 12, guest reviewer

AGE WELL

2008-08-30T07:02:00.000-07:00

As we age, there appears to be certain things we do. And, as a disclaimer, I dislike the expression, "getting older" as it inevitably becomes a part of our mantra, i. e., we read the obituary and give special attention to people younger than us who have gone on to their rewards. There is often a "pain of the week/day." And, we are tempted to ascribe most things to age. Well, without charging into an overwhelming philosophy, let us say, simply, WE AGE. And, for most of us, quality of life issues are first and foremost the important issue. One of the problems with us is that we want to continue to do what we've always done but simply cannot and facing this is no easy prospect.

Into this mix is an interesting book, Age Well, which basically spells out what we already know: we are indeed getting older. DUH! What was useful especially was the naming of the aging process which was helpful; 60-74 is the young old. At this stage, we are attempting to stay as healthy as we can. Then it is 75-84 which is the old old; often illnesses are multiple; then the last category is the very old, 85 plus. The secret according to the book is that we work to stay healthy and as we do, our growing older years become more of a fade to darkness rather than the lights being turned off.

The book is chocked full of good stuff and cited studies. I especially liked the approach that much of how we age becomes a function of personality. It really is a "glass is half full as opposed to half empty philosophy.

Dr. Robert Palmer is the head of the Geriatric Medicine Section at Cleveland Clinic which according to the cover is ranked as one of the top hospitals in the country. I don't know about that but I can fully endorse this book: it especially fits someone who loves to see things by the "numbers"--If you do these things, your chances of remaining healthy are better. Good, good guide for growing older.

FROZEN RIVER

2008-08-28T07:51:00.000-07:00

Frozen River is one of those movies I chose on the basis of a review. I don't usually do this as reviewers like Ebert and Roepert are way too clever for me but whoever this reviewer was described the lead character in such a way that I had to see the movie. And, I was not disappointed, either. She was great as were all the actors, none of which I had seen before.

A compelling story in the hard scrabble life of people in upper state NY. I saw the license tag. Weather is cold and miserable, relationships tenuous and troubled. Not a scene in the movie to make one smile; although one
of an ethical dilemma made me sigh in satisfaction.

I can't tell much more about the movie less I give it away but in an odd sort of way, a celebration of Motherhood. What I came away with was a renewed realization of the haves and have nots; the chasm is enormous as this movie so aptly displays. An underbelly of survival which should make us "haves" somewhat ashamed or at least reflective. If I were to say that anything in our country had changed over the last several years, this would be it: the disappearance of pluralism in my terms: not a strict definition, rather a belief that it is the responsibility of the Haves to make sure that the have nots are not abandoned.

FINDING NOUF

2008-08-02T09:45:00.000-07:00

Finding Nouf is one of those books that I am thinking about weeks after I've read it which speaks tons for a book as far as I'm concerned. Reading a book such as Finding Nouf is a great way to learn history and culture and this one did it for me. And, without badmouthing Saudi, well, I guess I am; but being joined at the hip with a country socially mired in the Middle Ages in light of our own culture and dependence on them for oil is disheartening to me. The author appears to be more kind to the Saudi culture than I would have been, i. e., I just read where the religious police now are confiscating people's pets as this might force men and women to acknowledge each's presence. Please! All that aside, I found this book delightful. A page turner that taught me a great deal. It sounds a little snobbish but when this book appeared on the San Francisco best sellers list, it confirmed my belief that when I read the books on the list, I an not disappointed.

I would be less than candid if I failed to admit that the scalding review on this site actually encouraged me to read the book. My experience on Amazon is that the readers are never as personal as this reviewer appears to be. I had to think, "what is this reviewers agenda?"

Since I always order more than one copy of a book, one went to my adult daughter. A voracious reader, she thought it was simply grand and kept calling me trying to entice an answer of "who was the killer?" Now, this is what a book is suppose to do. I've learned history, confirmed my prejudices about how backward Saudi is, shake my head that we have invaded probably the most secular country in the Mid East and all of this insight because of a really super book. I love this book and cannot recommend it enough.

BEYOND THE RICE PADDIES

2008-07-31T16:20:00.000-07:00

Over the last several Years, I've made it a point to asked all the Vietnamese I've met their views of being in America and if they had a chance to go back and live in Vietnam, would they? Rarely have I found one who would. And, I might add my informal research has included a good number. My barber, for instance, was thrilled when I told her I was going to my Vietvet reunion a few months back. She joked: tell all those GIs about me. What she meant was tell them how successful I am: and she is--owns three full service shops, i. e., manicures, facials , etc. Her view: in America your success is limited mainly on how much you want to work; (sounds much like our parents, not present day Americans); two kids in college, living the American dream. Maybe a little overboard by present American views but pretty inspirational to me, not to mention the lesson we might need to relearn. "If I want to go back to Vietnam, I can go back on vacation," she says. A view!

Why am I insistent on asking these questions? Here's what I think it
is: guilt! I want to think that somehow for all the suffering we caused,
some good came out of it. The presense of the successful Vietnamese in America may salve a little of our guilt, especially if they are like my barber. (Vietnamese are probably the most successful immigrant group in America).

Along that line, I've just finished this sweet and charming little book about the Vietnam war, seen from a child's viewpoint, Beyond The Rice Paddies. The author was a small child when us big old Americans were trudging through her village. I always wondered what the people felt as they were watching us. Then, especially after I had been there a few months and realized the futility of what we were doing, I hated it and felt bad about our actions upon the common people especially (wonder how the Iraqi vets will feel in a few years). In Nam, the villagers were just trying to survive and had done nothing to deserve this. Sure, there were probably some VC (Viet Cong, the insurgent group), hiding out but we didn't know.

When I heard about the book, I immediately ordered a couple of copies. All Vietnam vets should read it, guilt or no guilt.

A TEXAS FUNERAL

2008-07-22T10:12:00.000-07:00

In keeping with a philosophy of watching weirdo movies, A Texas Funeral, is right up there. However, it made a good point or points about many things and did what movies can do if you watch them in this way: instruct and provide lessons. The movie portrayed most of the stereotypical views of the South, running the gamit from the romanicism of the culture, which is mostly myth, to being a hotbed of right wing Christians. Somewhere in the middle are most of us. For us slow talkers, the yankees of New York think we are stupid while the gays of San Francisco love us. Go figure.

What I liked in A Texas Funeral was the typical view on African Americans of the Sixties. The AA character in A Texas Funeral was a Vietnam vet who had some clever lines and did a mockery in the bathroom mirror of some of the stupidity of his white friends. The movie should be seen merrely for that scene if for no other. ***

***The below is taken from the soon to be published, Brothers, a memoir of five brothers growing up in the South from 1920 to the early sixties.

It is really hard to know for us where the racism issue was. For one thing we had little contact with blacks but we had much affinity with them. Anybody who says that “class” doesn’t exist in the American society of our upbringing or now for that matter is at best out to lunch or worse, disingenuous. For us, the informal class system was probably the land owners, the Landlords, who were usually one and the same; the merchants or maybe any of those that “lived in the better sections of town.” And, then there was us: the proud poor. After them, came maybe the white trash of the White Line and, sadly, of course, were African Americans.

The one thing we knew for sure was that the bottom of the food chain were the blacks. But, honestly, we didn’t think about it. When we do think about those times, we realize that there was something that united those of us on the bottom or close to it. Poverty. When you are poor at any level, you are poor. I will have to say this though: we never used the “n” word or talked disparaging about those that might be considered lower than us.

Our world view probably left a lot to be desired but in a sense, we were part of a survival generation, attempting to make life work for us without lots of cogitating our navel very much. I guess we knew a little about world events and things like women getting the vote, flappers, and the biggie, prohibition. Outlawing alcohol brought on the era of the bootlegger and we had family on my Mom’s side who were right at the forefront of making sure the “drink” was readily available. We never called it moonshine or anything for that matter but those who did, called it “white” whisky."

One advantage to being poor if there is such a thing is that the survival mode plays itself out as the big world events escape you because you either have been denied participation or simply didn’t know they were going on. Take the crash of 29, didn’t do anything to us as we were as poor as you could be anyway. For those above us, it meant people were having strokes, jumping off buildings, and other sorts of acts of desperate people. It was the beginning of the Depression—no run on banks for us.

WRITING A MEMOIR

2008-07-13T08:16:00.000-07:00

Recently I went to a book signing of a young author (Finding Nouf: Zoë Ferraris, ISBN: 0618873880) and when she was talking about her book, someone asked her, "Did you ever consider writing a memoir as opposed to fiction?" Her comments were very revealing: something like, "I tried but discovered it was too hard, mainly because of my issue with the facts. I wasn't sure what I remembered, if it was correct, how others saw it, so I gave up and decided to make my book fiction." Extremely honest!

A Friend of mine, whom I'm encouraging to write her own terrific memoir (A friend has already given her a great title, Do you think God will ever set you free and let you fly?) sent me these comments: I just read an article by Abigail Thomas entitled "Everyone Has A Story To Tell" - are you familiar with her? She said to write a memoir, just cultivate the habit of listening to yourself.

Also, that writing is the way she grounds herself, what keeps her sane (maybe that's how you feel??) She says sometimes all you have to do is open a jar - the smell of Noxzema takes her back to 1957. I understand smells, fragrances, bringing back memories. I bought myself a gardenia plant last week - the smell reminds me of growing up - we had a gardenia bush in our yard - magnolias are the same for me. Funny, what one remembers.

Back to the author's comments: A memoir is not a place to get revenge or to appear angelic or to cast oneself as victim. A memoir should not be self-serving, even accidentally. We're all full of contradiction and conflict - we have evolved out of many different selves. A memoir is one way to explore how you became the person you are. It's a story about how you got here from there.

I've thought a lot about this - guess there are things that I know my grandchildren need to know, but maybe many things they don't need to know - and, I don't know how one can write and not express feelings - old wounds, loves, hurts, the happy times (it's all in there together) - and, how do you leave certain things out?? I admire you and others who write - it's a complicated venture. bjb

POOR ASS PARENTING

2008-06-29T11:11:00.001-07:00

Talk about a book, just finished one called, While They Slept. I read the whole thing in one sitting. It is gruesome in some ways: in the mid eighties I think, this teenager killed his Dad and Mom and little sister, only leaving an older sister still alive. He beat them to death with a baseball bat. Sounds great, eh? Well, what the book is about is not only that event but everything that led up to it; the sorry, sorry parents, the abuse, the incest sorts of stuff; and, kids attempting to survive in that environment.

But, it is also about the writer who did this story. What were her motivations? What was she out for? Her interpretation. And, a remarkable thing is that the oldest, Jody, a daughter, has reinvented herself, educated, now has a high position in D. C., I think; but, she cooperated in the writing of the book. Absolutely a page turner and intriguing.

What amazed me is how many people these kids involved along the way to get help; teachers, social workers, etc.; all dropped the ball, some of them so blatant that it is simply astonishing. What I came away with is the idea that society is so at fault, especially our American culture and the way we handle our view of not getting involved. Here these kids have bruises, etc. and it is as though they are invisible. Amazing.

Two movies I've seen recently echo the same sorts of themes, yet not the violence: poor parenting in particular. Savages is about a sister and brother who are somewhat dysfunctional, to use that overused word, but appropriate here: they are surviving mostly well but with all sorts of issues--the older son, a college professor, the sister, a would be playwright. Laura Linney and Phllip Seymour Hoffman, probably close to the top if not the top in their skills, are the brother and sister team. Great job! The tragic figure was the father as this brother and sister have to get involved to get him in a nursing home. The father has not aged well; probably an a'hole when young and worse now. Along the way, the brother and sister have trials and tribulation and in a sense, cope as best they could. And, they find some connection with each other. Although some might say, the film was oppressing and depressing. Not for me. Many lessons to learn, very pensive.

The other film is Diminised Capacity. Matthew Broderick, Virginia Madsen are former sweethearts. Story is about this family trying to figure it out, cute story. Matthew Broderick is coming out of the fog from a concussion which means he has trouble thinking. Virginia Madsen, the former girlfriend of Broderick who left their town for the big city, is seeking her own place in the world. And, at the center and somewhat of a subplot is a rare baseball card, very valuable. However, the true scene stealer is Alan Alda, who is missing a few steps. He is struggling to keep it together while knowing that he is slowly losing it. Good movie to see and discuss. We should not be afraid of these topics and as Philip Seymour Hoffman points out in Salvages, "Denial is our worst enemy." Three parachutes for these movies.

