20 Dog-Eared Recollections about "Wishbone"

    This is a BuzzFeed-style listicle because I ran out of time to edit an essay for Dr. Mackie's Creative Nonfiction before the portfolio was due. It was about the PBS show Wishbone, and all the previous drafts were sprawling avalanches of information that scared off most readers. I guess I got a little carried away in my enthusiasm for the subject. Listicles make absorption of information easier to digest.

     1, The 1990s were a great time to be a canine TV star. There was Beethoven the St. Bernard, Moose the Jack Russell Terrier (Eddie from the TV show Fraiser, Skip from the film My Dog Skip), Buddy (from the movie Air Bud, Comet from Full House), and Soccer, narrator/protagonist of the children’s show Wishbone.

      2, Soccer beat out over a hundred dogs during the audition for the lead role. The occasional backflip seen on the show was real; and likely was what won him the part.

     3, Like all stars, Soccer had stunt doubles. Their names were Phoebe, Slugger and Shiner. A dog named Bear was used for the publicity photoshoots.

     4,  Producer Rick Duffield owned a Jack Russell Terrier himself, and he’d been playing with the idea of a children’s show starring a talking dog for a while, but hadn’t ever quite figured out how to make that work. Then his gaze fell upon an anthology of world literature sitting on the bookshelf, and all the puzzle pieces fit together – the dog would narrate classic novels and plays, bookended by the real-world adventures of his people.

     5, Those people were mainly his owner, Joe Talbot, Joe’s mother Ellen, his best friends Samantha Kepler and David Barnes, and Ellen’s best friend/next door neighbor Wanda Gilmore.

     6, There were fifty episodes run on PBS stations between 1995-98, divided into two seasons. Reruns aired until 2001.

     7, Because one parent seemingly had to die in every story starring kids or dogs, Joe’s father Steve died years before the show began due to a rare blood disease.

     8, In real life, the actress who played Ellen (Mary Chris Wall) was actually the mother of Jordan Wall, who played Joe.

     9, None of the main cast ever really had any noteworthy credits after this show ended.

     10, The voice of Wishbone, Larry Brantley, won the part during a callback after an improvised five-minute monologue while watching Soccer be mesmerized by a tennis ball in the corner of the room.  

     11, Almost all the episode titles were puns. (Examples: “A Tale in Twain” was a two-part Tom Sawyer, “Furst Impressions” was Pride and Prejudice, “Bark to the Future” was H.G. Wells’ Time Machine, and Henry IV, Part One became “The Prince of Wags.”)

     12, The literary imaginings inside Wishbone’s head were put together as theater productions, and used a core group of Dallas/Fort Worth-area theater professionals as these players.

     13, The show went well out of its way to break down the barrier required for suspension of disbelief, frequently showing clips explaining how certain visual effects were made during the credits. And the setting of a video game based on the show was the set’s backlot.

     14, These behind-the-scenes clips can be found on YouTube, and there is an entire channel dedicated to showing full episodes.

     15, Eight different spinoff book series were created between 1995-2001, totaling 77 titles in all, continuing the adventures of every viewer’s favorite Oakdale residents.

     16, The sports teams of Sequoyah Middle/High School, where the kids attend, are known as the Bulldogs, and their colors are blue and yellow-gold. Wishbone filled in as the team mascot at one point.

     17, Guest stars included pre-fame versions of Jensen Ackles (best known for Supernatural) and Amy Acker (of Angel and Dollhouse).

     18, Other guest stars were Shelley Duvall from The Shining and, playing himself, Dallas Cowboys fullback Daryl “Moose” Johnston.

     19, Wishbone was replaced by another dog-and-book-related series, an animated TV adaptation of Norman Bridwell’s Clifford the Big Red Dog series.

     20, The Clifford show got a short-lived spinoff titled Clifford’s Puppy Days, whose head writer was Suzanne Collins (of Hunger Games fame). 

Some Writer

     I really enjoyed writing this essay for Dr. Dial-Driver's Children's Lit class.

     In her foreword for the 60^th Anniversary edition of E.B. White’s children’s classic Charlotte’s Web, multiple Newbery Medal-winner Kate DiCamillo (Because of Winn-Dixie; The Tale of Despereaux) writes that White “loved barns and pastures, dumps and fairgrounds, ponds and kitchens. He loved pigs and sheep and geese and spiders” (vi). He also loved subjects as diverse as “rain, harnesses, pitchforks, springtime, fall, spiderwebs, monkey wrenches and Ferris wheels” (vi). Because of this love for the common bits of everyday life, “every word of this book shows us how we can bear the triumphs and despairs, the wonders and the heartbreaks, the small and large glories and tragedies of being here” (vi). In case the reader didn’t catch this aspect on the first reading, DiCamillo is humorously pointing out that another thing White loved was creating atmosphere-enhancing lists, which can be seen everywhere from the description of farm implements and junk cluttering Zuckerman’s barn (13-14) to Fern and Avery’s summer activities (42-44) to the ingredients of the meals Wilbur and Templeton consume (too many examples to mention all of them).

     Charlotte’s Web is a novel about friendship, which also says a lot about good writing, while also being about growing up and facing death, of which there is plenty on a farm. In 1947 White wrote an essay outlining the “Death of a Pig,” published in the January 1948 issue of The Atlantic Monthly. White begins this essay by stating that the traditional farming practice of butchering a hog for wintertime is natural and accepted without question: “It is a tragedy enacted on most farms with perfect fidelity to the original script. The murder, being premeditated, is in the first degree but is quick and skillful, and the smoked bacon and ham provide a ceremonial ending whose fitness is seldom questioned” (Essays of E.B. White 17). On this specific occasion, one ad-lib interrupted that ancient script’s flow – the pig never showed up for his last supper: “I found myself suddenly cast into the role of pig’s [sic] friend and physician – I had a presentiment that the play would never regain its balance and that my sympathies were now wholly with the pig” (17). This particular pig died of a sickness a short time later, despite White’s best efforts of swine-nursing, and thus depriving him of tasty ham and sausage. But soon afterward he began work on his second children’s novel, which starred a pig protagonist.

     Of course, like his earlier children’s novel Stuart Little and his later children’s novel The Trumpet of the Swan, the animals in Charlotte’s Web can speak English. Can animals really talk? It’s a popular idea in the minds of many, and the wise Dr. Dorian doesn’t completely rule out the possibility when talking with Mrs. Arable: “I have never heard an animal say anything. But that proves nothing. It is quite possible that an animal has spoken civilly to me and hat I didn’t catch the remark because I wasn’t paying attention” (110). Perhaps White was consciously echoing the words of G.K. Chesterton from Chesterton’s famous defense of fairy tales in “The Ethics of Elfland,” part of his book Orthodoxy:

I have always been more inclined to believe the ruck of hardworking people than to believe that special and troublesome literary class to which I belong. I prefer even the fancies and prejudices of the people who see life from the inside to the clearest demonstrations of the people who see life from the outside. I would always trust the old wives’ tales against the old maids’ facts. (Orthodoxy 53-54)

     Still, facts must be dealt with and arranged appropriately. And as Melissa R. Cordell explains in an article on the backstory of Charlotte for the October 2008 issue of children’s magazine Highlights, White “filled a folder with sketches of spiders and notes about spiders at work” (32), and a lot of these notes wove themselves into the tale, including “Charlotte’s description of the seven parts of her leg, what happened when Charlotte’s children hatched, and how her foundation lines differed from her snare lines” (33). College professor Sue Misheff summarizes the work in her 1998 essay “Beneath the Web and Over the Stream,” for the academic journal Children’s Literature in Education, by saying, “Within this fantasy lives a very down-to-earth spider who weaves a bit of magic into her otherwise realistic web which essentially saves her friend from certain extinction” (133).

     Chesterton would agree that a spider’s web is magical; when queried with such unanswerable questions children wonder, such as why birds lay eggs or gravity makes apples fall in autumn, “we must answer exactly as the fairy godmother would answer if Cinderella asked her why mice turned to horses or her clothes fell from her at twelve o’clock. We must answer that it is magic” (quoted in Elfland 57). So would Dr. Dorian, though he uses different language: “A young spider knows how to spin a web without any instruction from anybody. Don’t you regard that as a miracle?” (White, Charlotte 110)

     Another everyday miracle for any writer is having a good editor, and most people in general would considered blessed with a spouse they could both work well and get along with. For White, his wife Katharine filled both of these roles admirably, though she did not officially edit his work. As he wrote in a March 1954 letter to a little girl named Shirley Wiley, “My wife is an editor. An editor is a person who knows more about writing than writers do, but who has escaped the terrible desire to write” (Letters 358). And writers need editors for the simple reason that White cited when replying to a student’s query: “I can’t explain myself. Everything about me is mysterious to me and I do make any strong effort to solve the puzzle” (Letters 372).

