Author Archives: 2elderpreneurs

BAD, Bad Words

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Although it may never have been Graphically Said before today, this excerpt from one of dad’s short stories is pretty much spot on.  Referring to words “that demean or ridicule a person, or group of persons”, dad says, “These mindless racial and ethnic slurs are the only words I consider truly bad.  Aside from the hurt they cause others, they brand the user as a stupid, thoughtless, bigot.

If stupid seems a bit harsh, remember that the root of prejudice is ignorance.  Granted, fear plays a large part in the process, but it is lack of understanding, i.e., ignorance, wherein we become mired.”

His piece continues with these words…

Want to check out other Graphically Said posts?  Just Do It!

For Whom the Crow Flies

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Recently, I shared dad’s Pessimistic Optimism in the first issue of Bits of Bill and today, it’s all about birds; a particular crow to be more exact.  Could it be possible that these creatures know instinctively how to live in a way that could benefit us, if we learned from their flight path?  Read on to find out.

A number of yeas ago, my wife and I were adopted by a crow with a gimpy leg.  He arrived one day, took up a perch atop the big alder in our back yard, and refused to move on.  During the day, he would disappear occasionally; but, because he was there morning and evening, it appeared that he felt the tree was his.  This became obvious, later, when we heard the nestlings.

Now, I’m quite sure that the bird was perfectly capable of fending for him or herself; but, because of the limp, we began buying him generic bread and bulk peanuts.  The final assignment of gender was based solely on the bird’s arrogant attitude.

In a week or two, I suppose as a way of showing his appreciation, we were introduced to his three offspring.

We named them, The Twins, and Joe; the latter being the runt; and our enjoyment, in observing their march to adulthood, was well worth the extra loaf of bread and an additional bag of peanuts a week.

As the passage of time brought the youngsters closer to adulthood, the family became less and less individualistic.  Papa was the exception, because his leg, neither retracting nor extending properly, marked him, even in flight.

One morning, as the bird, I thought to be Joe, finished its snack, it squawked a few times, caught the freshening breeze, and lifted effortlessly into the morning sky.

Watching, I was chagrined by the superiority of this lesser of God’s creations; and by the ease with which it had adapted.  I was humbled by the knowledge that, although it might take a life, it would never do so in anger.  It would accept, with no need to know why, the size, shape and color of all God’s creatures.  When it became time, it would give of itself, whatever was necessary, to rear its offspring; and, barring the intervention of humankind, this bird, and its kind, would continue to live in the manner God set forth when creating them.

Papa spent several years with us, and with each season brought a new family into our lives.  That we gained a great deal from the experience was obvious.  In the editing and rewriting of this piece, however, I was beset by the niggling feeling that much of what was offered had been overlooked… or ignored.

An examination of that uneasiness revealed that there is good reason to question the manner in which humans, particularly the Christian variety, think and speak of themselves.  Granted, we are forgiven, but have we, by faith and adherence to God’s laws, maintained our assigned position above the crows; or, like them, do we flit about with little purpose, making a great deal of noise, while giving no thought to what lies beyond today’s allotment of bread and peanuts?

A Berry Scary Day

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One day recently, I found myself sitting opposite Jennifer Robles, better known to Rowena as Jenny, to hear about one very terrifying afternoon.

Scott: Can you set the stage for me Jenny…what was happening?

Jenny:  It was during the Summer of 1899 and we were on a church sponsored weekend outing.  “Although America, at least its rural segments, had yet to enshrine Summer Camp, church or otherwise,” these types of events “were regularly enjoyed by both youths and adults.  Simple affairs, they entailed moving the rudiments of home to the less comfortable, but more exhilarating domain of nature.”

Scott: And you were about to go exploring?

Jenny:  Yes.  “Two of the teachers brought together a group, including Rowena and” I, “for a nature walk.  Empty coffee cans, and the promise of a berry hunt, added a touch of extra excitement” for all of us.

Scott:  Then what happened?

Jenny: I remember Mrs. Hauenstein, the third grade teacher, saying, “All right, children; the berry bushes are just ahead.”  Rowena and I, “faithfully adhering to Mrs. Hauenstein’s admonition to” keep her in sight, “had stayed close— for awhile.”  Then we headed off on our own.  “Not to such a degree as to have forsaken the security of hearing” her voice, “but far enough to feel…excitingly, covertly, and wickedly alone.”

Scott: And how did your decision to distance yourself from the leader work out?

Jenny: Well, “true to Mrs. Hauenstein’s word, berry bushes were plentiful, but their offerings were meager” and our interest was beginning to lag.  Suddenly, I squealed with joy.  “Ween, look!”, I said and “pointed to a cluster of berry-laden bushes atop a slight rise, just beyond an outcropping of rock.”