Shuttering the Doors

2008-06-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

The venerable Cody's book store in Berkzertly has closed. It is a household name in the Bay area and I read the obituary with a certain amount of sadness. However, sometimes things seem obvious in business but are hidden--nothing reveals this more than the demise of Cody's. In almost 25 years in this business, what I see is that bookstores, to include independents, have been hostile to small publishers. In tooting our horns, we bring many good books to light that would never make it without us. Bookstores cater to the big publishers and those they think have a reasonable expectation of selling. They display them prominently, usually getting paid by the publisher to do so, ethically questionable, in my view. So, what do small publishers do? We go to Amazon that welcomes us, teaches us how to promote our books and more than anything levels the playing field. Once our loyalty is there, we promote Amazon in all sorts of ways to the demise of stores like Cody who wouldn't have us.

EVERYBODY HAS A STORY

2008-06-21T16:46:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was talking to a fellow professional and was encouraging him to write his memoirs. He said something like, "You (and he named several) have written your stories. There are already too many books and why would I want to add another one to the collection." I know the thinking, you walk into a book store and think, "who is writing all these books?" But, still, what thinking! In his case, since he is a clergyman, it is almost like saying, all the sermons have been preached and all the revelations revealed. Please!

I have another friend who is a wonderful writer, and I have encouraged her over and over. Her correspondence, mostly these days with emails, are treatises and good. But, she continues to resist. Her life, is a wonderful memoir: orphaned in a sense as a small child as her Dad, in a drunken rage, killed her mother. Being raised by an Aunt, who was close to Cruella de ville but good in a way too. Much of her life of pain and pleasure and today one of the most positive people I know. Even in the midst of the ultimate tragedy, a beloved son with enormous promise took his own life, she has soldiered on--an inspiration and a sincere one. She has a story.

It is so sad that more don't write memoirs. I think that the media and the book business in general often discourage would be writers. They have it all wrong with their idea of what makes a good story. Simply, everybody doesn't have to write block busters, not many of those anyway. A Memoirist merely wants to tell her story in the hopes that it might encourage or inspire someone else. How about this? Leaving behind something for your grandchildren is enough of a reason.

GORE VIDAL

2008-06-18T16:49:00.001-07:00

Once at the grocery store, I witnessed an older women take the last item of something, almost right out of the hands of another shopper. Her comment was something like: I'm old and I deserve to have this.

I've thought about her comments often as relates to age. I surely don't believe that because one is older, they have a right to say and do what they want. But, I will have to admit that occasionally it is kind of refreshing for an older type to just "tell it like it is." In an interview with the often called, Literary Lion, Gore Vidal, the New York Times Magazine printed his candid, humorous, uncensored comments.

I'm not a fan but will have to say this interview was hilarious. He bashed John McCain and discounted his POW experience. When asked about being related to Al Gore, he said that his Grandfather, Senator Thomas Gore, invented the state of Oklahoma, obviously a reference to Al Gore inventing the Internet. When asked to comment on his colleague, Bill Buckley, who died this year, he said, "hell is bound to be a livelier place, as he joins forever those who he served in life, applauding their prejudices and fanning their hatred." This is my favorite comment: "at the age of 82, you will be publishing your new collection of essays this week, which seems likely to confirm your reputation as one of America's last public intellectuals. Why do you think that critics have traditionally praised your essays more than your fiction, which includes, Burr, Myra Breckinride and 20 other novels." That's because they don't know how to read. I can't name three first rate literary critics in the United States of America (as Barach Obama says). I'm told there are a few hidden away at universities, but hey don't print them in the New York Times.

And, seems appropriate his views on gay marriages. "You live in California, where last month the State Supreme Court overturned the ban on same-sex marriage. As someone who lived with a male companion for 50 plus years, do you see this as a victory for equality?" People would ask, how could you live with someone for so long without any problems of any kind? I said, There was no sex.

"Are you a supporter of gay marriage?" I know nothing about it. I don't follow that.

"Why doesn't it interest you?" The same reason heterosexual marriage doesn't seem to interest me.

GOT TO LOVE IT

WRITERS DIGEST SELLS HOPE

2008-06-15T07:29:00.000-07:00

And nobody understands more than me. I have been a subscriber for at least 30 plus years. How long has it been published? Dang, if I know... But, let's face it, writing magazines like WD sell hope which isn't a bad thing but readers would do well to accept the inspiration with somewhat of a jaundice eye. My view.

And, let's face it, there's no profession quite like the writing one. It is impossible to say the least. For most of us, we ought to be out selling cars or something; no, we have about as much chance at getting one of the "big boys" whoever they are, to publish us as winning the lottery. I don't know the odds but the lottery might be a better possibility.

I get the Digest and sit right down and read it. As a bonafide ADD, (attention deficit disorder) if I don't, it will languish among the other projects. My reading is to see if there are tidbits, something I might pick up. This time it was an article on marketing, right at the end by MJ Rose, a best selling author. Every writer who appears in Writers Digest is a best seller. I hear you!!!!!!!!!!! Regardless, interesting article and a couple of tidbits, one was her last paragraph which made me smile: "if you are still reading, you'll understand why a lot of people say I'm a never ending source of depressing information." And, part of her never ending source of depressing information is an earlier statement: "marketing a book is difficult in the era of what I call, 'choice fatigue.' There are approximately 500 books published every day in the U. S. and the competition among publishers for attention from the bookstore buyers, the reviewers and the readers is more than intense. It borders on the impossible."

I will give it to the Digest--At least they let someone say the realistic. Read her article, very insightful. I am a voracious reader and simply know what I like which is a broad section of nonfiction. What also her comments reinforced for me is that there are some aspects of publishing that are inherently unethical, I think. For one, the idea that the publisher pays bookstores for strategic placement of books appears simply to be not right. And, it is why I buy most of my books from Amazon. At least there is the perception that the playing field is level.

All the above to say, "Don't get discouraged." You have to write for yourself and that is no small thing. A friend of mine said he would not write his memoirs because there were already too many books. How absurd! It is like saying everything has been said, seen, experienced. Please! Give me a break. What I discovered with my last book which happened to be a memoir was that after returns, I had books to give away--it has gotten my story out which was by far the important thing to me.

So, suck it up and if need be, give Writers Digest the one finger salute or simply say, F... 'em!!!!!!!!!!! Next case.

The 5th Draft

2008-06-14T07:08:00.001-07:00

I do not put that note of spontaneity that my critics like into anything but the fifth draft. John Kenneth Galbraith

WHAT DRIVES WRITERS CRAZY

2008-06-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

I just read two books that the NY Times Style section profiled: my favorite subject--sex. It is titled, Yes, Dear Tonight Again. It has to do with two books, both having to do with jump starting marriages that are almost sexless. The books make the claim that they are getting it on every day, one for 365 days and the other for a hundred straight. Now, everybody who believes this, "raise your hand."

But, very interesting--the books are titled 365 Nights and Just Do It. I think there's merit in the books but let's face it, these sorts of books just don't happen--in this case, just so happens that one author was a marketing type and her best friend an editor.

Here's my point of what drives writers crazy: I read a similar book by a therapist, at least 3-5 years ago. And, the sex was a prescription for married couples, often troubled ones. But, nobody ever read the therapist book, other than me and one other; yet, here these two books get great press. And, the poor therapist, unless she is saintly, is saying, (am surmising this) "I already thought of all of this, was there first and why didn't my book get coverages?" Well, it is the writing life.

I do think that the authors of these two books are onto something and it should be self evident, at least to me; sexual intimacy in marriage is incredibly important, especially in a marriage of longevity. There is something about writing about sex as essentially an experiment which makes me question a little--probably my NC upbringing. There is something about sex which is sacred, and I guess that the intimacy of it tends to make me think it is private and not shared. But, that is just me. Nobody has been clamoring for my opinion anyway and I don't even know any editors.

BUFFALO SOLDIERS

2008-06-11T07:44:00.000-07:00

WONDERFUL MEMOIR. This is a wonderful book that illustrates in a sense what a chance that Amazon gives to writers. It may not be as polished as some and maybe could stand a little editing but it does what a memoir should do: tells a story. What needs to happen in the publishing world is the encouragement of those like this author to get his story out there. I wish I was not ADD, had some business sense, and was not so far along in my own life, I would make a point to find those like Ollen Hunt and help them get his writing out. The flip side of the coin is that he didn't need my help but there are those who do. Let's encourage them, at least. The following is pretty much the review I put on Amazon and on the Airborne Press website.

I knew about the Buffalo Soldiers from military days at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. What I most liked about Buffalo Soldiers was how very personal it is. I read it at one sitting and then thumbed back through my favorite parts. And, in a sense, it is only partly about Buffalo Soldiers who have contributed greatly to our history--often have not gotten their due--also about the rich life of the military.

I love memoirs and especially when they are so personally written. What the author has done is tackle issues that African American soldiers have faced and put a new face on them. And, better than any book I've seen in a long time, he shows us why the military has been so good at integration and how far they are ahead of the civilian community, even to this day, on racial issues and equality. Very simply, the author points out that the military sees people as people and are colorless. What a beautiful way to look at it.

Ollen Hunt has lots of wisdom if this book is any indication. And, he was in the military during such interesting times and witnessed history, i. e., the Nurnberg trials of the Nazis.

In reading the book, it affirmed what a rich life the military provides. This memoir does what a memoir is suppose to do: provide a perspective that makes the reader glad that he's in a world with an author like Hunt. I'm going to order several copies to pass along to friends. A delightful book that deserves a wide readership and thanks to Amazon for giving authors like Ollen a level playing field.

THE WAY IT IS

2008-06-06T06:53:00.000-07:00

As I am constantly a student of writing, I have something to share. To say writing is my hobby is an understatement: six blogs and two websites. Recently, I read this interesting letter to the editor. Apparently, it had to do with an article in the NY Times Magazine about self publishing, POD (print on demand) and a very decided view. It is so "right on." Here is a portion with apologies to the letter writer as I am using this without his permission but I have a suspicion he wouldn't mind. He used a couple of words I'm unfamiliar with: sclerotic and superannuated

...publishing is still a closed community with a sclerotic farm system that develops talent in a very restricted way involving students, their professors, agents and editors. But must good writers come from the academic writing pool? Obviously not; the great didn't--Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Bellow, to name a few. The potential pool of remarkable authors consists of people who are not part of a superannuated system, are not celebrities and do not write for fame. They write because they are passionate about the written word. They are the voices lost in the muddled middle who spend five years writing a novel and seek the same opportunity for survival as traditionally published authors. They may sell 200 books, or 200,000, or only one, but now they can, at least, be read. DP

GETTING PERMISSION

2008-05-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

An author recently wrote about the difficulty of getting permission to reprint quotes, etc. Mainly she was having trouble getting up with authors--they would not respond to her queries. This always ticks me off, assholes, you would think they took some page out of Truman Capote's love of self. Anyway, in thinking about it, I mainly sent this reply and thought that maybe some might want to see my approach. And, my answer is right out of my personality, ENTP.

Jean, this is a crazy sort of thing getting permission. You can spend lots of time on it. I chose to thank everybody in the world, if you'll look at Phil's poetry book: Rhymer IN The Sunset and, I think it was where I said, "I might have missed getting permission and if I did, I would acknowledge in future additions."

Granted, my approach is somewhat laissez faire with the idea that I didn't have anything (meaning money) anyway and so why sue me. Or, I would not callously do things, surely not intentionally steal someone's material. I personally think authors are too sensitive. You would think that they had discovered a cure for cancer and wanted to keep it to themselves. Still, I would do the best I could in acknowledging other's works. With a book like yours, I don't see where there would be difficulties. If there were, you simply say, "sorry" I won't do it again. In Flanders Field, I think it is in the public domain.

And, as I have looked at writings, I think there's a pretty broad spectrum of approaches. For instance, a very famous author wrote a book, (many of these famous authors don't write the books, they just lend their names to them); in one particular book with him as author with somebody else who probably wrote the book--they absolutely took at least a half dozen quotes from my book, Gen William C. Lee, the Father of the Airborne, word for word. Some of them quite lengthy. Nobody ever asked my permission and basically, I could care less. Needless to say, most don't have my attitude. Sorry I can't be more helpful.

KITE RUNNER

2008-05-04T09:35:00.000-07:00

Last night I saw Kite Runner, had read the book. Fascinating movie. The book was better but good story and a decent movie making job. And, made me realize too that where we need to be putting our emphasis is Afghanistan, not Iraq--in Afganistan, we have a chance to save a culture.