     Still another everyday miracle is the concept of stories themselves, and the immense power they hold. Western author Louis L’Amour said of them in “In the Beginning, There Was the Story…”, a short essay from his reference work The Sackett Companion: “The story was man’s first and best means of transmitting knowledge or information, of preparing the child as well as the adult for what might come” (261). White uses the power of story, in part, to model what desirable behavior looks like and educate readers through new vocabulary, while keeping his adult viewpoint that sees humor in the commonplace. As Charlotte says to Templeton on page 140, “’Humble’ has two meanings. It means ‘not proud’ and it means ‘near the ground.’ That’s Wilbur all over.” In this approach, White creates what Misheff calls “a safe space created by a reasoned approach to a problem” (Misheff 138).

     Even though Charlotte dies, because death is inevitable for all creatures, life goes on for Wilbur, and he must learn to deal with the pain in order to grow and mature (Misheff 137). DiCamillo says this is part of Charlotte’s promise to Wilbur, in addition to being White’s promise to his readers: “Things will continue, life will go on. It will be beautiful, astonishing, heartbreaking. And as long as you keep your eyes and heart open to the wonder of it, as long as you love, it will be okay” (Foreword vii). This is a very important lesson to learn, which can be taught somewhat by sitting at the typewriter and bleeding, so sayeth the Hemingway quote familiar to nearly all English majors. Life’s experiences will teach this lesson to the readers in one way or another at some point in their lives, but books like this one can play an early role in understanding this lesson, which is part of why children’s literature possibly occupies the highest place in storytelling, which in my opinion is the highest form of teaching tools in existence. 

      White also has quite a bit to say about the importance of good writing in general, not to mention common sense, throughout this work. But in terms of finding out what this advice is, we must study his actual words. “If you are engaged in writing a theme about my works, I think your best bet is to read them and say what you think about them,” was the advice he gave a high school student named Arthur Hudson (White, Letters 372). So that is what I tried to do.

     There is the main plot device of the words “SOME PIG,” “TERRIFIC,” “RADIANT” and “HUMBLE” appearing in the threads of Charlotte A. Cavatica’s webs in Zuckerman’s barn and the fairgrounds, of course. No one understands how words could appear in a spider’s web, because it seems utterly fantastic. But again, Dr. Dorian serves as a voice of reason: “I don’t understand it…None of us do. I’m a doctor. Doctors are supposed to understand everything. But I don’t understand everything, and I don’t intend to let it worry me” (108-10). Since “doctor” comes from the Latin “to teach,” this bit of wordplay in that statement about “having to understand everything” is doubly worthwhile. After all, isn’t part of the reason that professors and teachers continue to seek out new perspectives and knowledge of their subjects because they wish to learn more?  And if we tried to understand everything, we would quickly go crazy, an observation which Chesterton expands upon in his earlier Orthodoxy essays “The Maniac” and “The Suicide of Thought.”

     Another bit of humorous observation about writing occurs during the initial barn-wide planning meeting, where Wilbur protests that he’s not terrific, only to be quickly overruled by Charlotte’s snarky-yet-sensible reply: “That doesn’t make a particle of difference. Not a particle. People believe almost anything they see in print” (89). This is sadly true, and can be seen by reading the political coverage in newspapers or on Facebook. People are quite easy to fool.

     In an essay remembering his Cornell professor William Strunk, White describes his own process of writing this way: “I write by ear, always with difficulty and seldom with any notion of what is taking place under the hood” (White, Essays 256). Is that comment a little strange, coming from the editor/co-author (with Strunk) of The Elements of Style, one of the most influential books on writing in history? Kind of. But at the end of the day, the words that White hammered out just worked. They connected with people, and explained clearly the simple, often-forgotten parts of life’s daily existence in a rural setting. And that’s what counts. Perhaps with the closing lines, he was hoping they could be his epitaph: “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both” (184). I know that I would be honored to have people say about me.

Works Cited

Chesterton, G.K. “The Ethics of Elfland.” 1908. Orthodoxy. Ignatius Press, pp. 51-70, 1995.

DiCamillo, Kate. Foreword by Kate DiCamillo. Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White. 60^th Anniversary edition. Illus. Garth Williams. 1952, HarperCollins, 2012, pp. v-vii. 

Cordell, Melinda R. “E.B. White and His Spiders.” Illus. Meredith Johnson. Highlights for Children, Vol. 63, No. 10, October 2008, pp. 32-33. EBSCO. Accessed on 28 September 2016. Web.

L’Amour, Louis. “In the Beginning, There Was the Story…” The Sackett Companion. Bantam Books, pp. 261-262, 1988.

Misheff, Sue. “Beneath the Web and Under the Stream: The Search for Safe Places in Charlotte’s Web and Bridge to Terbithia.” Children’s Literature in Education, vol. 29, No. 3, 1998, pp. 131-141. EBSCO.  Accessed on 29 September 2016. Web.

White, E.B. Charlotte’s Web. 60^th Anniversary edition. Illus. Garth Williams. 1952, HarperCollins, 2012.

--------------. “Death of a Pig.” The Atlantic Monthly, January 1948. The Essays of E.B. White, 1977. Harper Colophon Books, pp. 17-25, 1979.

--------------. “Will Strunk.” 1957. The Essays of E.B. White, 1977. Harper Colophon Books, pp. 256-262, 1979.

--------------. “To Arthur Hudson.” 1 April 1955. Letters of E.B. White, Revised Edition, 2006. Edited by Dorothy Lorrano Guth and Martha White.  Harper Perennial, p. 372, 2007.

--------------. “To Shirley Wiley.” 30 March 1954. Letters of E.B. White, Revised Edition, 2006. Edited by Dorothy Lorrano Guth and Martha White.  Harper Perennial, p. 358, 2007.

BIbliography of Suggested Reading for Teens

     For Dr. Dial-Driver's Children's Lit class. This bibliography, too, was extremely difficult to narrow down to ten examples. I tried to be diverse when it comes to genres.

Rawls, Wilson. Where the Red Fern Grows. Doubleday, 1961.
     Billy Coleman lives near Tahlequah, Oklahoma, and he diligently saves up for two years in order to buy a pair of coonhound puppies, which he names Old Dan and Little Ann. His grandpa helps him teach the dogs to hunt raccoons, becoming one of the Ozarks’ most accomplished hunters. After Dan dies following a mountain lion attack, loyal Ann dies from a broken heart, and the Colemans move out of the mountains at Mama’s request, settling in Tulsa.
     The chief heartbreaker of all dog-story-tearjerkers, this ought to be required reading for Oklahoma children due to the local setting. Loyalty is the chief virtue expressed in these pages, though there are many virtues scattered throughout. I was five when I first heard this story, which was plenty old enough to understand it. Wilson Rawls wrote his books for “people,” and hated the idea that publishers marketed them as children’s literature. Therefore everyone ought to read it, as an example of true love and the power of patient hard work. Especially teenagers.

Kaye, M.M. The Ordinary Princess. 1980. Doubleday, 1984.
     In the far-off kingdom of Phantasmorania, there is a seventh princess born to the king and queen, her royal highness Amethyst Alexandra Augusta Araminta Adelaide Aurelia Anne – and the seventh princess is always the prettiest, the most graceful, the most blessed of all the fairies. Everyone knows that. But everyone also knows how contrary fairies can be – and this is what caused this princess to be ordinary, of all things. An ordinary princess would be an embarrassment to the kingdom, so Amy becomes a scullery maid in the royal castle of the next country over, where she eventually falls in love with a man-of-all-work.
      This was mystery author M.M. Kaye’s only fairy tale, but it works supremely well, mainly because it has such an emphasis on the ordinariness of life, while at the same time clearly being a fairy tale and containing all the classic ingredients. These elements are treated with respect, unlike so many things which claim to be modern fairy tales (glaring at you, Shrek).