With a joyous shout, we rushed forward.  “Racing ahead, Rowena clambered on a rock, the first step, of what seemed a natural stairway leading to the berries.  Leaning forward, she grasped the next jagged edge, and launched herself.”

Scott: Jenny, are you OK?

Jenny:  Yeah…no, not really.

Scott:  Should we stop for a while?

Jenny:  No, it’s something I need to share…it’s just hard because sometimes I still blame myself for showing her that batch of berries.

“For an instant both feet were airborne, as she soared toward her destination.  Then, in coming to rest on the rock’s face, her right foot settled on a cluster of pebbles.  The foot skewed sideways, throwing her off balance.  In a frantic effort to find support, her left foot became wedged in a crevice between the rocks.  Arms flaying wildly, she pitched to one side, and the captive leg twisted ominously.  Upon reaching the limit of its flexibility, the bones parted with a sickening pop, and Rowena crumpled to earth.  There was a moment of near silence, then a piercing scream, as she saw the blood soaked stocking stretched taught over shards of protruding bone.”

Scott: What happened then?

Jenny:  I ran?

Scott:  You left her there alone?

Jenny:  No!  I ran back to my teacher to tell her Rowena had hurt herself.

Scott:  That was smart.  And I know from reading two other books by my dad, that she made it out OK and grew up to be a pretty great lady and your best friend.

Jenny: Yep…I don’t think she ever blamed me a bit for what happened.

Scott:  Jenny, thank you for being so open and sharing this difficult story.  I hope it gives some people the encouragement to read more about you and Rowena.

Jenny:  That would be so great.  I really want to see her book do well.  Was that too obvious a plug for the novel?

Scott:  Well I don’t think anyone missed it but that’s what this blog is all about anyway, so I don’t see any harm done.

Jenny:  Then, could you add a link after our interview, so people could download “Rowena” and get to know us both better?

Scott:  I think that’s a great idea Jenny.  Thanks again for agreeing to be interviewed and for the great story you shared.  I’ll hide the link right here so it won’t be too obvious.

Jenny:  Very clever Scott and thanks for asking me to be part of your Character Confessions series.  I read the one you did with Rowena and really liked it, especially the ‘potty mouth’ part.

Scott:  One last question Jenny.  If people want to read about that Summer day, do you know what page in the book they should visit?

Jenny:  Of course!  Have them start near the top of Page 69.

Scott:  Thanks Jenny!  Well, that’s today’s Character Confession.  Hope you’ll find my next interview as exciting as I did this one.

Game On

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The PBS series, The Great American Read, has changed everything at Read My Dad’s Stuff.  For years, I’ve worked on different ideas, such as this website and corresponding Facebook page, to introduce the readers of the world, and the publishing community, to W.D. ‘Bill’ McIntyre’s writing.

As I watched the Launch Special of The Great American Read last night, hosted by Meredith Vieira, it hit me that it would be theoretically possible for one of my dad’s novels to get an equal number of votes as any of the 100 novels being showcased on their show.  One small problem with that hope…he doesn’t have a book published yet.  But that didn’t stop me, though it added another roadblock to the project.

Paving Over the Roadblocks

It became obvious that this was not an ‘I can do this easily on my own’ type of project, so below are some concrete ways you can help me get past some of the obstacles.

  1. Pray – I’m a Christian and believe in the power of prayer so this is the most important way people who believe the same thing can help.
  2. Read Rowena – Download the book for free.
  3. Vote if It’s a Favorite – You can vote once per day, just like PBS allows with their 100 selections.
  4. Pitch In – I need help locating email addresses for newspapers, TV stations, libraries, etc.  Contact me for details.
  5. Participate Socially
  6. Stay Current – Sign-up for free email updates from any page on our blog or just email me and say, “Sign me up”.
  7. Contribute Ideas – If you think of something that might help me with this project, feel free to get in touch.
  8. Get Newsy – Read our Press Release and forward it to someone in the publishing industry or just get more info about our project.

As I think about all the work involved, it’s offset by my imagination of what could be.  Wouldn’t it be amazing if on the PBS finale in October 2018, they admitted that a previously unknown book had come out of nowhere to finish with more votes than one or more of their 100 selections?

 

That’s Rich

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Wealth, a fairly common theme in literature, is often a character’s legacy from birth and other times, a result of hard work.  Unfortunately, there’s another scenario, and in today’s episode of “Counterparts in Literature“, featuring a snippet from dad’s book, “Rowena”, that’s the tragic trail we’re headed down.