The story is pretty compelling and woven in it are the intricacies of growing up in Afghanistan, choices that adults make that effect our lives. And, it did give us some cultural glimpses which was very good. My wife says it was slow; my daughter countered with too much middle. There were a few things missing; the mother, how they got to America, the ease of going back to Afghanistan and getting out again. A heroic driver who is amazing in helping the protagonist accomplish his mission in Afganistan.

Then there is the history stuff: if you've seen Charlie Wilson's War or read the book, I think you would be more conscious of the Soviet invasion and how it all played out. There was one scene when the father and son were escaping to Pakistan when a Soviet seeks to have his way with an Afghan woman carrying a small child. The father of our protaganist refuses to allow him to shame her and is willing to pay with his own life. See this movie, read the book.
2 parachutes

MY BROTHER RAZ

2008-03-20T07:49:00.000-07:00

I will never forget the day that my brother Raz went off to war. It was one of those blustery days when you just imagine it the same way when Jesus died. My brother’s leaving was everbit as bad. We had known it was coming for months. When Pearl Harbor happened, we all knew instinctively, even if nobody voiced it, that this was going to change our world forever.We surely didn’t think of this change in global terms, just within our family.

My brother was bigger than life. To me, he was born an adult. The rest of us were all trying to figure it out, but he was already there. He immediately tried to join up since he had been in the National Guard. Every week, he would go to town for drills. They didn’t even have guns, but I heard him telling Dad once that he felt like he was doing something.

Raz was only 16 in 1943. Mom insisted he finish school which had only 11 grades. The morning he was leaving, his two best friends, Marvin Slaughter and Jake Raynor came to the house. They all seemed to be excited, but I remember the family was very sad to see Raz go. I was trying to keep from crying and Charles was boohooing and Sis was sobbing like her life was over. Mom was being strong. Dad, as usual, was silent. We all knew this was supposed to happen. The world was being threatened; and, if it could be saved, our brother could do it.

We watched them drive down the dusty road, turning right and then disappearing up the road toward town. Sis stood at the mailbox by herself still weeping as if her heart was broken. It made us cry even more. She kept saying, “Hurry up and write, hurry up and write.” It would be months before we heard anything.

Later on, we discovered he was at Camp Perry, Virginia. He wrote this letter:
Dear Sis: This is going to be short as we just got some paper and
pen from the Red Cross to write on. The trip to Camp Perry was
on the train and we were crammed in like sardines. I lost track of
Jake and Marvin, don’t know what has become of them. I was in
the middle seat with two rather fat guys. One of them was from
Roanoke Rapids. He said it is in North Carolina but I’ve never
heard of it. He could talk, nonstop all the way. His Daddy owned a
hardware store and he was a clerk he said. And, now he’s headin off to
kill Japs. I hope I’m doing the right thing. I’m thinking about all of
you and the crops. Tell Corb that he has got to step up and make
sure that Charles and Hop pull their load. I don’t worry much
about Charles, he’ll toe the line but you know how your younger
brother is. He’s more apt to hide than work. But, he’s little and so
I guess we can’t be too hard on him. I know that my going is hard
on Pa, but he’ll move right on. I will miss the cookin something terrible.
Tell Aunt Gertie to send me some biscuits. I’m just kidding. I
don’t think I’m going to care much for this life till maybe I get to
me a ship. Take care of yourself and you better not get married till
I get back home. Your brother

Here's another one: Sis, sorry you haven’t heard from me for awhile but I haven't had a moment to myself for the last several weeks. I just got my ship assignment. We’re getting ready to start training on it. I can’t tell you the name of it as my Chief said the Japs might get a hold of it. (Raz was on the USS Gage, one of 117 attack ship, sometimes called Victory ships). Tell everybody hello and I’m missing you all.

And another, Sis, we are out to sea now. I don’t know when you will get this but a day never goes by that I don’t think of all of you. Life is pretty hard on board ship and yet you kind of get use to it. Do what you’re told and just put one foot in front of the other is what I do. I’ve heard tell that some of us might be taken off and put with the Marines. We picked up a bunch of them and when they get off the ship some of us might be Marines. I would volunteer but there’s a rule, don’t ever volunteer. Our work is pretty routine though. I got all your letters and can hardly believe how hot it has been and all the rain. How much did the tobacco bring? Was Ma able to get the new wringer washing machine that she wanted? Tell me who has been coming to the house for the Sunday dinners. I’m really missing them. I bet you’d think I was skinny as a rail if you saw me. This is not the best chow in the world. Are you still thinking about being a teacher? I hope you don’t get married till I get back home. Write and tell me the answers to all my questions.

My brother Raz had a very interesting and challenging military experience in World War II. The brothers loved to hear about his "war stories" and adventures. Afterall we were back home pondering what our eldest brother was up too. Here are a few of brother Raz's memories:

Every time I go to a reunion, although there’s only four of us left from my old unit, some of them discuss the old time battles which I tell them I’ve never heard of just to rattle them: When I tell them I don't remember, they just smile. All vets can tell some tall tales. I use to tell our folks I don't see why anyone else needed to go to war—with our record we won it. Here’s one for you.My outfit was in Guadalcanal getting ready for the invasion of Okinawa. We had already run the Japs away from that part of the world. As 17 and 18 year olds will do, they had their mind on woman. It didn't matter how they looked. One night as we were enjoying the nice cool weather, 138 degree temp, a band of locals came by checking on the troops who had invaded their territory. Apparently they were not afraid of us because they had several women with them. At least I guess they were women, as they didn’t have any tops on; and, suddenly, I was transported back to sneaking looks at bare breasted women in National Geographic.The women were not going to make the cover of Playboy whatever that might be— a bone in their noses and a thin piece of cloth around the middle. The warriors had some sort of head dressing, also a bone in the nose and the body covered with a loincloth. Most of us kept looking at the women, trying to figure how anyone could get excited about such females. The captain was able to communicate with them assuring them we didn't intend any harm. After the cruelty of the Japanese, I am sure we were a blessing.

I was standing guard at the edge of the perimeter with an old boy from Texas while the Captain was talking with our visitors. In typical Texas bragging fashion, this guy knew all the answers to getting hold of some of the women. When he approached me, I told him to “forget it, not me.” Even though the testosterone was rampant, I was not that stupid. Besides those warriors were carrying spears, and I was sure they knew how to use them. He kept tal king and continued to run his mouth. The Texan claimed that the women left in the camp of the warriors were pretty, eligible, and would welcome us with open arms. To hear him tell it, we could casually walk over and have us one glorious night. After all, we hadn't seen a woman in two years.

Being a young fool and against my better judgment, I decided to go with him. As we slid through the thick jungle, he continued to build up our case. Soon we came to the huts and began to peep in them. Just as we rounded a corner of the hut, a spear came by my head, followed by a warrior yelling at the top of his voice. It was like a horror movie. I lit out as hard as I could run, several of those warriors were on my tail. I dodged and ducked until I could spot our Camp. By this time, I had lost the warriors. Secretly, I was hoping they had either captured the Texan or stuck a spear in his rear. No such luck. He got away free, the warriors only spotted me. Without saying anything, later he confessed he saw them before I did and hid. The captain found out about it and restricted me to Camp for the rest of the time we were in Guadalcanal. The Texan claimed to be innocent and told the captain the only reason he was there was to go get me. I decided then and there never to trust a Texan!

Guadalcanal is in the Solomon Islands, northeast of Australia, and doesn't get much of a footnote in history. However in World War II it was essential to controlling shipping lanes between the US and Australia. Japan was eager to build an airstrip, and the US was eager to stop them.

Our brother Raz was right in the thick of it and faced some of the most difficult fighting in the Pacific. Corb found this brief account: “The main battle for this God forsaken place is about over but we still have pockets of Japanese all over the Island. Some of them are trapped according to our Captain but still are lethal to the natives and us Marines assigned the impossible task of mopping up these bastards. The cruel Japs can still command bombing attacks with awesome firepower. While asleep as a small patrol or in Camp, we constantly hear, "Jap bomber!" Then comes the whistling of the in-coming bombs. Japanese troops on the island who were harassing us were not many in number. However, they used their mortars to keep us on our toes and to enact a few casualties at a time. This was constantly nerve wracking."

THE CRAZY BOOK BUSINESS

2008-03-18T09:05:00.000-07:00

My advice to anyone in this crazy business is: "As a writer, if I were you, I wouldn't be planning on retiring on book sales."

Supposedly, only 40% of Americans read a book last year. What is really weird is that book publishing is estimated (this from article in NY Times) will bring in $15 mil this year. 408 million books will be bought this year. And, according to the article, a survey conducted by some outfit called Ipsos found that 27% of Americans had not read a book in the previous year. However 27 percent read 15 books or more (I would estimate that I read, for instance, about 35 a year, not to include portions of books that I peruse); so, I guess there's hope.

Get this, 8 percent read 51 books or more a year. And, I guess that according to the article, a sizable minority does not read but it is balanced out by those who read alot. I would say I buy at least 50-75 books a year and so the idea that only 40% read books is a little statistically false. However, they are not reading my book. So...

IN MOURNING

2008-03-10T07:11:00.000-07:00

The Wire is over. This is like a death. I've been watching it for five seasons and last night was the last episode. And, this morning, I am a little in mourning as some of my all time favorite characters are out of here. What has made it such a good show is that it is an arena that most of us don't have a clue about; inner city blacks, life, corruption, politics at the street level, etc. And, the show is peopled mostly by African Americans. I learned lots and was able to asked a couple of people who know, "Is this really the way it is out there?" Answer. Yes.

Each of the five seasons focused on various institutions: schools, politics, labor, the press: wow. I don't want to tell more than you care to know and make it a penguin story: (this little girl received a book from her grandmother about penguins and her mother kept hassling her to write her grandma a "thank you" note, Dear Grandma, thank you for my book on Penguins but it told me more about penguins than I care to know." ) Someone like me can often turn something into a penguin story quickly.

The Author of The Wire, David Simon and his writing partner, a retired Baltimore Policeman seem to really "get it." Simon didn't have the ending all wrapped up but pretty much left the culture in place: the drug dealing, the corrupt or self serving politicos--there was an implied ending, much like Lonesome Dove, if you are a fan: kind of flash backs, picture portraits: some making it, others not, the anti-heroes.

One of my heroes in the beginning ended up like all politicians, disappointing. Carcetti, the Mayor, where politics is all that matters (like we have never heard that before)is not interested in a better Baltimore, only one that looks better. Carcetti and Gavin Newsome of San Francisco remind me of each other. Instead of out getting "pot holes" fixed, they are trying to get to the Governor's Mansion.

The protagonist if there is one, McNulty, finally, along with Lester, his somewhat mentor opts for justice over truth. Some of it happened. Most of the characters are appealing and all of them stick in your memory. If your ears are virgin or prone to sensibilities involving language, The Wire is rife with the F, MF, and the N words--be warned.

The Wire, however, should become an American institution in terms of knowledge itself. And, I think that the best way to watch it, although I didn't but a friend suggested this: rent a whole season and watch. OD on The Wire.

THE WRITING LIFE

2008-02-26T08:01:00.000-08:00

Every month when I get Writers Digest, I always love to kind of critique it. The April issue is chocked full of goodies, in a sense, even if I do just smile at much of it. I've been a subscriber for 20 plus years for sure. All of these writing magazines and books are pretty much the same. Holding out hope for us "would be" writers, with only a small chance to make it, whatever that means to us. To me, it has always been a hobby and now with the internet, I only have five blogs and a couple of websites.Somewhere along the way, it became important to me to write for MYSELF. I became a publisher, etc. to further that idea.

One article this time was a little on the humorous side: what if you are over fifty. How about sixty or seventy. The concept is that you can just about forget it. The young writers are the ones making hay, getting he big bucks, etc. true in a sense as the publishing business is so f..... up anyway but I guess what I always want to do is encourage writing. If it is in you, regardless of the age, WRITE. In today's world, there is a place to publish and that is no small thing.

I always do get fascinated when I read where some twenty year old has written some best seller, whatever that is; how can anybody at twenty know anything. But, they have imaginations and for me, it is more power to them. Still, the fact that us older types can't get an agent, some publisher who is interested, doesn't mean we don't have it: the secret is writing it truly for ourselves and the rest follows. My view, anyway. Plus, have a day job because that is where you get those experiences to write about. Good luck!