Schaefer, Jack. Shane. 1949. Bantam, 1975.
     In 1880’s Wyoming, the Old West was dying quickly. This novel is narrated by a man named Bob Starrett, who was eleven when a dangerous stranger rode onto their farm one day, signed on as a hired hand and then found himself defending the group of local homesteaders in the middle of a range war with a devious cattle rancher.
     It’s a straightforward and formulaic Western plot, but the writing quality alone makes it worth reading for the strength of Schaefer’s descriptions. Bob Starrett is one of my top ten narrators across all books ever.

Lee, Harper. To Kill a Mockingbird. 1960. Grand Central, 2010.
     This tale set in a Depression-era southern Alabama town chronicles Scout and Jem Finch’s childhoods dealing with their father Atticus’s occasionally absent-minded parenting, in addition to the trials of public education and racism. Character and setting are much more important than plot.
     Scout Finch is probably my favorite narrator of all time, and Atticus is one of my favorite characters. This is a classic of southern American literature, and therefore almost has to be read at some point. Lee deals with a lot of big questions in this novel, and doesn’t provide all that many answers, which appeals to teenagers everywhere. If the reader has writerly ambitions, then studying Lee’s Go Set a Watchman shows how important the revision process is.

Goldman, William. The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern’s Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure. 1973. Del Rey, 1987.
      In the country of Florin, long before Europe and just before glamour, but after America and blue jeans, lived the most beautiful woman in the world. She was a farm girl named Buttercup. Forced to marry Prince Humperdinck against her will, she is kidnapped and then reunited with her first love, Westley. Once Buttercup is recaptured, Humperdinck brutally murders Westley. He is resurrected (this is a fairy tale, after all) and teams up with Buttercup’s original kidnappers to break her out of the castle. The novel ends on a wonderfully ambiguous note, as they’re running away as fugitives with their end unknown.
     There’s the first sentence, to start with: “This is my favorite book in all the world, although I have never read it.” So many quotable quotes. So much more character depth than in the movie. This is a fairy tale for grownups, which claims neither to be more nor less. It is presented as an abridgement of a longer satirical Florinese history by fictional author S. Morgenstern. To paraphrase an A.A. Milne quote (from Once On a Time), the reader will either love this style of narration, or he/she will not. It’s that sort of book.

Shakespeare, William. Much Ado About Nothing. 1598. The Complete Pelican Shakespeare, edited by Stephen Orgel and A.R. Braunmuller. Penguin, 2002, pp.365-400.
      After the conclusion of a civil war, many people gather at the house of a rich man named Leonato. His daughter Hero is engaged to Claudio, whose best friend is Benedick, former lover of Hero’s cousin Beatrice. Everyone schemes to get Benedick and Beatrice back together. Complications ensue.
     William Shakespeare is one of the greatest storytellers in the history of English. His comedies are the easiest for modern readers to understand, and Much Ado follows most closely the formula of a modern comedy. And Benedick and Beatrice are amazingly snarky, slinging insults at each other with gleeful abandon. There is also the brilliant Joss Whedon film adaptation.

Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451. 1953. Simon & Schuster, 2013.
     In a bleak dystopian future, humanity is enslaved by addiction to technology, books are banned, and firemen create fires. After making the acquaintance of his quirky neighbor Clarisse, fireman Guy Montag comes to question everything he knows about his life and his society, to the point of becoming a wanted fugitive.
     The idea of dystopian literature is to serve as a warning of what society could become. Thus, while it may be uncomfortable to read, it is an important genre to be aware of, in order to avoid the futures described in the books. Bradbury’s Fahrenheit, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World and George Orwell’s 1984 together make up the triumvirate of essential dystopian literature.

King, Stephen. On Writing. Scribner, 2000.
     Almost everyone has read at least some of Stephen King’s works while a teenager, so why not read about the man behind the stories? The first half is a memoir, detailing his life from childhood up until the struggling early years of his marriage. The back half is a “how to write well” book. Both of those genres are necessary sometimes.

Crichton, Michael. Jurassic Park. 1990. Ballantine Books, 2015.
     A billionaire with no common sense creates a theme park featuring live cloned dinosaurs. During a cold opening of the park as a final measure of readiness before allowing the general public, a traitorous employee sets a catastrophe in motion which severs all power and communications, letting all the dinosaurs loose from their enclosures. Lots of people are eaten over the weekend.
     While mostly a bit of thriller fluff, there are some profound questions raised by this novel, mainly dealing with the role of science and technology in our world. And a quote from Dr. Ian Malcolm is interesting: “In the information society, we expected to banish paper. What we actually abolished was thought.” Loads of academic jargon make this somewhat difficult to wade through, so I would estimate high-school-age as a target audience.

Montgomery, L.M. The Golden Road. 1913. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2012.
     This novel meanders here and there, so there isn’t much a plot. It follows a group of friends and the adventures they had together just before going their separate ways as they grew up, narrated by the adult version of one of the characters. That makes it a perfect read for panicking high school graduates going to college to destress with as they reflect on memories made. This is another book with the target audience of “people.” I love most of Montgomery’s works, but this is my favorite of hers. 

BIbliography of Suggested Reading for Children

     I LOVED Dr. Dial-Driver's Children's Literature course. This assignment was really difficult, because there are so many wonderful choices to pick from, and we could only use ten examples.

Eastman, P.D. Are You My Mother? 1960. Random House, 1993. 

     A small baby bird gets lost after falling out of his nest, and he has to look for his mother. Once he finds quite a lot of things which are not his mother (including a dog, a cow, and a gigantic Snorting Power Shovel), he gets back home in time for a warm hug from Mom and a yummy worm dinner. 

     This is one of the Beginner Books series, so if your child is learning to read, this would be a good bet. P.D. Eastman’s pictures are spectacular, though, so this would be a great choice to read aloud to toddlers, as would his other books.

Bond, Michael. A Bear Called Paddington. 1958. HarperCollins, 2014.

     This is the first of the Paddington series; each of the chapters-work-as-short-stories variety like P.L. Travers’ Mary Poppins books. Paddington is a small bear adopted into a rather bland London family, and he gets usually himself into a variety of strange and sticky situations. Literally sticky situations, since he loves marmalade. However, things always work out in the end.

     I would guess this is written for seven-year-olds just starting to read “big chapter books” on their own. They work well at introducing that indescribable quirky British sense of humor, which is their chief merit. If anthropomorphized animals are not a family’s cup of tea, then they should skip these books.

Barrett, Judi. Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. Illustrated by Ron Barrett.1978. Aladdin Paperbacks, 1982.

     A grandfather tells his grandchildren a tall tale about the small town of Chewandswallow, which had no grocery stores, because the town got all its food from the sky, because they didn’t have normal weather. Eventually, something went wrong, and terrible storms forced the evacuation of Chewandswallow, because it wasn’t safe to live there any longer, what with the tomato tornadoes and five-ton pancakes.

     Food connects people of all ages, and everyone has their favorite food they wish it would rain (like milkshakes or gumdrops, according to the Barney song.) The pictures add a wonderful dimension to this tale, which I would estimate as appropriate to first introduce anywhere from four to seven, depending on if it were read aloud or not. The imaginative concept appeals to a child’s mindset very well, and it could be used to learn about the different food groups, as well as the idea of tall tales and their history.

Rawls, Wilson. Where the Red Fern Grows. Doubleday, 1961. 

     Billy Coleman lives near Tahlequah, Oklahoma, and he diligently saves up for for two years in order to buy a pair of coonhound puppies, which he names Old Dan and Little Ann. His grandpa helps him teach the dogs to hunt raccoons, becoming one of the Ozarks’ most accomplished hunters. After Dan dies following a mountain lion attack, loyal Ann dies from a broken heart, and the Colemans move out of the mountains at Mama’s request, settling in Tulsa.

     The chief heartbreaker of all dog-story-tearjerkers, this ought to be required reading for Oklahoma children due to the local setting. Loyalty is the chief virtue expressed in these pages, though there are many virtues scattered throughout. I was five when I first heard this story, which was plenty old enough to understand it. Wilson Rawls wrote his books for “people,” and hated the idea that publishers marketed them as children’s literature. Therefore everyone ought to read it, as an example of true love and the power of patient hard work.

Wallace, Bill. Upchuck and the Rotten Willy. Aladdin Paperbacks, 1998.

