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Al Capone

kpiddington — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 17:55:07 CDT

White River Valley Historical Quarterly

Missouri Pacific Railroad

MPR2

Sadie H

Al Capone

Stacy's Page

Staysee — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 15:55:59 CDT

Molasses Making in the Ozarks.

Workshop information: During the OWP AI summer of 2008 our focus was on our community-specifically the Ozarks. Having lived in the Ozarks my entire life I began to talk to my family about local customs and traditions. I have very faint memories of the molasses making process, but a relative of mine had several photos taken in the 1970's of the tradition my family passed down.

Classroom connection: After the workshop I was excited to take awareness of the Ozarks back to my high school. For the 2008-2009 school year we celebrated the community in which I teach by using the theme "Big Timin' in a Small Town" for our yearbook. In the yearbook we focused on local images unique to our small town setting and gathered quotes of local individuals.

Below are a few of the images from my childhood-making molasses in the Ozarks.

Folk Art in the Ozarks

fcline — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 09:30:59 CDT

There is no abstract available for this page revision.

Ozarks Photo Essay

Joe.Cover — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 21:41:56 CDT

There is no abstract available for this page revision.

One Room Schools

jiffeepop — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 16:33:02 CDT

Topic Change - Again! 4/2/09

I must admit this year has been filled with a multitude of challenges, both personally and professionally. My last post detailed how my focus changed from Judaism in the Ozarks to One Room Schools in the Miller school district. I was excited, my students were excited, and everything seemed on track until we derailed. My students, I discovered, refused to do anything requiring work outside of regular school hours. They cited job conflicts, extracurricular activity demands, and a lack of desire to do what I wanted them to do. They liked the ideas I had about researching the one room schools in our district, but felt they should be able to do the research during regular school hours. I sensed a half hearted effort and abandoned the idea altogether.
Another Idea
I have been teaching a College English class using the Holocaust as a theme since the first of the year. We have accomplished some amazing things, and one of the things I wanted students to look at is their own sense of identity.
The identity issue rose out our discussions on whether Judaism is a religion or a race. The Nazis faced this same issue when they wanted to dispose of the Jews because the German people would not stand for the annihilation of a group of people based on religion. Hitler convinced the the German people Jews were a race. He used recently enacted laws that defined Jews as a race of people.
When I had the opportunity to ask some Jews about how they viewed themselves (as a race or religion) I realized even Jews have a hard time knowing the answer.
I asked my students to create some I Am From poems as they explored the issue of their own identity and look at how they see themselves. They embraced the activity wholeheartedly.
I was exposed to the I Am From poems at last years summer institute, but it was in New York at the Holocaust Education seminar I attended where I actually created my own poem. I liked the activity, but I decided I wanted to do a couple of things different. Rather than explain the differences, I believe they will be apparent as you take a peak at them.
This College English class has been creating multigenre projects that are presented in a completely digital format. They are posting their work on a blog first, and after mastering the blog they are posting their digital artifacts on a Ning.
I am extremely proud of the work they have done and have posted their I Am Poems for your enjoyment. I would love to hear any feedback you might have.

Topic Change

I have been extremely fortunate to come up with an idea more easily explored than my idea to research Judaism in the Ozarks. Don't get me wrong, knowing more about Jewish history certainly intrigues me and would be facinating, but where would I go with this new knowledge? I couldn't determine an answer to that question, and progress has come to a standstill. But, some interesting events occurred right before school started. I was asked to teach a social studies class which I agreed to do, and this required I take the Praxis in order to get certified. I chose to not to study and take the test right away. Results for the Praxis arrive in a week or so, and I'm not going to hold my breath. Regardless, I am teaching a "Contemporary Issues" class and it dawned on me to have my students do some inquiry into their communities. Ive dabbled with this before with less than desirable results.
.
I have 10 students ranging from freshmen to seniors in the Contemporary Issues class. We have been following and discussing the election and other sundry things via a blog. They have been eating up the tech stuff and the AHA!! moment occurred. I proposed a video project and gave them hints at some project ideas, and they jumped all over the prospect of such projects. They immedialtely aligned the teams. Boys vs. Girls. The boys opted to do a project on bullying, and the girls chose to research all of the one room school houses in the Miller district. I see interviews, photo artifacts, and some quality research on how things have changed. We are building a new elementary school and I see us including a documentary of the construction. This is gonna be awesome!

Digital Storytelling

krfxv3 — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 15:02:30 CDT

NWP Resources

http://pearsonfoundation.org/NWP/ProfilesInPractice/2008/index.html

http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/2790

http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/2410

http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/2392

http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/download/nwp_file/10355/Once_Upon_a_Time.pdf?x-r=pcfile_d

http://www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/4

http://digitalartsalliance.org/pre-production.html

http://rcwp.wikispaces.com/Digital_Storytelling

http://www.storycenter.org/

http://digitalstorytelling.coe.uh.edu/

http://fp.coe.uh.edu/brobin/homepage/SITE2005-article.htm

http://digitales.us/tools/toolkits_macintosh.php Voiceovers/Choosing software/hardware

http://digitales.us/

http://www.speedofcreativity.org/

Grandpa in the Ozarks

zhamby — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 22:29:18 CST

Even though I initially set out to research the local legends of our area and the historical basis for them, I find myself thinking about going in a new direction. My grandfather moved to Ozark County from the top of the state in 1957. His goal was to start a church in a region that was known for being pretty wild and unfriendly. The story of my grandpa and grandma's lifework has always been of interest to me and my family. My grandma passed away about ten years ago, and my grandpa died just last year. The church they founded together, Dora Assembly of God, has been a part of the community for fifty years and is still going strong. I thought maybe I could combine research of the area with the stories of my grandparents, using them as the lens to interpret the fifty years of history from that particular part of the Ozarks.