WHY IRAQ HAPPENED--The Myers Briggs Type Indicator

2008-02-24T07:19:00.000-08:00

My first exposure to the Myers Briggs Type Indicator was in 1977, way back in the dark ages while I was in the military. Otto Kroeger, who is probably the foremost guru, of the theory came to do a workshop at Fort McPherson, Georgia. I was a young Major and truly didn't know my posterior from anything. And, reluctantly showed up at the seminar. As it turned out, it was a turning point for me in my life's outlook to say the least. In the military , I was always on the outside of the mainstream. I (ENTP)would be in a group and it was magic "group think" but I was not there--never seemed to see it like everybody else. However, I had become a good actor, realizing quickly that the military is built around cooperate and graduate. I was a good combat soldier but get me in the confines of peacetime and it was a struggle. By this time in my career, I had already been fired twice and miraculously escaped being pitched out of the military.

So, here was a theory that was mostly built around the idea that all of us are born with different personalities, plain and simple, not much we can do about it. This was revolutionary: simplistically, it seemed that to get to know our personality and others and to be able to get it to operate in an organization like the military would be super.

According to the Myers Briggs, you actually can be one of sixteen personalities and all of them have various characteristics, attributes and once we know what they are, we are better at knowing ourselves, understanding our personality and most important, making good decisions based on what our preference might bet. For me, I could see the possibilities. I read everything I could get my hands on and at the time was teaching a college course and immediately incorporated it into the course. This was life changing.

The Myers Briggs was based on the creditable theory of Carl Jung, the Swiss born Psychiatrist and somewhat rival of Freud. It was designed after years of research by two sisters, Isabel Myers and Katherine Briggs. The Myers Briggs could measure the conscious (as opposed to the unconscious)aspect of the personality. I thought, this is it and I'm out to sell it as this really is amazing. People can grasp this.

And, for at least thirty years I have been selling it, actually wrote a book, The Personality Factor, read by only two others beside myself. And, what I've discovered is that the Myers Briggs is a hard sell and for all these years, I have been amazed at why this is so. As an example, the Myers Briggs personality typing is applied to our present President which illustrates the Myers Briggs and its utility and may be the reason that it is such a hard sell: personality is just what it is and if there is a lack of understanding, then what use is it. Insight isn't worth a hill of beans unless something is done with it.

This could be an answer. And, as somewhat of a disclaimer, I don't know how I got the below, I think it showed up in an email but I always want to give credit. And, I found something helpful here: for the life of me, I have been unable to explain why we would be so stupid about Iraq after the debacle of Vietnam. This could be the basic reason: the President, then Secretary of the Defense, the neocons, the top generals have all but ignored the objective data about the stupidity of invading a country that has done us no basic harm, has no ties to the terrorists of 9-11, and most of all, have a tribal culture that the rational mind should avoid. However, given the Commander in Chief's personality type, then this war was assured.

**During the 2000 presidential campaign, I applied the principles of personality assessment, based on the theories of psychiatrist Carl Jung, to candidates George W. Bush and Al Gore. Forgive me if it sounds like gloating, but here's what my research revealed about the personality type of the future 43rd president of the United States:

"They are decisive and little bothered by second thoughts and self-doubt. Since [they] do not reflect very much on their errors or analyze their mistakes to any great extent, it is difficult for them to learn from their errors, and so they can become caught in a loop, repeating their mistakes." **author Emily Yoffe offered this insight.

APPLYING THE PERSONALITY FACTOR LOGIC

They are decisive and little bothered by second thoughts and self-doubt (Once having made up his mind, would not back up). Since [they] do not reflect very much on their errors or analyze (maybe not so smart, trusting too much on advisors: Rumsfelt, Neocons)their mistakes(never admit that they could be wrong. Present Commander not alone in this--when have we ever heard a politician admit to making a mistake) To any great extent, it is difficult for them to learn from their errors(persists in charging on when all objective data is that this is a fast train to nowhere), and so they can become caught in a loop,(living in parellel universes, where the evidence is overwhelming that something is not working, keep telling the lie) repeating their mistakes. (This is where someone like Condi Rice or Colin Powell have a moment in time to possibly change the course of history and choose to go along. "

THERE WILL BE BLOOD

2008-02-23T08:01:00.000-08:00

I figured I should knock this out since the Academy Awards are upon us. I saw the movie several weeks ago and it fits in the same category as No Country For Old Men; good movie, very well done and holds your attention but doesn't do it for me. I like to come out of a movie with some measure of both feeling OK, good would be better; and thinking that there is a lesson to learn. I fully understand that most go for entertainment, not me. I go as movies mirror life and I'm always asking myself, what is there to learn from this movie? Answer: not much. Daniel Day Lewis is good no doubt about it. As an early oil baron, one kind of sees how it was so cut throat in the beginning and remains the same today and yet so very human. DDL's son was merely an object to be used--how can anyone not grant mineral rights to this kind, family man who promises that once we get the oil, all prosper. NOT!

I dont' know if there is a book to compare the movie too but would like to have seen the other contributing characters developed a bit more. And, the resligious aspect of the movie was quite surprising; a very primitive, "snake handling" kind of religion that took the Scriptures literally and made them worse. What is scary is that there are people in the world like this. An eerie like Elmer Gantry type personality with less sophistication but more madness--a twist that I can't tell you about. Very interesting. Not a movie for entrtainment but one for pondering. I'm sorry that I couldn't go out and discuss it with someone. 2 parachutes

THE GOOD DIE YOUNG

2008-02-14T08:58:00.000-08:00

My sister Margaret was the oldest. She was really drop dead gorgeous and all those visits from Lonny and various others were mainly to see Sis even if they would lie about it. Margaret seemed to get those traits from Mom which meant that she was on top of most things. She had a kindness to her that seem to escape most people. Since our house was the epitome of open, meaning people in and out all the time, Margaret befriended several whose life prospects were less than stellar. One was a youngster in our one room school. He had been crippled by polio and couldn't walk. The Dad would ride him on his back to school every morning which was at least a three mile trek. Sis decided that the father should be spelled of some of the burden of carrying the youngster. Without fanfare, she announced that it was my turn and named several others to follow. When I even came close to hesitating, she grabbed my arm and with a squeeze and a look, my opposition departed the scene. Up until that time, I don’t think that I had noticed the man carrying his son.

His name escapes me and his hesitation at anyone helping him was a natural independence. Everybody took care of his own burdens. However, my sister had this way about her. It was both matter of fact and kind. What others seem to think made no never mind to Sis, she acted. She took the boy and he grabbed around my neck and off we went. The boy was probably in the first grade and I must have been in the sixth. He was light as a feather

Later on, I remember hearing Sis talk to Mom about how thin the boy was. Mom was saying something to Dad like, “Well, Raz, you have to see what we can do to help those people because Margaret says that boy is not getting enough to eat."
"You know Bertie, Margaret would take on the world if we let her” he probably said. I don’t remember any response as Mom probably fixed the gaze on Dad. All I know is that we regularly made visits to their rambled shack on the White Line and just so happened to leave "fixins" as George called them, meaning food.

The White Line was this group of houses that were like thrown together, somebody called them tar paper shacks. To be honest, I don’t know but most of them were pretty rough and the folks who lived in them were the poorest of the poor. And, I don't have a clue why it was called, White Line. The country was recovering or trying to recover from what we know as the Great Depression. People didn’t have jobs and especially those on the White Line. Margaret was right out there on the firing line wanting to do something. For being young, she was way ahead of the curve, her view was that you couldn’t help all but if someone crossed your path, God meant for you to help. And, we figured that Sis was God's agent and who were we to question. No use arguing.

In school, there was a copy of John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. The weird thing as I remember is that nobody wanted to read it as we were living it. Not so for Sis, She was a vociferous reader and got into it and insisted that she relate to us everything about the book. Poor was almost a metaphor for life especially as represented in the White Line experience. We were almost the characters in the book. As opposed to being Okies going to California, we were placed in Eastern North Carolina. Our great advantage was that we didn’t suffer the dust bowl of Steinbeck’s novel but we were as poor, just not as desperate. And, the generosity of Sis made a little dent in it all for a few. We all found it very difficult to resist her passions for helping the people of White Line and especially the “poor Rosens” as she called them.

In the Grapes of Wrath according to Sis there is one bad thing happening after another. We are listening to her thinking, what is different than here? If we could have recorded all the stories we knew they would surely add up to more than were in Grapes. The poor little Rosen boy died and it fell to us to give him a proper funeral. It was here that Sis insisted that we get Grandpa and all our Aunts involved. Not an easy thing. In those days there were plenty of tragedies. But, somehow it all came together and Dad arranged for a burial spot on a little piece of ground we had acquired by that time. I remember hearing Sis say to Mom, "tell Grandpa we can’t be having one of his long sermons. We want comfort." As I look at it now, I can hardly believe that my sister was so on top of life. After the funeral, as far as I remember, we never again heard from the Rosens.

Sis escorted me to school for the first time. I was proud to be in the first grade. Since we only had two teachers for the eight grades, they didn't have time for a lot of formality. One of the first questions they asked, "What is your name and how do you spell it?" It was understood that your parents taught you how to spell your name before you entered school. When I was asked the question, I proudly stuck out my chest and said, "Raz and it is spelled Raise." Maggie busted out laughing, “raise is not Raz." She intoned.

All of us were in different spots of the one room. Sis kept an observant eye on me She was, as I look back on it now, very protective. One of my earliest memories is of wanting to sing in the school choir. Apparently that was not to be my calling in life. I was rejected fairly unceremoniously. Maggie didn’t like it a bit and offered to help me practice. It must not have happened as I don’t remember singing in school again.

Discipline was quite different in those days. I don’t know that if it had been in modern times, I would have said I was ADD (attention deficit disorder). Today they would have given me ridlin or something but what happened to us then when we were cutting up or were a perceived discipline problem, Miss Briar would slap us up beside the head a few times. And, trust me on this, it will get your attention and you know how to be still quickly as these were no love taps. Or, a familiar ploy of our teacher was to send us out to this peach tree for a limb. We often tried to outsmart her. Forget it. Once when I selected a switch, I used my knife to notch it, carefully placing the bark over the notch. When the teacher cut down on me for fighting, the switch broke. The fire came in her eyes, she knew what I had done. To make matters worse, the rest of the boys laughed, which didn't help my situation. To say that Mrs. Briar, now there’s a name, was a woman of some girth and consequently strength would be an understatement. In this case it was a big time whipping. With that ham of a hand, she blistered my behind and slapped every boy on the side of his head for laughing--one tough woman but a terrific teacher. Once you got a whipping at school, you didn't go home and complain, if so, you got another one for misbehaving at school.

Maybe it was our almost worship of our sister or something but as protective as she was, she also held our feet to the fire in doing our work and seeing what school was all about. She was a second mother and often more exacting than our Mom. For instance, she said over and over, "one day you'll appreciate all of this." I surely found that to be true with Miss Briar. We became great friends as time passed. In all the teachers I had growing up, she taught me more than any of the others and I'll have to say that Sis was "right on" about her.

I will never forget one night that related to Sis. As I look back on it now, I can only imagine what those times were like and what my mom, in particular, went through. This is how I remember it.

"Bertie, I think Sis is pretty sick", Raz said as he met her at the door.

Without hesitating, Mom went to the back bedroom. The cover was piled high on Margaret but she was still shivering. "Get some cold water and bring it back here", she said to me. I must have just stood there as she said, "Move, boy!”

This was what she feared, scarlet fever--she was not sure but Margaret was burning up. After bathing her from head to toe, Mom pulled the rocker up and straightened the pillow that Margaret had made for it. She slid her hands along the ties that secured it to chair and probably had these thoughts: how hard it was raising children and wondered to herself if she was up to it. Looking at Margaret, she maybe wondered what her life was going to be like. Somehow, getting her kids out of this hardscrabble life had to be one of her goals but how. How do you rise above the circumstances of your life? I can imagine my Mom this way: As she sank into the chair she vowed to give more thought to the “how" once this crisis had passed.

Right now, Bertie had to concentrate on this illness. Could it be scarlet fever or even worse rheumatic fever. She checked for a rash. There was one. They would use the remedies for awhile before figuring if they had to call the doctor. There was no money for a doctor and Bertie always felt that doctors were just guessing anyway. For now, it had to be a mustard plaster.

A mustard plaster consisted of a mixture of dry mustard powder and a small amount of flour, mixed with water or egg white to form a paste. It was applied to the chest or abdomen to stimulate healing. Bertie took the mixture and spread it on a cloth and applied to Sis. For us, it seemed to be the cure all for everything. Mom probably didn't put it in those terms but she believed it promoted overall god health and who could dispute Mom.