     Chuck, a young orange kitten, has just lost his friend Louie, who got smushed by a car on the highway. And then an enormous monster of a Rottweiler moves in down the road. And then his best friend Tom moves away. And then, to top it all off, his Person Katie moves to somewhere far away and cagelike called “College.” What’s a lonesome, scared cat to do?

     This is a terrific first-person narrative starting around age seven, illustrating well the emotions of life as only Bill Wallace can. It deals with loneliness, abandonment, the changing of life-seasons, in addition to offering some humorous insight on dating and emphasizing the power of friendship, especially the friendship found in overlooked corners.

Naylor, Phyllis Reynolds. Shiloh. Atheneum, 1991.

     Eleven-year-old Marty Preston lives in the extremely rural town of Friendly, West Virginia, where he comes across the new beagle of infamous-dog-mistreater Judd Travers. Marty and his little sisters nurse the dog, now called Shiloh, back to health, trying to decide if it’s ethical to steal Shiloh in order to prevent certain future cruelty by Judd.

     This novel is appropriate for readers around nine, because they would likely have a deep bond with their pets by then, and the beginnings of an understanding of empathy and the complexity of this world we live in. The first-person tone draws the reader in, and if he or she is of a writerly turn of mind, they can study how that first-person POV can be used to describe the rural setting, poverty, and ethical dilemmas within. Real life is often very gray, and this novel explains that while keeping a kid-appropriate tone.

Brink, Carol Ryrie. Caddie Woodlawn. 1935.

     Caddie Woodlawn and her brothers grew up in Wisconsin after their parents moved to Boston, and this novel tells about some of their adventures growing up. It doesn’t really have a plot, but it’s the kind of book that doesn’t really need one.

     This is included because it is clearly historical fiction, as the author makes note of in the introduction, and that is a good genre to be introduced to. She is retelling the childhood of her grandmother, based on the stories that she heard as a child. If Laura Ingalls Wilder is seen as too girlish for boys to think they’d enjoy, this might be a good alternative. Girls could appreciate Caddie’s indecision between wanting to be a tomboy at times, and a lady at other times.  

Sachar, Louis. Holes. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1998.

     After being accused of stealing a pair of sneakers, Stanley Yelnats gets sent to a juvenile detention facility in the Texas desert, where he gets to know his coworkers as they dig holes “to build character.”  Interspersed with the mystery that follows is a history of the outlaw Kissin’ Kate Barlow, a former schoolteacher who turned rogue after her romance with a black man was discovered.

     The braided nature of these interweaving stories is a very interesting stylistic technique to take notice of, and given the complexity of the issues raised (mainly juvenile delinquency, the justice system and interracial relationships) I would say a reader should be around eleven or twelve before tackling this one. Those subjects are handled in an age-appropriate way, but given the general meanness of the characters to survive, some thick skin must have already been developed.

Pyle, Howard. The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. 1883.

     A retelling, perhaps the first aimed at children, of the legendary antiheroic character of Robin Hood, from his first coming to Sherwood Forest to his death by treacherous arrow. Little John, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian and the Sherriff of Nottingham are all here, as well, as is King Richard the Lion-Hearted.

      What kid doesn’t like adventure? Pyle’s book abounds with it, though the reading difficulty might present problems unless the reader was an especially-determined nine-year-old. This would be a good candidate to read aloud for younger children, giving a chance to practice comprehension skills by asking them to summarize the action at various points throughout each chapter.  

Neville, Emily. It’s Like This, Cat. Illustrated by Emil Weiss. 1963.

     This Newbery Award winner tells how a 14-year-old named Dave deals with problems of early teenagerdom, including hero worship, fights with his father and first love. His cat, who was given to him by a family friend named Kate, serves as a sounding board in figuring out all these problems.

      This would be appropriate for readers about eleven, I would estimate, because parents aren’t perfect, and they have as many flaws as anyone. There are scenes of smoking, if I remember right, some interest is taken of the opposite sex, and the characters wander around New York City entirely unsupervised a vast majority of the time. Knowing some history of what was going to happen later in this decade, this novel gives a better picture of the day-to-day life of those growing up in this era, and reminds readers that human nature is much the same everywhere. The first-person narration is used well to highlight the urban setting, providing literary-minded readers a glimpse (especially in contrast with Shiloh) of how the basic tools of writing can be used in interesting ways. 

About "Space Jam"

     For Dr. Mackie's Creative Nonfiction, this prompt was to write about one of our favorite movies.

     There are a lot of movies I love, that I’ve learned a lot of storytelling technique from by repeatedly studying them. Unfortunately, they usually tend to get blow aside as either “low production quality” or “kids movies” or something like that. And sure, they aren’t all masterpieces. In fact, they usually tangle themselves into pretzels that defy any one genre, skipping easily through several, and meaning every one. Movies like The Princess Bride; is it an adventure? A fantasy? A romance? A satire? A fairy tale? It’s all of those, and it’s honest about being all of those things. The Big Green is a 90’s sports movie, certainly. But it’s also about hope, the job of teaching, the power of small-town community and an interesting conundrum of illegal immigration. Space Jam is the one I’m going to talk about for this assignment, though.

     A diabolical theme-park owner named Swackhammer sends a group of tiny aliens called Nerdlucks to capture the Looney Tunes in order to enslave them and increase attendance. The Looney Tunes come up with an escape plan by challenging the diminutive Nerdlucks to a basketball game. However, the Nerdlucks steal the talent of NBA superstars, transforming themselves into the terrifying Monstars. Meanwhile, Michael Jordan has retired from basketball to try playing professional baseball in order to make good on a promise he made as a child to his father. So Bugs, Daffy, Elmer and the rest kidnap Michael to get him to help win the game. The Looney Tunes defeat the evil aliens, the NBA players get their talent back, and Michael Jordan decides he’s terrible at baseball and goes back to the Chicago Bulls to win another couple championships. That’s pretty much the entire plot.

     On some level, it could be called historical fiction, given that it explains Michael Jordan’s first retirement to try (and fail at) playing professional baseball. Of course the reasoning was changed, as this decision remains somewhat in mystery, though it likely had something to do with his father’s murder and outrageous gambling debts. On another level, it’s an extended screwball comedy, since it features most of the classic Looney Tunes characters going through their daily lives. And then there is the science-fiction part of the story, since aliens blast onto Earth in order to enslave the inhabitants. And oh, yeah, it’s a sports movie on top of everything else, with cameos from most of the top players of the time, and featuring Bill Murray and Danny DeVito for good measure. If a cynical viewpoint was to be taken, it could be said that this movie was made solely for advertising merchandise. And it was, of course; even the characters mention this. But it doesn’t take itself seriously, while fully admitting that none of these rules it’s following make any sense. Because of this, it works. This could be because a more three-year-old Wesley-approved movie could not have been made if it were manufactured for me alone in mind, but this report doesn’t have to be subjective. The greatest basketball player in the world is teaming up with Bugs Bunny to save the world from a bunch of aliens. Yes, please!

     It came to theaters when I was three, and while I don’t think I remember watching it in theaters, Mom said I hid in her lap when the Monstars first appeared. I also know that I saw it for the first time in the theater because she says we were grocery shopping one day not long after and I recognized a song the PA system was playing(R. Kelly’s “Fly Like an Eagle” or Seal’s “Fly Like an Eagle” cover) as being from the movie, which she then recognized after I urgently explained the connection. I can also clearly remember dancing maniacally to the soundtrack in one of the apartments we lived in. The soundtrack has Bugs Bunny doing a rap song, of all the insane experiences worth listening to at least once. There are the detractors who gleefully point out all the paper-thin plotting, the lack of acting ability from Jordan, or complain that the Tunes themselves act nothing like themselves. Have they watched some of those shorts in a while? The Tunes can be mean, and there can be sex jokes hidden in many of them.

