Monthly Archives: July 2019

Don’t Judge a Man by His Coveralls

Bluebell, my dad’s book that’s first on my list to get published, is filled with thoughts that make it more than just a story. And that’s what today’s Graphically Said post is all about.

Willis Jefferson, the man described in the quote above, wasn’t wealthy; at least not in the way people normally define wealth. But there was a richness about him that few could miss, if they looked closely and were honest with themselves.

Learn More about Willis

Read an excerpt from the book.
Check out a recent post about love.
Discover his similarity to Charlie Bucket, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

How Strong is Love

True love is stronger than many think and it’s the topic of today’s Bits of Bill. I think most authors write about what they believe. I mean, how many novels about a loving God would you expect to find written by atheists? So, with that in mind, I’m going to be diving into dad’s novel, Bluebell, for things important to him.

Willis Jefferson is a young black man in his early twenties when Bluebell opens. He’s minding his own business but a deep influence from an older white woman, that lingers deep within his soul, is about to launch him into the type of trouble he’s never seen before.

As we read in an excerpt from the story, he’s nearing a town when a woman’s scream shatters the rural stillness. It’s a predominantly white town in the 1930’s and he knows full well that intervening could be challenging or even dangerous. But the love instilled in him by Miss Rowena Kramer, was stronger than even fear and dread, and pushed him toward the house where the sound had originated. Here’s how my dad tells the rest of the story.

“A whimper from somewhere off the hall was sufficient motivation to re-focus his thoughts, and Willis moved to the doorway. His glance, taking in the shattered remains of a vase, and a second overturned chair, came to rest on the battered form crumpled on the floor.

Her face and neck were covered with huge red and purple welts. Blood trickled from one unrecognizable mass that had been an ear; and it was impossible to ascertain the presence of eyes behind the puffed, lacerated lids. A slightly stronger flow of blood, coming from a ragged gash at the side, just above the left eye, gave Willis his most immediate cause for alarm.

Snatching the cover from a pillow, he dashed to the kitchen. Returning with a pan of cool water, he fashioned a compress with one of the several strips he’d torn from the pillowcase. With the larger piece of material, he carefully washed the hideously swollen face.

Willis had no idea of how long he had huddled over the wretched figure; nor, under the circumstances, was he concerned.”

He should have been more than concerned, and would have been had it not been for love. A love, so strong, that it put the plight of a white woman living in a largely racist town, before the well being of a black man.

Dad writes about love because it’s important to him and part of his life. He worked long, hard hours to support my mom and raise two children and he still shows the love of his life, as they approach their 73rd anniversary, the type of love and respect that some married couples only dream of.

An Unsettling Meeting

In today’s Character Confessions, I’m speaking with Carl Schenfield, the investigative reporter who went to Drewsport in 1949 to research the story chronicled in my dad’s novel, Bluebell. “In 1934, Carl had signed on with Trans-World-Wire; and, by 1939, was one of its top correspondents in Europe. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor he was transferred to the Pacific…” and that’s where I want to start our interview.

Scott: You met someone while you were in the Pacific that greatly impacted you…can you tell me about that meeting?

Carl: He was a “young man, a gunner’s mate from a PT squadron, at an airstrip on Leyte. They were there waiting for transportation north. The boy was being reassigned after having been hospitalized for injuries incurred when his boat was blown from beneath him.”

Scott: And you talked with him for a long time?

Carl: No, it was “a brief encounter…war rarely leaves time for proper introductions. Such meetings might be no more than sharing a slit trench, a life raft, foxhole, or being slung over the shoulder of some guy who’s risking his life to save your butt.”

Scott: That doesn’t sound like ideal circumstances for investigative reporting.

Carl: Actually, “these situations, and the myriad of others created by war, make room for an openness that is seldom achieved in more refined circumstances. Maybe there’s an attraction, maybe there isn’t; it’s of little consequence. In the next minute either, or both of you, could be dead. It had been that way with…Jeremy.”

Scott: Other than what he told you, what stands out about your time together?

Carl: We “were together less than an hour” but even in that short time, I “learned a great deal about the boy, his family, friends…and his hometown.”

Scott: Being a reporter during the war, you probably “had seen more death than a hundred men would see in a lifetime. In the midst of such wholesale slaughter, why would hearing about the death of one man make such a lasting impression?”

Carl: During my time in the Pacific, “there had been atrocities enough on both sides to foster grave misgivings concerning the state of the ‘civilized’ world.” Then the kid told me what his town had done, and “I was forced to acknowledge the truth: Ignorance, and the fear it breeds, will always combine with hate to produce the same crop.”

Scott: Thanks Carl for speaking with me today. Can we arrange to have you back for another session?

Carl: Sounds doable to me.

Scott: Well folks, that does it for today but to know when Carl and I speak again, plus get updates on other new articles posted on this blog, get in touch and say, “Sign me up”!