As I remember, this seem to go on forever and we were left to fend for ourselves. At night my brother and I made a pallet and slept just outside Maggie's door. Nobody told us too, we just wanted to be close to her. The doctor came and pronounced that she had rheumatic fever. Maybe it started out as scarlet fever but became the dreaded rheumatic fever. Many had it and there were ill effects when someone recovered if they recovered. It was a sad couple of months, nothing was the same. Slowly but surely Margaret got better. She had gigantic circles under her eyes. We were only permitted to see her when we fetched something for Mom for her. Almost always she gave us a weak smile. The day that she emerged from her room was the happiest of our lives.

Mom and Dad were so happy. We were all so happy. Mom always wondered when Sis was born if all her children were going to be girls. She needn’t have worried based on the fact that so far there were two boys. Margaret was such an obedient child and there was only one incident of which I was told that clashed with that view. She was suppose to be looking after me and allowed me to play close to the fire and I fell against some hot coals. It could have been worse but she was able to grab me immediately and put a cool compress on the one burn. Today, I never see that scar that I don't think of my sister.

Margaret was gorgeous and we are talking about a head turner. I knew this because boys were constantly telling me or hanging around. She had this black hair that shined like you cannot imagine. Although she was the apple of Dad’s eye, she never seemed to take real advantage of it. Sure, she would be a little coy from time to time and nudge us into doing her bidding but she was incredibly responsible. My sister Margaret, I now know, was an "old soul."

Margaret was independent and didn’t have any real interest in boys but they were always around. Mom was constantly having to shoo them way. They would come, claiming to see one of us, but Mom would say, “yes, I know you want to see so and so” as she gave them the skeptics gaze. There was this one kid. He lived in town. We lived out a couple of miles away, based on how you got there and your mode of transportation. This guy had his own car. It was a 47 Ford roadster as I remember. It was black with a white top and had a rumble seat. He seemed pretty impressed by all that he had. It sure didn’t impress us any and I can remember us gathering around and lightly hassling him till Mom came out followed by Margaret. We scattered but not far enough to be out of ear shot on what was happening. Apparently he asked if she could go for a ride. Noway. She wanted to go. Mom said no. End of discussion.

He was persistent and one of the few times that I can remember Sis ever getting into trouble. She went for a ride. The place was icy with discussion for a few days. Dad taking Margaret’s part, Mom saying that he was not having a daughter of hers playing the role of a hussy. Somehow baby got in there.

Who said anything about babies."

"Well, it happens."

"Sure it happens but it doesn’t mean that it happens with me."

There were a few, "don't talk back."

"Well, it’s not going to happen with me."

Mercifully, the discussion ended. We were un use to conflict especially that related to our sister.

The guy kept coming around and we knew that Margaret liked him. He was smooth but too slick for me. At this time, there were three of us and we decided that if Mom didn’t like him, then we didn’t like him and would have to fix him one way or another. Plus, Chuck had seen him in town with other girls. What we were verbalizing but didn't have a clue was protection of our sister. We had a meeting. I told Chuck and Corb we’ve got to do something.

"What?"

"Well, let’s do something to his car when he comes around." We let the air out of one tire. Then Chuck offered to help him fix it for a price. He then paid Chuck to guard his car and so that ended any chance for us stopping him in that way. What to do? Chuck hit it and came up with the idea of a road hazard--we should have pattoned it. We took these log slabs as they were called and created spike like sharpened parts. When we thought he was showing, one of us went up the road just close enough to signal to put out the spikes. Sure enough after a few flats, he must have gotten the message as we didn’t see him anymore.

But, there were others to take his place. Maggie moped around for awhile I think but independent Sis was on to something else. Her interested in boys seemed to wane for awhile and that was OK with us. We were busy, things to do, a farm to run, games to be played and brothers yet to come.

Margaret and Mom eventually seem to get past the rancor and then one day, Rudolph showed up. He was older, had been in the Air Force and had all these stories to tell. He won us over immediately. Not once did he show up to "talk with us" that he didn't bring something: chocolates, the latest magazines. Before we knew it, he was in with everybody. The man would not take no for an answer.

Sis had finished school at Plainview which was a country school in the opposite direction of where we lived but about the same distance from town. I don't really know how it all came about. Margaret always had lots of friends and she joined with a couple of them to go to Plainview. I wish I knew more.

Sis took a job with the telephone office in town after she finished High School. She was a telephone operator and as I saw those pictures through the years of old time operators, my imagination says, she was one of those.

She married likeable and tenacious Rudolph. Sometimes, we wondered if Margaret really wanted to get married or if she simply just gave up. Rudolph worked at the old DeSota place in town, seems like he was the parts man. I use to go by and see him and be amazed at the beautiful cars.

Margaret was the light of my Dad’s life and letting her go to Rudolph was no small thing. They moved on the other side of town and lived close to Rudolph’s Uncle Levander if I remember correctly. What I know about Mr. Levander was that he was always dressed to the nines and had these enormous long feet. I was always amazed as was everybody else.

At some time, Margaret and Rudolph moved to Augusta, Georgia and lived in a place called Myrtle Court. I spent a couple of weeks with them one summer or maybe it was the summer. I remember making friends with some military kids and going with them to the pool. I was amazed that they could swim at such a big pool and not have to pay anything.

Two fine youngsters arrived to Rudolph and Margaret: Nicky and Ronnie. Our sister passed from this life to the next at just 37, way to young. A weakened heart from that long ago battle with rheumatic fever. Margaret, shortened on occasion to Maggie, sometimes called Sis and my Dad died just a few months apart. Yes, the good do indeed die young.

GEORGE

2008-02-08T16:44:00.000-08:00

Growing up in rural North Carolina through the depression into the early 1950s was challenging to say the least. However, it was filled with love and many great childhood experiences which hold all of us in good stead, even today. When our sister was alive, she was a big part of our existence, hanging in with us. We miss her desperately.

With regularity, we all gather around a table in some diner in eastern North Carolina and share the stories of our youth.
One of our favorites involves Chuck and George and Lou, one of our cadre of mules. To George, Lou was not just a mule, Lou was a partner, a bud, his best friend. We would just guffaw at him sometimes when he talked with her. She didn't answer, at least we never heard anything but this is not saying that maybe George did. They carried on these very intelligible conversations if we paid attention amidst our laughing. One thing that always fascinated us was that Lou would watch George and follow him wherever he went, even if she were in the pen. She would walk back and forth and watch what he was doing. If he acknowleged her presense, then she seemed to go about her business with the rest of the mules.

Lou was an unusual looking mule. She was almost red, a deep, deep tan which shined. The Mule is a cross between a donkey and a horse. This was all a mystery to us boys. We thought we had an idea of the whole sex thing. Both male and female mules have all the correct "parts" but they are sterile and cannot reproduce. We couldn't quite figure it out. Our man on sex matters was Lonny Thornton and he kept saying if you cross a mule and a mule, you get nothing so what good are they but to work. He would make George so mad. In fact, Lonny clained that Lou and all the mules came "fixed." This added to the mystery. All of it was superfluence anyway. What we knew is that George loved his mules and especially Lou.

Charles had a knack for finding buried or hidden spirits and concocked this plan of introducing Lou to white lightning. While George was delivering a drag of tobacco to the barn, Charles went into action. He poured about a quart of white lightning down Lou's throat. Lou seemed to like it. Nothing immediately happened. Suddenly, Lou began to wobble, and then fell over on her side. Meanwhile, George had returned to the field and suddenly began to holler, "Help, Help, Lou is dead.

The whole crew ran toward the mule. Lou was lying still, looked dead as a doornail. None of us really knew what to do, having no experience with a drunk mule. We stood around with our hands in our pockets, hoping Dad wouldn't show up. Then, without warning, Lou stirs. Poor drunk Lou was trying to get up. We all got behind her and pushed until she was upright and on all fours, still a bit wobbley but up nevertheless. George declared it a miracle.

Sweet naïve George knew nothing of the prank. He scratched his head, claiming Lou got too hot and threatened to tell Dad we had worked Lou too hard. At least that tattle would be better than "Hey Dad, Charles got the mule drunk." The Brothers stuck together and the joke passed. We laughed for days with the idea that Lou probably had a hangover the next day.

It is hard to say how George became the brunt of so many jokes. I think he probably knew what we were doing but enjoyed the fun, somewhat. The stories are endless. Once I sneaked out to the barn and loosened all the bolts on his favorite plow. Talk about laughing, George hooked up Lou and when he said Get d’ up, the plow fell apart. I still laugh about it.

With regularity, Dad gave us a peptalk that had a point and I will have to say we got it. And, over the years understood it more and more. It went something like this: “You boys can joke with George all you want unless it is hurtful and if that happens, you will be answering to me. Furthermore, you better believe he has taken many a step off you." We understood it. He went on, "all those times George was working in the fields while we were playing or at school or whatever we did other than work. He has never experienced the opportunity that you all will have. And, think about this when you are teasing him.” It sunk in.

ANTHEM

2008-02-06T15:30:00.000-08:00

This was a DVD which was truly seredipitous. In working on my netflix account, I read about it, paid it little attention but selected it. In the course of time, it showed up to be watched. The subtitle is, "An American Road experience." In eccense it is as though suddenly, these two recent college graduates get up one morning and say, "wow, let's do a documentary on what it means to be an American." Wow, a great idea. They gather up a camera which they might have already owned and develop a plan of calling various peeople, famous and infamous and start working the phones. Although we don't know the nitty gritty of how it all comes together, it does and we are with them on their trip.

It is a little on the amateauirish side which is part of its charm. And, following them through the many interviews is a process in itself, and very interesting. For one thing, they have lots of chuzpah. I can't remember all they interview but some of the more memoriable ones are George Stephanolis or at least the attempt, Willy Nelson, Studs Terkal (learned that he has never driven a car) and Hunter Thompson who was obnoxious and full of himself. And, I thought when he was being that way: "Well Hunter, guess at some point, you'll make the decision to hit the road." Since the film was made in 1997, before 9-11 which changed our world forever, this has to be put in that perspective. And, when it is, very, very interesting.

They tried to interview Ralph Reed, the supposedly guru of the right wing. He woudln't see them and now of course, who would want to see him, based on his history. My favorite interview was Willy Nelson with maybe Robert Redford being close behind. What struck me about both of these superstars is that they were willing to make themselves available, very, very human and enjoyed talking about the American Dream. I was very moved.

I liked the way they let the interviewee speak and just give their views of what actually was "the American Dream." And, having seen Robert Redford's Lions and Lambs, his views have not changed and he must have had satisfaction about that fact. Two parachutes. +

SPEAKING OF AUNT GERTIE

2008-02-05T11:12:00.000-08:00

Chapter 5
SPEAKING OF AUNT GERTIE

Aunt Gertie was this wonderful Aunt to die for in a way. To say that she provided many laughs is like saying the sun is rising. One among many stories of Aunt Gertie came from my former sister-in-law who is still my good friend. It illustrates what makes her so special. Her account went something like this, “I went with your mom, Aunt Gertie and a few other family members to a fishing cabin on a river down near the beach--can't remember exactly where! It was a screened in cabin—no bathroom or running water, cots for beds. It was so HOT. Aunt Gertie cut her dress off to above her knees and used the scrap as a fabric "crotch" She pinned it up.back and front. I had never seen anyone do such a thing but it seemed to work. She had to go to the "woods" to find a spot to use as an outhouse. She unhooked the "crotch" panel and squatted. Something bit her on the fanny, scared her to death. She came screaming back through the woods with the crotch panel flying in the breeze, jumped a ditch, said a snake bit her. It really didn't, just a stick that had scratched her. We were all just howling with laughter! This is what made her special as no one laughed harder than Gertie at herself.

Her presence would fill a house, not only because of her girth but with laugher and merry making constantly. She, like all my Mom’s sisters, were great cooks. Aunt Gertie’s claim to fame were her biscuits. They were fantastic and like her, large.

Long before the term came into being, she lived life large. Her church activities were also somewhat legend. The thing that set her apart and it was said that she was many a preacher’s designated attender. She could begin shouting in a flash. The thing that set Penacostal Churches apart was what they termed "shouting." The offical term is glossolia, but for outsiders it was extreme emotionalism. I was always amazed that it seemed to begin and end on cue. Aunt Gertie could be singing, listening to the sermon, praying or staring out the window and without warning, she would break into shouting and convulsing, speaking in this language that might possibly sound gibberish to others and yet seemed to have this order to it. She could be slain in the spirit which encompassed all of the above: shouting, speaking in tongues, raising her arms and flailing and eventually falling onto the floor. This could happen in a moment’s time without warning and end just as abruptly. She was something because of her size. There is no proper way to describe what might seem a minor earthquake; several women, most topping 300 pounds, jumping and shouting with the the agility of a ballet dancer. I was always aghast.