     Lola Bunny is an original character expressly designed to give Bugs a love interest, less-than-expressly to sell merchandise, and possibly to give girls a role model of Bugs’ standing to admire. I think all of those goals were met. The appeal of Lola was obvious: she was fantastic at basketball, and independent and determined. Besides that, she became the girlfriend of Bugs Bunny, so that automatically got about a thousand bonus points. (I hung out with teenagers all the time, so some of their attitudes I must have picked up by osmosis.) “She’s hot!” Tweety says. Feminists can complain that she never really does anything – and they kind of have a point – but that’s missing the point, really. In the first place, the story is balanced the way it is already, and to shift anything would have thrown everything out the window. Secondly – and this is by far the most important – was the purpose of the story wasn’t to create a masterpiece, it was to fire the imagination, one of the highest callings I can think of for story in any medium. So Lola isn’t exactly much else than a bit of cheerleading damsel in distress in the movie. In kids’ imaginations, she played a bigger role; maybe she single-handedly saved everyone. Maybe she and Bugs went on dates and antagonized Elmer Fudd together. Anything was possible. And the thing is, that same principle applies to every single character. All those gaps in the movie can be filled in by each viewer, bringing them into the story like few others can match.

     Obviously people can’t be squashed flat into a pancake and reinflated, lassoed through golf holes, dynamite can’t be used to blow up the backboard, and arms don’t stretch like rubber bands for thirty feet. But this is Looney Tune Land, and so that’s all fine and dandy. After all, if trains can pummel Yosemite Sam and Wile E. Coyote can fall prey to goodness-knows-what perils from ACME, then all these Space Jam quirks are fine. They’re animated, and they know it. Depth perception doesn’t exist, so all kinds of adventures can happen. (This doesn’t work quite as well in 3-D Land, unfortunately.) A story usually covers the same welcoming (because it is well-trodden) plot, and so we learn to recognize these details and find comfort in their sameness.

     The familiar threads of story material are easily recognizable; the average townspeople need the stranger to come in and save the day from a force of marauding evil. This stranger has to face his past and overcome it in order to vanquish the threat. The stakes are dire. The average townsperson has friends and a lovely lady to back up his efforts to fight the threat courageously; indeed, all the townspeople exhibit immense courage and fortitude. In the end, through seemingly impossible odds, the threat is defeated. Everything goes well from there (that we know of). There. Now what movie (or book) did I just describe? It could have been nearly any Clint Eastwood movie, it could’ve been It’s a Wonderful Life, it could’ve been Pixar, it could’ve been Much Ado About Nothing. In the same way, a sport of almost any kind is a comforting thing, because there is a fixed set of expectations and outcomes, with a bewildering amount of variation possible within those set guidelines. One team will always win, the other will lose. The basketball will not be kicked, and it will go through the basket. Even though it’s a movie, and therefore prone to break the rules a little in order to create more dramatic tension, all that excitement of the movie is enhanced by knowing the framework the scene of the climatic showdown is staying within.

     This could go on for a while, but I should really wrap this up now so it doesn’t stretch on for thirty-plus pages (because it totally could). I love Space Jam because it fires the imagination and acknowledges that anything could happen. Are their imperfections? Yeah, all those critics have some good points. But they are forgetting that at the core, the movie has “it. Whatever ‘it’ is, you’ve got a lot of it,” Michael tells the Tunes on leaving. I would call this “heart.” 

Time Compression Experiment

     For Dr. Mackie's Creative Nonfiction course, this assignment was from a less-than-helpful textbook titled Tell It Slant. We were supposed to take a mundane experience and compress multiple instances of that incident into one bizarre stew. So I chose a typical Sunday morning at church.

     “How are you doing?” Sam asks after we show up to church half an hour late for Sunday school – again. It’s been another rough week, and I guess she can see that, even if she wasn’t one of the few people my armor will let inside to see the real me.

Mrs. Ferguson is standing nearby, leaning against the Grace and Truth bookshelf to relieve back pain from her ninth pregnancy. Her oldest daughter Kerra’s married now, and Josh soon will be, it looks like from the grapevine.

     “Um…I’m all right, I’m fine,” I say.

     “And by that, he means it’s hell,” Mrs. Ferguson grins, and she lumbers down toward the kitchen. Sam crushes me in a gigantic hug, pulling away after our youth pastor Steven coughs.

     “Your eyes said more than your words.” Her voice has a quiet undertone. 

     “Thanks.”

     “Sorry to hear about Sunny,” Steven says. “Losing a dog is tough.” 

     “It’s all right. She was old, and arthritic, and nearly blind, and –“ I bolt for the kitchen. I need coffee if I’m going to stay awake during Marie’s dad’s sermon from the Gospel of John.

     There are a lot of empty spaces in the pews; what with the mass exodus and all. It wasn’t even orchestrated, really, not that anyone could tell. Just one family leaves for some legitimate reason, then another, and then another, and it’s like Welll…who’s left? Not the DeSpains, or the Buckmasters, or the Lawsons (and Cassie’s at OU now, anyway, so it’s not like we can chat about writing). Mr. Gundersen’s been thinking of taking a long-term trip to his vacation house in the Arkansas Ozarks, and he can’t really be blamed for needing the rest, though it is kind of worrisome. It will take a while to stop thinking of him as the pastor, since he stepped down from that role last month.

     In the prayer requests it looks like Justin Selby just blew up his hand with some fireworks, I bet Melody was worried sick. Marie is mentioned again as needing prayer…that’s not a surprise to any of us who were in the youth group. She was just lacking – It, whatever that was. We all knew that she would be eaten alive once she was out on her own. And there were a lot of problems each of us were dealing with, just trying to keep ourselves together and reasonably in one piece to get through high school and slowly progress through college. Lots of people’s parents dying from cancer, which is horrible. Dad’s out of a job again, which is somehow normal. Dylan’s working on a ranch in Wyoming over the summer, so pray for safety for him, and peace of mind for his parents. He’s doing all right, though it can get lonely up there, from what I’ve heard. But he’ll be okay.

     Hymns we’ll be singing today, hmm… “In Christ Alone,” that’s a great one, of course, wasn’t it ages ago that I learned that? Feels like it. “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” that’s one we forget to ponder too often. “How Firm a Foundation” is another great choice. Bennett and Laura are doing a fantastic job on guitar and piano – it was always fun when Laura filled in for Josh when we were leading the youth group’s worship music, she played at a fast enough pace that my strumming didn’t sound like I was rushing things.

Rags will be sad that I have to immediately head back to school, but cats can’t rule the world like they think they can. Finish revising/updating that story where they try to, if there’s time. Then SWAT has a special rehearsal for the show Wednesday night, and there’s volleyball practice after the Monday night worship service, with the state BCM tournament coming up next weekend. Note to self, check to make sure everyone brings their scripts just in case they need them. Okay, then – not ready for this next week up ahead, but here goes.

     This was a weird experiment, kind of like I was consciously constructing a dream, given the wild mishmash of events and the blurry first-person stream-of-consciousness narration. Maybe I should have chosen “a typical Sunday morning at church” for the event to condense. But there was plenty of material to choose from – that’s one of the good things about going to the same church for fourteen years. The bad thing can be that the ghosts of those gone, or of events past, can sometimes pop up and dominate the scene in real life. So they don’t need any encouragement, swirling the history all together into a McFlurry (do those still exist?) like this assignment asked for.

     The prompt asked what we gained and lost by this experiment. I’d say that I recognized again what a rough couple of years our church has been through, with nearly every family going through at least one or two chronic-stress events. There was a lot of trials and characters that were left out of this sketch, of course – it asked for a compliation of a typical event. Not everything fits. And though the facts have been chewed though a blender, as far as chronology and everything, I think the tone was kept, more or less. I don’t really like this piece, but some writing one likes and some is just to beat the deadline. The honesty was stripped away, by mangling the timeline, and that kills the spirit, even if the style can produce interesting and sometimes pretty effects like CDs when microwaved. 

Styrofoam and Other Instruments of Blood-Pressure Skyrocketation

     The prompt for this assignment, from Dr. Mackie's Creative Nonfiction course, was to write about something that irritated us.

      There’s no telling why we find certain things intolerable. They just are.  For me, one of these irritating things is the sound that Styrofoam makes when it squeaks against something – worse than nails on a chalkboard, because it happens so much more often. And another thing about Styrofoam – what the heck is it? A bunch of chemicals with unpronounceable names, likely. It takes up a huge amount of space in trash cans, doesn’t ever really decompose by itself, and the only way to safely get rid of it is by burning. And then there are the little snowflakes of residue left behind.