Prior to the time the world took to the air, in those days when extended automobile trips were more ordeal than pleasure, America moved behind great steam locomotives on gleaming steel rails.  If there were those who didn’t reside reasonably close to a rail line, it was because they were atop a mountain, or in the middle of a forgotten desert.  Even a few of those self-styled hermits were served by some, less than grand, narrow gauge that hauled ore, logs or other commodities purloined from Mother Nature.

By virtue of their size and scope, the volume of freight, human and otherwise, moved by the railroads, was staggering.  Unfortunately a byproduct of this was frequent wrecks.  Most, not news worthy, were more an inconvenience than a threat to the passengers’ well-being, occasionally, though, one of catastrophic proportions did occur.  When that happened, the eyes of a nation were focused on it.  Thus it was with the train of which Osgood Kramer’s private car was a part.

In light of the harsh effect the wreck had on Rowena’s life, the transfer of wealth from Mr. Kramer was not viewed in a positive light, at least not initially, but that’s a story for another day.  Now I want to look at some other wealthy individuals from the world of fiction.

Dave Astor, in an article for HuffPost,  lists a number of fictional characters with big bucks.  The table below lists some of them them but not in the correct order.  See if you can match up the Book with the correct Author and Rich Character and then check out his article to see how successful you were.

BookAuthorRich Character
Jeeves in the OffingTom WolfeGaston
Jane EyreP.G. WodehouseSherman McCoy
The Ladies' DelightHarriet Beecher StoweBertie Wooster
The Bonfire of the VanitiesEmile ZolaRochester
Uncle Tom's CabinColetteOctave Mouret
GigiCharlotte BronteSimon Legree

 

A Tree’s Dirt

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Trees have appeared in these pages before but today, in this QuotaBill post, one brings us a story, and perhaps, a lesson.

For several days the tree had been watching the men in gray digging into the earth, and piling rocks one on top of another.  She had seen them roll cannon into place behind the rocks, and knew, as did the other forest inhabitants, what was to take place.

The tree had seen it many times; and come to recognize it as the curse humankind had brought to their world.  As with the animals, the faces changed with each generation, but the species remained much the same, and always there was death… death for the humans… death for those of nature.

What the tree saw, during this excerpt from a short story set during the American Civil War, we still see far too often in our society; mankind’s failure to resolve issues, individually or culturally, without resorting to violence.

As I mentioned at the start of this post, trees have been featured here before and by following the links below, you’ll be directed back into the forest for a look at these stunning landmarks of the woodlands.

Save a Tree (an earlier QuotaBill post)

Facing Difficulties (first Graphically Said post)

Before Little Boy BIll

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Knowing what makes a person tick requires a look at their parental make-up and that’s where today’s episode of “Bits of Bill” takes us.  When dad’s mom is introduced to a senior official on the Pasadena police force, in a somewhat arresting manner, a story unfolds that pop has captured in three short tales.  Below is an excerpt from the last one.

A sound from the kitchen jogged her memory, and she excused herself.  She returned moments later, after having checked on the stew, and asked, “Have you made plans for supper, Chief McKenna?”

It seemed to Edith that there was touch of sadness in his smile.  “Why, yes, as a matter fact I have, I’ll be dining at the Good Fellow’s Grill.’

Jason spoke up, “That’s where we had hamburgers, boy, they make good ones!”

Edith nodded.  “I see, and you eat there regularly?”

“Yes…yes I do.”

“So it isn’t a special occasion…um, you aren’t expected by…someone?”

A quizzical smile touched his lips.  “Not by prearrangement, no.”

“Then I will be terribly hurt if you don’t stay for supper!”

It was, in Edith’s estimation, a brazen display, but possibly excusable for its motivation: The empty longing and helpless need that had nearly driven her to her childish escapade with Officer Barnes, she had seen in Chief McKenna’s eyes.

Whether that had been the only impetus, it was a beginning; and, later, Edith was able to see that, under the circumstances, it had been perfectly proper.  It had also been most rewarding.

Three years later, he was 56, she, 33; in the home of a justice of the peace, they were married.  How much of the true, Wilbur McKenna, Edith ever met, we are not to know.  What is known, is that Jason had a father that he idolized, a man he would come to love dearly, a father that loved him as his own.  Edith no longer searching, had found peace with a man she would love for the rest of his life; and Will McKenna had found, in that love, and in returning it, a reason to, if not forget the past, live for the future.

As for the children of Edith and Wilbur… perhaps later.