As a young boy at Grandpa’s Church, the first time it happened, I was scared out of my wits but soon it became a time of wondering what was going to trigger it. Hard to say, sometimes a great hymn, then a fervent prayer, a powerful sermon, or nothing; the spirit seemed to reside on Aunt Gertie constantly. What also was equally amazing is the fact that this was never discussed or talked about—why did this happened? What triggers it?—give us some insight. Nobody was ever asking those questions. I was constantly blown away.

I can’t remember much about Aunt Gertie’s family and will have to leave that to someone else. She was a presence in our lives that was pervasive. She would ask me how I was doing and in the next breath, launch into a litany of concerns of the world. And, then quickly without missing a breath, come right back to me and my slackness in school.

Her unusual grasp of world events was also impressive; no doubt in her mind that the Russians putting up Sputnik changed the course of the world. After all, she said, “it was predicted in the Bible.” She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Russians or at least one of them, was the Price of Darkness and possibly somehow related to the mark of the beast But, she was entirely sure that most probably Hitler was the Prince of Darkness. He's not Russian, "well, there could be more than one" she would say.

She didn’t believe in reincarnated but thought that maybe she or one of her sisters might have been Joan of Arc in another life. If it wasn't Joan, it was probably some other royalty. She said it like she believed it. And, more likely than not, she would leave us boys with our mouths hanging open. Aunt Gertie had this unusual knack of zeroing in on some subject we were studying in school or knew about to make her point.

Her craziest idea was that she said we needed a woman to run the country, given the fact that men couldn’t keep their minds off carnal things. We didn’t know what she meant. She didn’t trust the government, however, and thought that we were still suffering from the Civil war, which should never have been fought anyway she said. George, in particular, gave us commentary once she departed that was meant to debunk her views.

Aunt Gertie didn’t like her name and kept trying to get everybody to call her Gertrude, thought it had a regal sound. But, since nobody ever did, she preferred, Auntie. She secretly admired Eleanor Roosevelt but thought that she should have stayed home more but would always allow as how if she’d stayed home, she could not have accomplished as much.

Her hero was FDR and thought that our town should erect a statue in his honor or better still, dedicate a train car to him and never let it leave the station and people could go in and visit all the time.

Aunt Gertie was without a doubt, a renaissance woman, born way too early. One area that stood out above all else was her attitude about race relations. She thought it absolutely awful that we were still segregated this long after the civil war. When someone tried to call it the War Between the States, which most Southerners did, she corrected them on the spot. You better believe that Lonny never showed up when Aunt Gertie was around. Her retort was that it was a useless war fought to keep the status quo and nothing in life ever remained the same. I would listen to her with an intent that bordered on a trance. Most of the time she was talking about such issues when nobody was listening. Often when she began, people would walk away but she didn’t miss a beat. Sometimes she would look at me and say, “Boy, you get that?”

Nobody seems to to remember one thing for which only one brother claims is true. It was in fact, her most outrageous act and for which she was most proud. It occurred in Irwin, the little town where she lived for a time. Long before civil rights became a popular cause, she took her best friend, a black woman, about her age (which we don't know) to the sandwich shop and sat with her at the counter. As the story goes, someone called the one policeman of the town but when he found out it was Gertie refused to come. I never did find out all the repercussions of it but my Mom told her that she was crazy and that she was making all of us the laughing stock of the community. If Aunt Gertie minded, it never showed. As I remember, our Dad was her biggest ally, always laughing and saying that if it wasn’t for Gertrude, this place would be boring beyond all tolerance. “We ought to erect a statue to Gertie” he was fond of saying.

AN AMERICAN EXPERIENCE

2008-02-04T07:53:00.000-08:00

An American Experience is apparently a PBS programing regular. I've watched several of their shows, i. e., one recently about some guy who was the guru for lobotomies before they were deemed torture. Regardless, bringing to the public, even if a few of us are interested, gets a bigtime thanks from me.

I just watched Daughter of Danang; fascinating documentary and makes so much come alive from my Vietnam experience. An aside, in our present war, in Iraq for example, the contact, relatively speaking, with the female Iraqi population is limited. In Vietnam, not so--many Amerasian children were the result of a laison between an American GI and Vietnamese woman. And, in fact, this is the basic gist of this story which is many sided and very moving. It won the Sundance Award for best documentary in 2002. It is one of those stories that started out with you thinking it was going one way and almost predictable--a Vietnamese kids brought to America during the baby lift, grows up in America but has need to go back and find her Mother--warm reunion and discovers the complete story and feels good initially.

DIDN'T HAPPEN! Well, as it turned out, she ran head on into cultural issues with her Vietnamese Mother and the family that she left behind. And, as often happens with Asian cultures, in particular: much revolved around money. And, the very sweet Amerasian child who had grown into a beautiful American, suddenly was confronted with an enormous cultural divide. She is now married to a career Navy guy, two little girls. Thrown into this mix is her adoptive Mom, somewhat of a Cruella DeVille. The adoptive Mom, from the deep South, gets hooked into some sort of selfish modality, not all that well explained or maybe I was just zoned out. And, I think ignorance, lack of education, and basic perception, i. e., why would she want to see her birth mother when I have done all this for her? Very sad, and, this Cruella DeVille type threw the youngster out of her home at an early age. That part of the story was not explored very much but the child remained a part of the Grandma's family. Thank the Lord for Grandmas.

Another area that didn't see much action was a search for the father. Thinking in that direction brought back all these memories. See link. Good, DVD. Rent it if you want a little different take on one of the many fall outs of Vietnam. 2 Parachues.

WHAT WE DID BEFORE TV

2008-02-02T07:16:00.000-08:00

Chapter 4

God's Nefarious Characters

Two of our neighbors were Bubba Stickland and Lonny Thornton. They showed up at our house most every night during the week. The routine was pretty simple, they immediately got a biscuit from the cupboard, stuck a finger in it, making an opening and poured in molassas. Mostly without comment but sometimes, "Bertie, love your biscuits or "looks like Gertie has been here." And, she had, her biscuits were about three the size of Mom's. We use to laugh, Aunt Gertie's biscuit could last a week.

Mostly, Lonny and Bubba sat around and talked about the civil war. Sorry, not the civil war but the War Between The States or yankee aggression or how only the southerners were fighting for their honor. And, rightly so, "as North Carolina sacrificed more to the cause than any other state" Bubba would hardily state.

To say that the jargon threw in a fair bit of racism would be an understatement. It wasn’t so much tilted toward blacks rather it was just a topic of conversation although I will have to admit that no blacks were invited to these paragons of virtue prognostications.

Talking about the War Between The States seemed only right in a way. Half of modern day southerners were descendents of those who fought and one in four southern men died in the war. Lonny claimed that his great great grand Dad died and he was a direct descendent. Bubba also said he was definitely a direct descendent. Nobody could prove otherwise but it didn’t matter.

It had always been a peculiar thing that the war seemed to remain a mainstay for southerners but not for northerners until one night it was explained by Lonny. The North before and after the war started accepting all these foreigners in like Irishmen and Africans--not so many Yankees died in the war because the foreigners took up the slack anyway and were on the front lines. Trying to suggest that his reasoning seemed a little sketchy and shaky never kind of got through to him. We had heard it maybe a hundred times, anyway.

The character that we remembered the most was Royston Wallace, a local legend and some said could be the cornerstone for the book, Guiness Book of World Record. Royston could eat the equivalent amount of food at one setting that would do a family for a week. It is said that he ate 100 hot dogs at one time and could polish off dozens of pies at one setting. When he came to visit, you could hear Mom moan for a mile away. She would never think of not asking Royston did he want something to eat. He would lower his eyes and almost in a whisper say, "I think I could eat a little, Miss Bertie."

Mom was one smart cookie, however. She saved every bit of food not eaten and stockpiled it for Royston's visit. And when she set it before him, it was not just a parcel of left overs of chicken, steak, veggies but it was chicken pie or steak deluxe, she should have had a TV show. What she put out covered the entire table. We just gaped as we watched him devour it. About an hour later, she would say, "Royston, what about dessert?" Once he ate an entire Japenese fruit cake. We don't know why it was called a Japenese fruit cake, but it was something to behold: big, with about ten layers, covered in coconut, nuts, and an assortment of decorations. I don't know why she made this for Royston but she did. Maybe a test. He ate the entire cake which normally would feed us for weeks.

I don't know what happened to Royston but someone said that he died of old age, whatever that is but legendary. One of the stories going around had to do with after his death, in an autopsy, it was arevealed he actually had two stomachs. I don't know but to us kids, watching Royston was a phenomenon.

Another character than made quite an impact on us was a black man called Jimmy Sills. Dad picked him up hitchhiking and he stayed with us three months. Now, how could that be in the racist South. I don't really know other than it happened. Jimmy could sing like you cannot imagine. Dad bought him a guitar that he played from the moment he picked it up. We didn't know enough to asked how he knew or had learned but he did. And, he could entertain us for hours. One day he simply left. I saw him talking to Dad out by the road. His old valiese sat by him. Dad went into the house and brought out his guitar, handed it to him, shook his hand and he just left. We were all sad but had somewhat gotten use to seeing various ones come and go. I think I've seen Jimmy on TV a few times. His looks changed but I think it was him. If he didn't hit it big, it surely wasn't because he didn't have talent.

A POWERFUL WOMAN

2008-01-29T07:43:00.000-08:00

Chapter 3
ARE YOU HUNGRY, BOY?

You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things. Romans 2:1

When I think of our growing up years, looking at our Mom was shrouded a little in mystery. She didn't like "to talk outside the family." I don't know exactly what that means and to say she was incredibly private is way beyond understatement.

Mom grew up knowing hard work. It was a part of life. She never talked lots about her early life but there was no doubt that she was absolutely devoted to her Mother. Her Mother was teacher, philosopher and above all, long suffering.

In my Grandma's household, all the women were in the kitchen lots. It was there they were taught those mysteries of preparing food and looking after a household.

So much of life revolved around eating. Since we were farmers, food was plentiful. I think that Mom developed a belief about food and being together as she made it central to our existence. We had these rules. Always on Sunday, there was a formal meal and most evenings, everybody sat down at the table. Mom was the last one seated. And, once she sat down, nobody was allowed to get up. If something wasn't on the table, then you did without it. Woe be until any of us to asked for something. We had to have our napkin, cloth, no less, in our laps and we did not talk with our mouths full of food. Where did she get these rules?

When she wanted to zap you, it was God that you were disappointing. She invented the concept of "natives starving in Africa and look at all this you're leaving on your plate.”

I can never remember not always having food around and although it was basic—fatback meat, butter beans, white ones of course, fried cornbread, it was always there.

Poverty is a relative thing, I think: we were poor and the joke was, "The first one up is the best one dressed." But, we always had plenty to eat. And what never ceased to amaze me was that when she put out a meal it appeared effortless and could feed an Army post. The idea that there would be just one meat, forget it—three or four, chicken, steak, fatback, things that might appear to be delicacies to others, especially today but then they were simply the bill of faire. This was soul food, long before it became popular and an ethnic identity.

Food always represented an act that would heal the greatest hurt, establish the greatest control over the situation, regardless of how grave the problem might be. The question always was, "are you hungry?" Well, a little. The next thing you knew, materializing right before your eyes—a complete meal. In some ways, it might be compared to asking for a tomato sandwich in some other household. Mom whipped it up with an effortless quickness that would make a short order cook envious.

As for the track that she could stop you in with a look, to go with that was an astute perception of the world that few had in my view. Even as a youngster, I can remember thinking, how did she know that? I don’t remember ever seeing her read although there were always newspapers around and my Dad seemed to be pouring over something constantly. Maybe they were discussing all of this between intimacies, I don’t know but she knew things.

Later on, it was TV. She seemed to be watching it constantly. When I was in college, she would call me up and chew me out for not coming home more often. I would load in my old 49 Ford and get home and then after greeting and eating, she was back watching her soaps. Early on, as I was half listening to her talk about people, I would wonder, “Who are these folks?” Later on, I would discover that she was talking about the TV family as though she was intimately involved with them. And, then when friends appeared, they discussed the latest dilemmas of the Soap characters.

I don’t know what her politics were but do remember that she watched Jesse Helms religiously when he did the news. He was constantly running for office when he wasn’t. When he finally did, she got out of her sick bed to vote for him. It would be fascinating for her to be alive today with all the media and politics. We would give anything to know her thoughts.