            Styrofoam is convenient, though. And that’s probably why gas stations, fast-food places and restaurants use containers made out of the stuff for drink cups and hauling leftovers. And while there’s nothing that can be done about it(therefore no point to complaining), all those fast-food places look the same. And taste the same. There’s no character to most of them. And so it’s the same thing over and over across America, everyone shops at Dollar General, Wal-Mart or Target because they’re familiar, and eats at the same Burger Kings and Pizza Huts. The little out-of-the-way independent stores that Steinbeck stopped at in his journey are mostly gone. Maybe they were already gone by that time, I don’t know.  But now, for most things, if the franchise has only three or four locations, that’s about as separate from corporate red tape and bureaucracy as it’s going to get. There are exceptions – some weekly newspapers are still hanging on, for example. And more eastern Oklahoma examples can be found in the bank in Westville, a grocery store in Beggs, or the movie theater in Okmulgee, besides other places in other towns. And there will always be a small spot left for individual restaurants – especially drive-ins and barbeque joints. But in general, there’s an overwhelming sameness to the American landscape, which is frustrating.

            The extreme dependence on cars being the primary mode of transportation could be linked to this, perhaps. And yes, they are about the most efficient way to get from Point A to Point B. It’s the lack of any other options that becomes the problem. If an elderly person or someone with visual problems, for example, cannot drive, then they are kind of left to the mercy of others, which can be an uncomfortable place to be, human pride being what it is and not knowing who the neighbors are and all. They feel like a burden, and so keep to themselves, not fulfilling a role in their community.

            Switching back to a more personal irritation, my stress level launches through the roof whenever anything involving money has to be done, outside of bargain-hunting. Financial-aid details, for example. I’m very grateful that it’s been there to take care of most of the costs, but at the same time, there is almost nothing that wrecks my composure quite like a day of working out what documents need to go where, and things like that. Part of this could be because I don’t enjoy working with numbers, or because immediate deadlines don’t allow time to process the steps necessary to complete the task. And I just don’t really understand how money works, taxes and things. Since we didn’t have much growing up, I couldn’t learn by observation about how to think about and interact with money when there is some. That’s not the type of learning that can be picked up from reading, either. I’ll learn it all at some point.

            There are more things which raise my hackles, of course. That’s part of the flaws that make us human. But I’ll wrap this up, because I’m running out of page space here. Besides, it takes a lot of energy to contain the flood of Things That Irritate Wesley, if that subject has to come up, and even more to figure out which topics are safe enough to use in an essay like this. Then there’s exactly how to word each sentence, etc. But that’s why I’m an English major, words and language are what I can work with best. 

We Need to Get Home

     I didn't quite take this assignment to parody a well-known poem quite far enough. But I think I get the concept, at least.  The poem this is based on is Robert Frost's "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening." For Studies in Poetry.

We are standing here in snow.

I don’t much like this – no, no, no.

Too cold and dreary are these woods

to pass such silent interludes.

Nay, I much prefer stable

living, consuming warm oats at my table.

So, let us be off, master;

frostbite is merely one of the dangers we might face tonight.

He has now realized that I do not share

in his pleasure, nor recognize the beauty of the snowflake so austere.

I must remain practical as a plow-horse,

(for that is what I am, of course)

and there are miles to go before we sleep.

Yes, miles to go before we sleep. 

Tales From Tent City

     Homelessness just isn't something you think about very often, generally speaking. But it's been on the forefront of the minds of those involved in the Rogers State Theater spring play, the world-premiere production of Brian James Polak's Tales From Tent City. It's an emotionally-charged show tracking a group of homeless teenagers, mostly runaways of one sort or another, and their struggle to survive in finding new hope and a new home, especially after meeting an ambitious photographer trying to jumpstart her career. What follows is a deceptively simple tale with many tonal shifts, so that maybe the best way to describe it would be to call it an occasionally-lighthearted drama. Sort of like Joss Whedon projects, in some ways. The roles of group dynamics are similar to the Firefly crew, anyway. But overall, the simile we've been using to describe it as like The Breakfast Club taking place on the streets.

This poster really sums up the essence of the play very well. It was designed by the Graphic Design department on campus. 

Also designed by the Graphic Design department, this one harnesses the gritty nature of our world. 

Set once it was was mostly completed.

David and Wes taking a break from finishing getting the set ready.  Photo by Andrew Nichols.

Almost finished with rehearsals; Crick is very displeased here. Photo by Andrew Nichols.

     So... who are the main players, then? Jennifer the photographer is portrayed by Keirstine Weaver, a graphic design freshman from Claremore. Of the homeless community she encounters, Claremore communications senior Kessiah Neff plays Beatrix, who the script describes as "the one who takes care of Lily," serving as sort of the mother of the group. Lily, played by Claremore communications freshman Autumn Erickson, is an overtly optimistic pregnant fifteen-year-old with a preference for vampire fiction. Pryor resident Jamie Hazen plays Casper, who fills the role of thoughtful older brother/eccentric favorite uncle, whose advice and ideas often conflict with those of Crick's. Crick is played by Wesley Coburn, a senior English major from Beggs. Keeping an eye on everyone is Tonic, played by Claremore communications senior Zach Amon. Tonic plays guitar, and serves as a kind of balance for the community's internal politics.

Teaser posters like this were posted around campus and the surrounding area. Also created by the Graphic Design department, this photoshoot involved them sharing pizza with the cast. That was cool. Photo by David Blakely.

Andrew and Wes created most of the signs that adorn Casper's house; Wes designed this one with the idea that one of the girls decided it needed a more-homey feel. So Casper posted this on his front door.

This group hug was one of the first scenes we rehearsed. Photo by David Blakely

This puppy, named Gruber, played Crick's dog Ranger for several rehearsals, quickly becoming the cast mascot. He belongs to Zach and Charli. 

Final read-through tuneup. Pretty sure Keirstine took this photo.

     Crew members were Dr. David Blakely as director, with Jay community counseling junior Charli Stoots as stage manager, while Makayla Arnett is assistant stage manager, Renee Cox was in charge of makeup, and Andrew Nichols did pretty much everything behind the scenes, including running lights and taking publicity photos. Dr. Mary Mackie provided dressing-room snacks.

Tonic (Zach Amon) plays his guitar. Photo by Andrew Nichols.

      “I play Tonic, who has been at the tent city that they’re at the longest, he has a stutter, and he plays guitar, but he can SING," Amon stated, noting that much research was necessary to get Tonic's speech impediment done accurately. 
     "He watches everything, kind of like keeps his eye on everyone. He won’t always try to fit in with what everyone’s trying to do, but he listens." He is older than everyone else, being somewhere in his early twenties. Of his true family, nothing is known, except a sister is mentioned in addition to a foster-system background. 

Casper (Jamie Hazen) works on a new sign. Photo by Andrew Nichols.

     "Casper is, um....a confused one, actually," Hazen said. "He’s baffled by the fact that he’s been through so many foster homes, and have had so many parents that have said they loved him, but showed it in a way that he wasn’t used to. And so I think that’s the reason he runs away in the first place. And so Casper is just kind of looking for his own place in the world where he can feel safe.
     "According to Jennifer, he’s like the lovable uncle; he’s the jokester, he likes to keep people laughing so that they can’t see the pain that he hides inside. And that’s just his way of keeping himself in check, along with helping others to brighten their days so they don’t feel down, like he does.

     "This play is about a whitewashed fantasy, that’s based on reality, it’s just been so rewritten and sanitized so much that nobody knows exactly what it’s about until – a little farther in. So…you get to see this in-depth buildup of all these characters and then their crash with reality in this fantasy world that’s been created around them. 

     “My character’s name is Beatrix, I don’t have a last name, just Beatrix. Like Madonna," Neff laughs before turning serious, explaining how relatable she found the role to be. "She tries to be very caring, but at the same time she knows how the real world is, and she doesn’t want to wake up and see the real world. 
     "She absolutely cares for Lily, almost like a mother-daughter situation. Tonic – I don’t really know what her relationship is with Tonic; I mean, she kinda jokes with him, but not too much cause he can’t talk a lot." She cares a great deal about both Casper and Crick, though this is manifested in different ways. Her relationship with Jennifer is especially antagonistic, due to the invasion into the makeshift family's privacy and the threat that it could get ripped apart. 

Lily (Autumn Erickson) counts change. Photo by Andrew Nichols.