Interesting that there was only one other child, Warren Dean, and he wrote the tale about my Uncle Jason and grandparents; Wilbur and Edith McIntyre.

Want to learn more?  Here are some options that you might enjoy…

The Jason Station

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It was bad enough that the large, glowering man, happened to be the little girl’s father, but when he left her at the train station, with someone she didn’t know, you could only hope her life would, somehow, take a turn for the better.  In today’s ‘First Acquaintance‘ post, we find just such a new direction.

A pair of trousers’ legs towered before her.  Dark blue and neatly pressed, they seemed to reach forever.  Her eyes traveled upward to the vee at the joining of the vest.  Then, on past the great gold chain hanging loosely across the line of buttons, to the point at which his black tie shown starkly against the gleaming white shirt.

From above the stiff collar, a face smiled down at her.  It was not like her father’s.  There were no dark bushy brows crouched above fierce black eyes.  These, nearly white, were laughingly placed on a broad forehead above two beautiful blue eyes.  At the moment, however, these seemed very sad, but she knew instinctively that they would twinkle like stars when they were happy.  Beneath a lovely mustache, the wide smiling mouth opened, and again the concerned voice spoke soothingly.

“Well, hello there.  I thought I might never see your face; what with your hands covering it up; but my… you should never hide it, it’s a lovely face, and you have beautiful eyes.”  He chuckled softly.

With these few words, we’re introduced to Jason Carlson, the man Rowena’s father had somehow selected as the girl’s new parent.  And with the same words, she recognized a change for the better may have burst into her life.

Jason has…oops, almost gave away a future episode of First Acquaintance.  Until that article appears, here are a couple of options to help you get better acquainted with Rowena and the characters in her book.

 

As the Crow Flies

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Sometimes, people need to stop and refresh!  When life is throwing a wrench at us, removing ourselves from the issue at hand can give us the clarity we need to finish what we were dealing with.  In this, my first ‘How-To’s‘ post, an excerpt from Dad’s short story, “The Crows are Quacking”,  tells the story of Just such a thing happening to my parents when I was five years old.

It was 1955; our new house was in one of the first tracts to sprout among the orange groves surrounding a lovely little town nestled close to the San Gabriel mountains; some thirty miles east of Los Angeles.

Our moving day had been hectic.  I was able to get a truck, but none of the promised help had materialized; it was late and we were very tired.  I was trying, with little success, to connect the kitchen range, when Barb burst into the room.

“What’s that noise?”

“Me, cussin’!”

“No, it’s outside.  Listen!”

I stopped mumbling; then it was my turn:  “What is it?”

I scrambled to my feet, and we both hurried outside.

“It’s coming from the east,” Barb said, pointing.

It is probably safe to say that most of us have heard the call of a crow.  If not in person, on radio or TV, but until you’ve heard several hundred of them returning to their rookeries, you ain’t heard nothin’!

Because the sound had preceded the birds by a considerable distance, we were forced to wait for some time before catching a glimpse of its source.  I don’t recall there being any apprehension, but anticipation and curiosity were at a peak.

Finally, the first of the flocks came into view. They moved in a general direction, but there seemed to be great confusion with regard to their eventual destination.  Although the din seemed to be the result of differing points of view concerning that objective, it soon became evident that they knew exactly where they were going, and everything else was just fun and games.  We watched, totally enthralled, as they came in seemingly endless waves.  Circling above the groves, they dove, landed and flew again to repeat the process, many times.

Suddenly, I remembered what I’d been doing and glanced at my watch.

“Sheesh!  I’ve wasted fifteen minutes watching those crazy birds.”

Rushing back into the kitchen, I grabbed my wrench and wiggled in behind the stove.  Surprisingly, what had appeared hopeless before, seemed less so now.  A brief examination revealed a place where I could fudge a little; and, in a few minutes, the pilot was lit, and staying on!

Those crazy birds!

Obviously, the interruption was unintended but never the less, highly helpful and effective.  Maybe, following this event, mom and dad listened for avian packs approaching when things they were working on weren’t going so smoothly.  What about you?  When you’re tired and trying, with little success, to address life head on, what have you used to remove yourself from the moment so you can return with a new outlook?

Facing Difficulties

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You may have heard the saying, ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back‘ but what we may not think about is that camels are all different…just like us.  What might be too much for one to bear, another can shoulder with ease.

My dad wrote a short story, titled ‘A Tree for Tomorrow’,  about one of those difficult times in his life, and I’ve identified several quotes worthy of sharing.  Here’s one of them and rest assured, there could be more to follow.

If you’d like to read more about “A Tree for Tomorrow”, check out this post from earlier in 2017.