Hard work was the order of the day. We would get up before dawn, Mom would make sure we ate a hearty breakfast and out of there for the fields. We might or might not come back for lunch, more likely no. If we ate at all in the fields, it was a country ham sandwiched between one of Mom's great biscuits, along with sweet ice tea in a mason jar. When we all piled in at suppertime, it was a table ready for a group of hungry farmers. Much of these memories are surmised as my real work in the fields came after Raz and Corb were gone. Raz to the war and Corb to a real job. Farming for the family was never considered a real job—it was what you did. If you needed to earn money, you went to work somewhere else: the mill, a store, anywhere that one could be paid the cold cash.

Leaving home was always a matter of great trauma to Mom. It seemed to be a little piece of her disappearing. When I went off to war, she lost that stoicism and was constantly dabing her eyes. She and my sister would seem to be up and down constantly to collect themselves.

We never forfeited our places at the table. When we came back, even though nothing had changed and everything had changed, our place was preserved.

Mom as a role model was simply the best even if we can only see her through our very biased view. She was fiercely loyal to her family, sometimes maybe when she should have been more pragmatic. Our Mom was the haven of rest in any storm.

She was powerful in all kinds of ways. My Mom ruled, she knew about money, where life was and how it all stood in relations to all other things. I’ve often wondered, where she would be if she had been formally educated and had even the smallest of opportunity. She was educated in the school of hard knocks and her education far exceeded that which she might have ever gotten from a mere institution.

BEING IRISH

2008-01-23T07:32:00.000-08:00

Chapter One
LIVING TO TELL THE TALE

Therefore, my brothers, be all the more eager to make your calling and election sure. For if you do these things, you will never fall. II Peter 1:10

It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.
Anne Sexton

If you do not know who you were yesterday, how can you know who you are today, and who you expect to be tomorrow? Author unknown

The Autrys were a pretty populous group and the Lees even more so. There’s lots of stories about where the Autrys hailed from. Purportedly, the name Autry means powerful. Sounds good. The name has several spellings according to one of our good cuz, Mayo Bundy. There are several towns in France named Autry, one along the banks of the Reim. Other towns are Autry-les-Grey, Autry-le Chatre, Autry-sur-June, and Autreville. For our brother Corb, this is going to be way too much France.

The most popular story for the Autrys was their Irish linage with a little twist of French. The story goes that the family was in Ireland in the 1700s and then went from Ireland to France, some to England and then back to Ireland. One account says that some of the Autrys went to England and back to France as early as 1066. There is a wild story that says that one of the Autrys showed up on the Eastern coast of NC just before the war with England. In a fit of anger, he fought with an employer because of a political argument over breaking away from England. Nothing was so precious as freedom. This distant relative supposely spent the entire war leading a band of like minded individuals fighting the British. Eventually he became the leader of the NC militia.

Another batch of Autrys fled Ireland during the potato famine where the patriarch of the family had been imprisoned primarily for his political views. They can’t seem to stay out of trouble—they were Protestant in Catholic territory and constantly on the wrong side of most issues.

It is hard to know how true this is with the fact that most people we know want to be Irish, especially on March 17. But, it does make sense. The potato famine hit Ireland in the autumn of 1845. Somewhere along the way, there’s a Captain Jim Autry, not sure of what he was a Captain, but he was on the passenger list of the ship, Columbus, that sailed from Cork County, Ireland on September 7, 1849 via Liverpool, England to New York. In New York, Jim was arrested for fighting. Apparently, many of the new immigrants were forced into jobs or tightly controlled by something akin to an Irish mafia. After a vicious beating as the story goes, Jim seemed to comply and agreed to work on one of the trash collecting companies controlled by the Irish. However, sooner than later, Jim settled scores with the leader of the Irish mafia. Something dramatic happened of which we don't have a clue but some thereafter, Jim disappeared and apparently showed up on the coast of North Carolina.

In a remarkable turn of events, in late 1849, four of Jim's brothers appeared as indentured servants to work in the tobacco fields. Jim had a price on his head from New York but appears to have been feared to such a degree that he remained free. And, the idea that his brothers were indentured servants did not go over well. An indentured servant was a laborer under some sort of contract for a period of time, usually seven years, in exchange for such things as ship's passage, food, and once arrived, accommodations. Although this sounded good, it was a many faceted arrangement which more than likely favored the tobacco growers.

A major problem was that in many cases, an indentured servant would become indebted to the future employer, who would forgive the debt in exchange for an extension which could thereby continue indefinitely. The Autry brothers who were scheduled to work in the labor-intensive tobacco fields never quite fulfilled the arrangement. From what little we can determine, they either were bought out of the servanthood arrangement or were forgiven of it which is highly unlikely. A mystery but somewhere Jim Autry played a part.

One of the big problems with Irish ancestry is that it is almost all oral. Lineages often are skewed in the process—we like our Irish forefathers. It is our story and we are sticking with it.

Yesteryear's Tales

2008-01-21T06:40:00.000-08:00

INTRODUCTION

History is mainly lived by the unknown and on more occasions than we would like to admit, the unknown in our own history. But, some things and parts of our stories are known to us, those who love them, possess their DNA, their history.

Unfortunately, history moves forward on a written record, those who might have left something. For our family, the record is pretty scant, make that like almost non existent. Our family left very little in terms of the written word. Why is simply an unanswerable question. Mostly, it had to do with the survival mode they were in. With six kids, attempting to eek out an existent on a farm, not even their own, there was no time for cogitating one’s navel. Survive is the mentality of the day.

It is mostly memory and memory from those left behind and in the peculiar way they can remember. It is someone like us asking the questions, attempting to figure it out--the way we lived our lives, if you will.

A memoir is really about an experience, in some wonderful way, putting on paper memory, interspersed with not a little speculation but just as meaningful. Part of the real difficulty is the question always: is what we are saying the truth, our opinion, just giving the facts, What! This is very hard.

Someone has said and I surely don’t know who, all writing is invention. Meaning I guess that it came out of someone’s head. What we have is some raw material and we’re trying to tell a story. Everybody has a story. Our folks surely had one and we’re trying to piece it together so we can know our story. We opt for the truth.

Our Mom, for example, was this incredibly strong woman. She didn’t dwell on such things as she was putting food on the table, nursing her kids to health and life. She didn’t think about her story. We do.

We are not out to recite actual events as much as share in our family’s experience as they saw it. And, also, it was the "times" in which they lived, which is no small thing. In our story, more than anything, there’s an experience and we’re out to capture it. If we are successful, we capture our own story. Our goal is to arrive at our family’s history which is about who we are.

Our stories are ones with meaning in capturing our little niche in one very small corner of America. It is how we lived when the mundane of the mule and horse were king and queen and mostly our world. It is also about one little segment of life which was divided by haves and have nots—the have nots made up the greater percentage of our little niche. The haves, either inherited their wealth or got it off the backs of the have nots. For us, it was a time of Landlords who owned the land and tenants who farmed it for them.

Our life situations demanded that we have a sense of humor and an indomitable will or be prepared to face a future with no more possibility than our parents.

This is our story of one family and the life they shared with their parents, brothers, sister and more kinfolks than space will permit. And, we want to tell it just so we will know. Let the journey begin.

The Book Business--Impossible

2008-01-19T15:38:00.000-08:00

Today, I get two boxes of returned books from Baker & Taylor...lots of GTC and Lee books. Ah, well. I have no idea how we are supposed to handle these...do you have to write them a check for all these returned books? And how on earth do they mess up the covers so badly, when they originally are sent to B&T shrink-wrapped? What a tough business...no wonder publishers get gray hairs! The paperwork included in the returned books tells me nothing about what to do, so I guess I'm just going to file it away in the B&T file until we hear more.

Here's a plan, let's give away Gun Totin Chaplain. If anybody reads this, send us an address and you've got it.

Yesteryear's Tales

2008-01-13T08:07:00.000-08:00

My brother and I have been working on our family memoirs for close to five years, much of it has to do with writing styles. He loves to merely tell the facts and I'm more into telling a story. Here's a story,

Chapter 2
THE FARMING LIFE

Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed, but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? James 2:15-16

The great difficulty of recording the lives of your loved ones is that whatever is written has to be relatively accurate and worthwhile and not embarrassing to them. No easy task. For instance, I could say about Dad: he was self-educated. He only had a 2nd grade education and could barely write his name. He wouldn’t go for me revealing this if he were alive but the amazing thing was that he was as skilled in math as any college math professor.

Mom was a pusher and a great believer in education. To her it was the door which would open so her children would have a better life. Plain and simple, she had one given: education rules. Translated to practical terms: her children didn’t stay out of school to harvest crops. We had plenty of drama around this issue. She was one tough 98 pound woman. She didn’t take a back seat to Dad or anyone for that matter. In a sense, we never doubted who was running the show–she never knew fear of any kind as far as I know.

This may sounds a little like grandiose worship but not so. Her children were the most important aspect of her life. One incident especially sticks out in my mind on how feisty she could be relating to her brood. As was the rule with most tenant farmers, the landlord called the shots concerning how and when the crops were harvested. The tenant was to do the harvesting which in our case, meant the children. Consequently, we couldn’t start school at the regular time if there were still crops to be harvested. Mom simply wouldn’t go along with it. We started school when the other kids did. In fact, I was witness to one particular encounter that went something like this.

“Bertie, I know you’re mad."

Nothing.

The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Mom was staring out the window. The leaves were just beginning to turn. North Carolina was coming alive, school was starting for kids and the cycle was ending and it was beginning.

Yes, she was mad. She was lightning flashing mad to be honest and she was still seething over a previous conversation that she’d had with their landlord. She never liked him anyway. So pretentious and yet Bertie wondered if it was not her. She was determined that she was going to have more for their children than she got herself. The hardscrabble life of Gone with the Wind and Grapes of Wrath sort of existence even if she wouldn't use these concepts was not going to be part of her children’s lives.

“OK, what is it?”

Here's the conversation that probably went on in her head. Well, her kids were going to school this year and not starting late as they did each year. There was cotton to pick and her kids were part of the labor force but the Landlord’s kids were not part of the mix. No way, this is not right. Well didn’t you have kids to work? Some might have but she never went along with such a stupid concept. Kids were not commodities to be a labor force.

Raz was a little tired, but what the hay, being a farmer was not a piece of cake. “I think we got a bale today and maybe have about five more in the field,” he said as he sat down at the end of the table and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Bertie, let’s have it, what’s wrong?” Raz knew his wife. A gentle woman except when she wasn’t. Now there’s a statement but he could tell when she was irritated. He thought it probably had to do with the kids. This was a battle every year. The unwritten rule was that with cotton in the field to be picked, the kids simply had to miss the first month of school and she seethed about it every year. She could be one independent woman.

“Well, if you insist, I’ll tell you. I am not having our children start late in school this year like we do every year. A month is a lot for kids to miss.”

Raz sat for a moment pondering his answer which needed to be good. He hated confrontation, especially with Bertie. When she got her mind made up, stubborn was not even close to the word. “Bertie, we got this cotton and I don’t see any way around it.”

“Do Ned’s children stay out of school?"

“Well, no.”

“So what is the difference?”

He hesitated again, this was not easy. These were probably his thoughts: She was right but when you are sucking hind tit in life, what can you do? They barely scarped by every year. Being a tenant farmer was tough. Each year by in large you went in debt for the crop that was to come that you hoped might even be enough to pay your bills. Most of the time it wasn’t and then the landlord who was suppose to be your partner really was not and the farmer who couldn’t make it, had to go deeper in debt. You were the servant, let’s face it. Might as well be a slave—the only difference in the tenant farmer and a slave was the color of their skin.

“OK, Bertie, I’ll talk to him.”

“I’ve already talked to him and he says there’s no way around it.”

“You talked to him?”

“I saw him stopped out by the road as I was walking from the garden.”

“Oh.”

She probably said lots of things to him that she wanted to say. He’d mentioned before that Dad should get Bertie under control, like he could.

Raz actually liked Ned. As a landlord, he was pretty good and reasonable. They talked with some regularity and Raz always laughed to himself about Ned’s persona of himself. He talked of being a lady’s man. His hair was parted in the middle and slicked back with a little mustache that he thought made him look like a movie star.

Ned's charm didn't work on my Mom. We started school at the regular time with all the other kids. Soon afterwards we moved. WE MOVED OFTEN.