     Lily is kind of innocent and naive in some ways, Erickson says. "Well, she definitely gives the group someone to look after! She's one who cares about how everyone else feels, and so even if she can't give much to the group money- or work-wise, she can be supportive emotionally." Most of the comedy in the script comes from her character. 

     Jennifer is somewhere in her late twenties, and hasn't quite found her place in the world just yet. She's lonesome, and trying to scratch out a meaning as best she can through her work with her camera. 

Crick (Wesley Coburn) is ignoring Tonic and Jennifer (Keirstine Weaver). Photo by Andrew Nichols.

     Crick is immensely suspicious, in addition to being bitter, depressed and angry at the world. He loves dogs and scrapes out a living as a junk dealer focusing on used books whenever possible, resorting to thievery when it isn't. He struggles against institutions, seeing their potential for failure, but at the same time, he is very loyal to those he accepts as close friends. And like Firefly's Mal Reynolds, he serves as the father/protector of the group, who would be mortified if it were known that he so clearly cares about everyone. 

     Like Casper, this script sometimes delivers the stinging truth of life wrapped in the guise of a joke or fiction. It's very much a battle of idealism vs. realism and the varying colors of muddy grayness between truth and fiction, while also serving as a coming-of-age story for some characters and a coming-unhinged story for others. There is some harsh language, but it is absolutely vital in portraying the all-too-raw reality that these characters face in their daily world, and it is necessary for the plot, too, for reasons which cannot be mentioned due to their spoiler-ish nature. 
     " I honestly hope that they[the audience] understand the stories of others just a little bit more, because we live in a very, um, wealthy society, compared to other areas of the world that go through a lot more tougher times that we do, and so it just gives a little glimpse of what some people actually go through," Erickson said. 
     "I would say this play is about understanding homelessness, or, understanding your lack of understanding of homelessness," Neff said. "I hope after seeing this, they kinda understand more than 'Hey, it’s those homeless people, like, I feel so bad for them.' Well, ya can feel bad for them all you want, but that’s not gonna help them any, not gonna do anything." 
     "I really just hope it breaks ‘em. I want them to weep," Amon said. "No, I really hope they take away the idea that this is a real issue that we face here, and it’s an issue that should be addressed and should be looked at and changed, and I’m really hoping that people will take away from the show that lesson, that hey, there are people out there who need help, and that they will help those people. It’s a very emotionally-driven show."

     With an RSU ID, admission is $3. Adult tickets are $12 and senior tickets are $7. Proceeds help keep productions like this running; and also go towards student participation in the Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival regional competition. Curtain time is at 7:07 p.m. at the Will Rogers Auditorium on campus in Claremore, from Thursday, April 7 to Saturday, April 9; and then again from Thursday, April 14 to Saturday, April 16. Tickets are available by calling the RSU box office at 918-343-6882, or they may also be ordered online. (See www.RSU.edu for details on that.) A canned food drive will be held on April 14; tickets will be free with a donation of canned goods for the area homeless. 

Self-Written Elegy

     This was definitely one of the more difficult poetry assignments this semester. It's uncomfortable writing about yourself. Especially if you're supposed to be dead. The full title is "On the Cutting of a Second Pine Tree in the Western Meadow Near Rooster's Creek," since that is the meaning of my name when it's fully sketched out.

So now another has left

this world, and those bereft

remain behind, lamenting

his passing and cementing

the temporary memory of his life

before it washes away amidst the strive

which living brings.

Wesley was known to frequently sing

while enduring the stings

and arrows of travails

which are part and parcel of this teary veil –

Others went on to fulfill bigger dreams

but someone needs to make sure things

run smoothly back at home.

Perhaps there is a kind of glory

inside even such a mundane story. 

Two Outs in the Sixth Inning

     This was the first draft of my third workshopped story for Fiction Writing. I was mostly concentrating on the contrast of lightness of the ballgame with the darkness of Carol's impending death, and also on the internal monologues, using as little dialogue as possible, since most of my stuff tends to be dialogue heavy. Several classmates said it was their favorite story they'd read all semester.

     They were using the tennis ball today. They usually alternated between that and an oversize softball that Bill Raye called a “cabbage ball,” due to its size and general mushiness. But since they had the tennis ball, they had the gloves out. She smiled, listening. Last summer she had felt good enough to sit on the porch and cheer them on. The Bulldogs were hitting, they were losing 2-0 to the Alley Cats, according to Allison’s chalkboard scorekeeping, and it was the fourth inning. They usually played six, unless something unexpected happened. She liked to imagine that her grandson in Wichita played ball with other kids he knew, and he enjoyed hearing about these neighborhood games, so she tried to remember everything she could about what happened. Carol just really lacked the energy right now to write a letter. So she just sat and watched the window instead.

     Jocelyn slapped a ground-rule double, planting herself firmly on the pizza box that was second base. Now Aaron was up at bat; his younger sister Amanda was pitching for the Alley Cats. Mandy tossed two of her elevator balls for strikes, then wound up and struck him out with one of her blazing fastballs. To the players, Carol was just some older lady who liked baseball. She used to have a dog named Sassy, but not anymore, and she let them use her yard as a field, so that was cool. She was sick more often now, from something that had to do with eating too much crab dip.

     Carol had given Sassy to Amanda’s family since she was too sick to keep a dog. She’d always liked kids. Maybe that was part of why she became a librarian. Of course, once the cancer came she had had to give that up, but… So now she didn’t get out much. Sometimes she fixed them some cookies if she felt well enough. They were just store cookies from Dollar General, but they didn’t seem to mind. Hmm, cookies sounded good. She walked into the kitchen and took two out of the package, pulled a glass off the shelf and set about enjoying her snack.

     Except that she didn’t.

     The half-gallon container was too heavy to pick up. So she ate one of the cookies dry and left the other for later.

            Alley Cats at bat now, David was facing Rich’s pitch. Rich let the neon yellow ball go into one of his loopy slow-motion flight patterns. The bat swung around and connected for a pretty solid line drive, and David reached the first-base Frisbee easily. Sarah Kate scooped up the ball on two hops and threw it to Danny.

            Bill sat on his deck, watching the game from his perch in left field. Cars seldom-to-never came down the cracked concrete of Fourth Street, so the outfield stretched across the road and into the Raye’s backyard. The dogs were barking their fool heads off like always; he ran them inside through the screen door. They were a nuisance, but Barbara enjoyed having the little yappers around, so that was that. The kids knew they could just slip inside if a foul ball landed inside the fence, as long as they didn’t let TieDye or Taz out. Not that the dogs would want to run loose, they were too used to their sedentary lifestyle, but it gave the kids some boundaries, which was good for ‘em. Mandy was at the plate right now, Rich’s throw had even less backspin than normal, which wasn’t much to begin with. In other words, it was so slow that Bill probably could’ve pounded that throw. Point was, she got her bat off her shoulder and socked that tennis ball across the street and off the Raye’s roof. It shot twenty feet skyward before coming down on the weathered maroon paint of the deck.

     Barbara stepped out onto the deck to see what was going on. “Home run, honey?”

     “Yep. Mandy Chapman.”

     Her cousin Steve was going nuts, while Allison updated the scoreboard to now read Alley Cats 5, Bulldogs 0. Bill had nicknames for some of them, Steve he always called Bob Costas, due to his tendency to enthusiastically announce the progress of these ballgames. Mandy tripped over her shoelace between second and third, then picked right up and ran home. Bill tossed the ball back into the outfield, and after half an inning more, the kids in yellow T-shirts headed home with frustrated expressions, while the kids in the black T-shirts looked pleased with their afternoon’s work.

     The jerseys were Barbara and Carol’s idea after the kids were wistfully picturing how “official” their teams would look, so they got together and went to Michael’s or Hobby Lobby, well, one of them other crafty-type stores; then they screen-printed the team names and numbers onto the front and back. The jerseys were a huge hit; and there was a bunch of thank-you letters and pictures mailed to both houses. Their fridge was already covered up with pictures from the grandkids, but a couple of the baseball teams’ drawings had found display-places, too. And Carol got a huge kick out of it, which she like as not needed a great deal. Her treatment wasn’t going too well, and she hadn’t been out much for about a week. Since she’d worked at the library, almost everybody in town knew her, and while it was agreed that she could be a handful – specially after moving over to the Methodists after being part of the PH church ever since her divorce – still, town opinion held her in decent standing. She was part of the fabric of the town; she was Good People. And if you were Good People, then you were gossiped about, certainly, but it was done kindly. And gossip was just what everyone did when it wasn’t football season no longer, that’s been the ways out-of-the-way communities got their recreation for goodness knows how long. Just part of the rules. Like when Jocelyn’s family moved into town four years ago and her mother called the police department asking if fireworks were allowed on Fourth of July. Pete popped the top of a Diet Coke and drawled, “Well, ma’am, it’s technically illegal, but nobody follows that rule, so you may as well go ahead.” Like how everyone knew to hunt up those Mullin cats Lewis & Clark at the Lange house when they got loose. Sarah Kate’s fur allergies kept her sneezing for four days afterwards, but cats have their own minds and will be their own masters.

     Barbara stepped across the street to deliver one of her fudge-pecan pies to Carol, and they’d probably chat for several hours over topics as silly as “why boys didn’t seem to like brown-haired girls any more.” He’d huffed in disgust when he once overheard this conversation, but danged if he hadn’t wondered the same thing since on occasion!

     A couple days later, the teams got together again for another game, using the cabbage ball this time. That meant pretty much whichever side made less errors would win; as the size of the ball made it hard to hang on to. There just isn’t really anything to compare it to, sixteen inches around made for a weird – what was that big math-related word? – circumference? Danny readjusted his cap and got into position covering second base. Rich was stuck at home cleaning his room, so Sarah Kate was pitching instead. In the first inning, she struck David out and forced Mandy and Kristy into weak little grounders. With Jocelyn at first base, everything was caught cleanly, and that was the first inning. Chris pounced on a line drive down the third-base line in the second, and still nobody had scored yet by the third. That was when Ranger decided to join in on the fun. He loped(Danny liked that word and used it whenever possible) onto the field and began covering everyone in sloppy blue-heeler kisses. And then Sunshine the beagle puppy from two houses over dug under the fence and joined in. That set off the Raye’s Lhasa Apsos even worse than usual; and once they got started the Haworth’s Labs and the Byars’ German shepherd got started howling, too. That took a while to sort out, and then a bunch of runs were scored, with the Bulldogs leading 8-7 a close call degenerated into a loud argument. Carol was feeling better today, she was watching from her front porch.

     “What happened, y’all?”

     They explained. Danny had tagged Kristy out at second, but she said her foot was already touching the base, since it grazed the corner of the box.

     “You guys know how to settle this.” Carol looked vaguely disappointed with them – it was a hard expression to understand, Danny thought. Most grown-up expressions were. Something like they wanted to cry, or smile, or yell a lot of cuss words whenever they thought nobody was around. Maybe all of those at the same time, if that was even possible. It was why he tried to stay out of the house as much as possible. Dad and Mom were always arguing about something, it seemed like, or they were worried about money, with the rent due in a couple days and Dad without a job, really. It was a lot simpler whenever the gang got in fights about calls and stuff; Carol had decided that Rock-Paper-Scissors was how those close plays would be figured out. Maybe that’s what grown-ups needed.

     “Rock, Paper, Scissors, SHOOT!”

     Danny threw paper, so did Kristy. They tried again. They both threw scissors that time. He threw scissors again on the third try, and Kristy threw a rock. Rock smashes scissors, of course, everybody knows that. So she was safe.

     He wasn’t exactly sure what “cancer” was, but it was something pretty bad, he knew that. Usually you had to be kind of old to get it, but sometimes there were stories about teenagers who had it, or even kids. Anyway, it sucked the life right out of you, is how Carol explained it. He’d asked Bill about it once, and didn’t really get a good answer. Instead he just shook his head and asked whether he remembered when Mandy and Aaron’s dog was run over. Danny remembered that, yeah. Copper had just sort of laid there a while, and kinda whimpered; he’d been over there that day, and all three of them bawled their eyes out til it didn’t seem like there was any room for anything else inside. Copper tried to lick the tears away, but it hurt too much, so she just set her nose on Aaron’s leg and watched. Then, eventually, she just….wasn’t there any longer. Bill had said that cancer was a little like that car that hit Copper; and so, bit by bit, Carol’s body wasn’t working right anymore. It was confusing. Where would they play ball if she wasn’t there anymore? Her house would have to be sold, probably, and what if whoever lived there next didn’t like kids? Wouldn’t let ‘em play ball in their front yard? What if they had a big scary mountain of a dog, like that man in that movie from Eagle’s Nest video store?

     Later he was up at bat, and he got a good chunk of Sarah Kate’s pitch. The ball sailed into the outfield for a clean base hit – wait, what? Mandy was yelling and pointing at something, ohhh. He had thrown the bat; which everyone knew was an automatic out because Carol said so. That rule had been put into place so nobody would get hurt, after that happened one time when Lee flung his bat and it sailed into Sam’s ankle.

Anyway, they ended up winning 10-7, so that was a good thing. Some of them walked down to Shuttle Stop for a candy bar or bag of chips and a pop. They talked about books they were reading for the library’s summer reading program, and what older siblings were doing. Being a teenager seemed awfully dramatic and unpleasant and confusing. It probably wasn’t exactly like the movies explained it, but some didn’t seem that far off, either. Danny was glad he wasn’t a teenager yet.

            Dear Kevin,

Things are going well here. Are you all planning anything for Fourth of July? Planning on having an army-man battle in the driveway again, maybe? I haven’t felt too well here lately, but today I felt good enough to watch the ballgame. The Dog Club interrupted it for a while, and then Danny and Kristy had a fight over a tag at second base. She was safe, but the Bulldogs ended up winning today 10-7. Have you been to any Wranglers ballgames this season yet?

The hummingbirds haven’t been eating too much, I guess it’s just been too hot. The Mullin cats (Lewis and Clark, you know, they belong to Kristy) came over yesterday before wandering over to Sarah Kate’s. They just plonked themselves down on the front porch and gave themselves a very thorough bath. In between their toes and everything. Then they took a nap in the sunshine, drank some milk I set out for ‘em, and scattered when Fred came by with the day’s mail. That reminds me – I need to go check the mailbox.

Okay, back now. The paper came today, looks like the teenagers from church are excited about camp coming up in a couple months, and they’re holding a car wash to raise money for that. One of the high school juniors won a trip to Washington, D.C. with a bunch of other kids from all over the state. I read about it in the paper last week; seems like it’ll be a really cool experience. Just imagine – seeing all that history up close! They’re gonna meet some of our Congressmen, go to George Washington’s house at Mount Vernon, see all those memorials to guys like Jefferson and Lincoln, and even go to the Smithsonian museum! She’s going to keep a journal of the trip and the paper’s going to print it, so the rest of us can know what it was like. That’ll be in a couple weeks. Here’s a funny clipping for you guys to laugh at (from the police reports) – "At 10:15 p.m. Alverson and Mitchell investigated a report of breaking and entering on West Chincapin Street. A caller said someone broke into the house. It turned out to be the caller's brother who got in the house, no charges were filed." Or this one: “Holmes investigated a report of a suspicious vehicle parked under the Collyge Street awning at the elementary school at 8:30 p.m. The owner put it there to protect it from the hail and the thunderstorm."

My friend Barbara came over the other day with one of her fudge-pecan pies, it sure was yummy. We talked for a while, her husband Bill’s blood pressure isn’t acting right, so they’re not sure what’s going on with that, exactly. I’m gonna go to the doctor again for more chemo tomorrow, and if I feel good enough, to the store this afternoon and then into town to run some other errands. Hope you can visit soon.

Love,

Mimi   

     Somebody had once asked her how come she cared about the neighborhood kids so much, or why she specialized in children’s literature when it came to the library; in reply, she’d quoted C.S. Lewis’ preface to The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe: “Someday, you will be old enough to read fairy tales again.” The kids were engrossed in their game; which was how things ought to be. There were a lot of educational things they were learning without realizing it: conflict management, dealing with what life gave you, focusing on a larger goal than any of them could accomplish by themselves. And they reminded her to treasure the mundane: cookies unexpectedly, sunshiny days, a base hit, a caught fly ball. Yes, she was going to die soon, certainly by next summer, but the kids had their lives ahead: High school, dating, divorces, college, kids, marriage. She wasn’t that important to them; they’d forget about her. But maybe someday they’d remember. And these games wouldn’t last forever, either, once the kids started hitting puberty. But for now, the game continued.