ME AND NORMAN

2007-11-11T10:42:00.000-08:00

I messed up. I should have kept it: a note from Normal Mailer. I was somewhat sad to hear that he had "hit the road." I'm sad when anybody does. Death is so very final. For most his age, we would have said "they've lived a long and rich life." But, as a celebrity author, it's hard to know. It was all so public. Six wives! You have got to be kidding me. What was it with Norman?

Obviously, a brilliant writer but in terms of love, well...of course, he might be a little like my nephew when he was young; after his third marriage and not yet thirty, I said to him: there is no rule that just because you have sex with someone, you have to get married. I think he got it as it was his last one. Norman kept going. Six wives. Now, even William Faulkner said that a good man should have only two--Not even so sure that two is a good idea.

I did get a note from Norman, once, maybe like thirty years ago. What happened was one of these desperate writer tales: collecting enough rejection slips to wall paper a good size house. Nobody told me I was a writer. In fact, quite the opposite. I just had it in my soul. I had to write: anything, letters, various scribblings, stories so I naturally thought I must be a writer as I was writing. I decided to seek professional help. I'd been to several writing classes and workshops but I couldn't keep my mind off the other writers, mostly women; and so don't know that the workshops did me much good. I saw an advertisement in Writers Digest, I think. You could send your manuscript to an agent and the agency would critique it and then get a famous published authoer to look it over. Norman was mentioned. I sent them my manuscript and $300 (lots of money in those days). A few weeks later I got my manuscript back, marked up with a page or two critique and a note from Norman. Basically, he said, "Forget it and don't give up your day job." It was not quite that cold but close. I should have saved it. I could have put it on Ebay. Damn.

GOOD REJECTIONS

2007-09-23T11:19:00.000-07:00

I've had so many rejections over the years that I occasionally get one that I call, "good rejection." I got one recently, well, it wasn't all that good but I pretended it was when I called the agent back. She was so f...... arrogant that I wish I had told her what a big "B" she was.

But, not to feel too badly, I recently read that Ann Frank's diary was deemed by some publisher as dull. OK! Another turned down Pearl Buck's Good Earth while an agent put the bad mouth on one of my favorite authors, Tony Hillerman. She told him to get rid of all that Indian stuff. You've got to be kidding me. Funny as all get out.

One interesting story is the rejections of Jack Kerouac. We have almost made him a saint as of late but before, On The Road, hit it, he was about to be put on the slush file of history for his "frenetic and scrambling" writing. That aside, I was intrigue to hear that when he did score with On The Road, he was in Florida and had to borrow $25 to get to New York. Now that will make us wannabe strugglers grin.

WHAT WE'RE UP AGAINST

2007-06-18T06:25:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was in a bookstore, behind a very attractive lady talking to the clerk about a series of books. I chimed in with what I viewed as a logical comment, "Why don't you write your own story?" Someday I will she said. The clerk allowed as how she was writing a novel. Here were 3 of us in line at a bookstore: two are writers. Need I say more.

Why would anybody be in this business? I recently read that there were 291,000 new books published in the U.S. last year. In 2004 which is the most recent data, Americans spent 13.3 billion on 1.7 billion books. This seems alot but then again, there are 300 million people in our country.

The book business is the only one where if a book doesn't sell, it can be returned to the publisher. What a way to run a business!

Writers write because they have too--from those who make it big to those who sell a few hundred copies. If you are a writer, you simply have to write. There are more writers than readers but then again, us writers are also readers.

YOUTH REVISITED

2007-06-10T09:14:00.000-07:00

It was one of those one screen movie houses. Old, quaint and not many left around. We were early. My wife is big on getting a good seat, about half way down in the middle section. She likes to sit on the end. We were just one of a few couples, just time to get to the refreshment stand for popcorn.

The theater filled up. The movie was starting late, people were still coming in. My wife sat on the outside, from the other direction in our row came two very attractive women, twenties probably and sat beside me. I gave a furtive glance at the one next to me, our eyes met--drop dead gorgeous. My heart rate increased. I thought, "Well, not bad for an old guy, still there." The armrest was all that was between us. Our arms touched, no, they reallly didn't touch, it was the slight movement of hair on both our arms.

The movie started. I could still sense the hair on her arms, my pulse was maxed out. I was nervous. I stole a glance, she was whispering to her girlfriend. Her neck was smooth as silk, untouched.

The door flew opened and suddenly we were all over each other, the smooth neck at last mine, the bristled hair. Getting to this time seemed forever. Could we find fulfillment with this frenzy of activity--the way they did it in the movies, the throwing off of the table cloth, ripping of clothes, hands everywhere. The overwhelming passion as we ate each other's lips and mouth. How about doing it on the floor or better still the stairs like Tom Stall (Viggo Mortenson) and Mario Bello, the sexiest woman alive, in A History of Violence--the clutching now and the loss of sense. She is grasping my shirt, pulling it up over my head. My hands are free, passion, passion.

What is wrong with you, be still, my wife whispered, none to softly, "you are spilling the popcorn."

A Kiss, A Kiss

2007-06-03T18:58:00.000-07:00

I first saw John standing out by the porch staring out at the Bay. In the distance, I could see the Annapolis sculling team. I was at a religious retreat and was skipping a session. I walked over to where he stood. His glanced was simply forlorn and he said, "How's it going?" This was the way our friendship began. John was a Priest. I say "was" because in a sense he was waiting his ecclesiastical trial to be defrocked. Sad. John started out as a good Priest, I think. I liked him. We were both clergy. Before I went into the Army, I didn't know much about Catholics and even less about Priests.

John told me his story. He understood his attraction to his own sex. He was not a pedophile, he said. All it had been was kissing a few altar boys. Two or three of them came every week to help in his services. They were close. It was affection.

I'm not driven enough to speculate on all that brought him to this point. When I asked him once what caused who he was. He said, "How can I say, it is all a thousand times and places." Maybe starting seminary at 13 with all these other boys, who knows. Being sexually arrested. Maybe it was his own abuse. He never said so but hinted.

John's family abandoned him early on, not willing to deal or live with the shame.

The sadness of fallen Priests stretches out in ways that most don't get. Sure we feel sorry for the victims but for me, I also feel an empathetic tinge for my friend John. This was my last thought before the jail door clanked behind him.

A LAMENT

2007-05-31T08:07:00.000-07:00

This is too sad to let go by. Anyone who has ever been in a remainders book warehouse gets the same feeling. Despair. I often think even when I go in any bookstore: "who is writing all these books and miraculously getting them published." And the titles, Sex Life of the Tsetse Fly, etc.

If I have ever thought more writers than readers, it is when I read about this poor used book store owner, striking a symbolic blow. He is burning his books, something like 20,000 and billing it as "the funeral pyre for thought in America today."

Well, I don't know about that but any guy who labors over titles as diverse as Tom Clancy's Hunt for Red October or Tom Wolfe's Bonfire of the Vanities to the Fourth Pan Amerian Conference in Buenos Aires in 1910, has to love/adore/worship books and this makes his desperate act very sad. He says he's burning the books to protest society's diminishing support for the printed word. DUD! God bless him.

WHAT IS YOUR PERSONALITY FACTOR?

2007-05-25T18:08:00.000-07:00

WHAT IS YOUR PERSONALITY FACTOR

Diagnostic tools are just that, diagnostic, whatever that means. No test/instrument can define your personality only you can do that. However, for the sake of making a few points, I've devised a little test which gives the general idea about personality. I originally used these in an article for the Delta Airlines magazine on Personality and the Executive. These terms mostly could be applied to business but then again, to almost anything. Check it out...

Are you a Hard Charger, Power Broker,
Fast Track, or People Catalyst?
Find out by checking one of the blanks and see answers below.
I LIKE ... (choose one)

1a._ using dependable methods to complete a task.
lb.- to try out new ways to do things.

2a.- to analyze a situation.
2b.- to go with my feelings.

3a.- to avoid exact schedules.
3b.- to stick with deadlines.

4a.- thinking about what could be.
4b.- looking at what is.

5a.- to go with what seems right.
5b.- to reason, look at the facts.

6a.- to wait and look at all the possibilities_
6b._ things settled in advance.

7a.- the well laid-out executed strategy.
7b__ to have a plan just in case.

8a.- freedom to change my mind.
8b.- locked in plans.

9a.- people to think of me as being rational.
9b._ being called gutsy.

WHAT IS A WRITER'S PERSONALITY

2007-05-19T15:11:00.000-07:00

What makes for a good writer? Experience, education, luck, what? Maybe all, but the major ingredient is personality. Simply, a writer's personality has everything to do with who they are. Experience, luck, and all kinds of other "success formula" put out in well meaning articles and "how to" writing advice notions may play some part, but nothing overshadows the personality factor. I think probably for my part, no collective group of dedicated human beings need encouragement more that those of us who put words on paper. For most of us, we have it in our souls and for years, we've been fed the well meaning same tired formulas: the idea that if you do certain things or follow particular paths, we will eventually hit it and be successful. And, for most of us, success equals being published.

It is not that various meaningful writing philosophies don't contribute to success, but the well meaning advice almost never takes into account the individual personality. Here's a good example from a recent "come on" advertisement that seemingly came from Writer's Digest but makes my point:

THE SUCCESSFUL HABITS OF SUCCESSFUL WRITERS Be inspired. You are in charge of your own success, be proactive, release yourself from the fear of rejection, be excited.

See what I mean. Even if this is helpful, doesn't mean that all of us are onto it and why: Different Personalities.

THE PERSONALITY FACTOR

2007-05-17T08:39:00.000-07:00

THE WEIRDNESS OF THINKING I CAN BE A WRITER. The fact of the matter is that I can be and all I have to do is write. Now, getting somebody to read it and God forbid thinking that it will get published one of these days is almost beyond the pale. But, I keep trying.

I love magazines like Writer's Digest. They are the epitome of encouragement. I have been reading WD for years and always come away with some nugget. But, in a sense, one who reads such magazines or books for that matter on writing have to be realistic and somewhat cynical. Is this new news? Of course not. We all know the statistics which we assume are true; four out of five books don't earn back their advance. Here's a figure, of the 1.2 million books published in 2004, only 25,000 sold more than 5000 copies. Fewer than 500 books sold more than 100,000.

Let's take the latest issue of Writer's Digest, to make a point. Throughout the magazine, there's incredible encouragement on getting published and selling your book. It is the purpose of the magazine. There are profiles of authors who have done it. All of them have ideas. Most have been where we are. And, how many of us when reading, literally do say, "Wow, I can do that." And, by in large, we can. Will we? The unknown factor is just that, the Personality Factor which Writer's Digest doesn't take into consideration or should they. Unfortunately, all of us who aspire to have a career as writers fight who we are continuously. And, most fret that they cannot do many of the things that the books/ magazines say we should to advance our career.

And, let's put aside the other than level playing field. Of all the things that have ticked me off over the years, it is the total ignoring of this fact by mags like WD. They profile the daughter of some Hollywood producer who has made it as though that applies to us. Give me a break! The fact is that there is no level playing field. Add to that another pet peeve, celebrity worship and we are even more in the throws of self pity. Madonna can write a book on child rearing and it is off the charts. Or, Paris Hilton will go to jail, come out, somebody will ghost a book and she'll make more millions. Is my cynicism showing yet?

Nobody talks about The Personality Factor. Let's jump ahead and we have our book out there at bookstores. For the moment, forget all the angst to get there. If you are an introvert, which by the way is not negative, you are not going to fawn all over the idea of say a book signing as an extrovert would. (I would define these two terms but they are used so much that it is probably not needed).

The Myers Briggs Type Indicator has been my guide for years in life. Before I came across this wonderful instrument, I thought I was a little on the crazy side. I just didn't seem to be like others. And, always creative, writing with a whole passel of ideas, reading Writers Digest, all I had to do was stay with it. Well, not necessarily so depending upon my personality. Unfortunately, Writers Digest/books on writing, their approach--we are all the same, shaped by a cookie cutter tool. Not so.

Back to the book signing to make a point. On the Myers Briggs, I am measured borderline between extroversion and introversion. I have done book signings where I dreaded it, something akin to meeting a blood sucking Dracula for lunch. However, once I got with it, I loved it. Simply, based on my personality, the thoughts of doing it were 10 times worse than the actual signing. Why? My personality. Will knowing our personality help us as writers? Absolutely. To be continued...

Finding A Book

2007-05-10T19:34:00.000-07:00

This is a good hint. I was recently reading a good article and at the end it mentioned the writer was the author of such and such book--happened to be about conversations with Christians and Buddhists. Sounded interesing. I went to Amazon, could not find it. Authors should make sure their books can be found.