But then again...I might end up going back to the local legends idea.

Here's a story my grandpa liked to tell: I went to Leon Teetrich’s to borrow a wranch. He was known for his passel of kids. When I walked up the path into their yard, I seen a bunch of those kids scramblin’ around, dirt up to their knees, howlin’ and jumpin’, throwin’ things at each other and everywhere, swingin’ on whatever they could find.
Leon was walkin’ down the path toward me with a kind a dazed look on his face.
“Good Mornin, Leon,” I said.
“You got a monkey wranch here?”
He looked back behind him. “Nah. These are my kids.”

Here's a song my grandpa and grandma loved to sing together:
One More Valley as performed by Fred & Maxine Hamby
When I’m tossed on life’s sea and the waves cover me
and the dark clouds won’t let the sunshine through
then a voice seems to say, “Come, there’ll be a brighter day.
Don’t let the storms of life hide sweet Heaven’s view.”

Cause we’ve got one more valley, one more hill,
one more trial, one more tear.
One more curve in life’s road
maybe one more mile to go.
You can lay down your heavy load when you get home.

Don’t let Satan see your fears.
Keep on smilin’ through all your tears.
Hold your head up high and give the world a smile.
Just be faithful all the way.
I’ll be worth it all someday,
for it will all be over after while.

Here's a link to a list of digitized local magazines.

11-15-08
WHAT I'VE GOTTEN DONE SO FAR

I haven't made as much progress as I expected to, but I have made some. One story that I managed to write down was a ghost story my Grandma told me. I wanted to get it written down in time for Halloween since I planned to read it to my class at school. I did, they enjoyed it, wrote their own, and here it is now:

THE HAINT

Deep in the woods where miles of dusty road move through the backhills of the Ozarks, there’s a certain stretch my Grandma used to tell a story about. To the west of that particular spot there’s nothin special: a standard farmhouse shaded by a few haggard trees, but to the east there’s a steep hill. The hill’s not used for much—hasn’t been for years—and the grass and trees have done their best to take it over. It doesn’t look like much either, but grandma said they used to call it the Haint—and there was a good reason for it too.
Years ago, she said, you could see two stone markers on the side of that hill. They still might be there now, but you can’t see for the high grass. The stones marked graves—graves that the folks around those parts had been tellin stories about for years. You see, Haint is how my Grandma said Haunt and to tell her tell it that hill is haunted and has been for some time.
When she was a girl even she heard stories of the Haint. The legend was simple enough to be true, but terrifyin enough to chill your blood. In the old days, long before Grandma even, a man and woman lived on the Haintin Hill. It was so long ago that everyone had forgotten their names, and the two stones that marked their graves bore no record of them.
But, the story went like this: one day the husband was workin in the fields when he was attacked by a rabid dog. Rabies is a disease that gets into the blood of any animal—makin them sick, violent, and unpredictable. They lose their minds, attack those they once held dear, foam at the mouth, and die a slow, excruciating death. One bite is enough to transfer the disease.
Grandma said when the man had killed the dog, he realized he had been bitten. He went home—and waited. He knew what was comin—the sickness, the madness, the rage, the bitin. No doctor and no medicine could make it there in time. He broke the news to his wife.
The neighbors came to help. They knew what to do when an animal showed the first signs of infection. They took the man and chained him to a tree—that same tree you can still see on the hill—and stood back to watch. I’m sure the wife bawled over seein her husband in such a shape. She knew what was comin too. They’d all seen it in dogs and cats and coons, but never in a human.
The man, he spoke kindly at first, tellin his wife he’d always love her, but when the sickness, the vomiting, the frothing at the mouth let loose, he forgot all those words. They said he roared against the chains like the devil himself—his eyes rolled back in his head, thrashin about, tryin to get at the throats of those who gathered around him. In the end, after days of delusion, his limbs went loose, and even in death the chains held him fast to the tree.
They buried that man next to the tree—right in front of the house where his wife still lived. Folks said she died soon after. But since that time, there’s been a strange noise heard on that hill at a certain time each night. The story goes that if you stop and listen, you’ll hear a mad howlin atop the hill—a spirit still chained to a tree up the way. Then, right when your heart thinks it will stop beatin, that voice will flow down the hill toward you, free of its bonds, comin, in death, for what it never got in life. That’s what folks say.
I might have wondered how my grandma, a good God-fearin woman, could even believe that story. Did she really believe that if somethin bad enough happens to a soul, it will stick around, trapped here between Heaven and Hell? But I didn’t have time to ask her. She said she knew it was true because she’d heard a firsthand account.
It was 1970, and my uncle was a senior in high school. The Ozarks had changed over the years. There were cars and cures now, but the old tales still remained, and the Haint on the Hill was one of them. Teenagers, Grandma said, would get a cheap thrill by stoppin near that place and waitin to see if they could hear the rabid screamin of a legend.
This particular night my uncle and his friend decided that this was it—their chance to try the Haint out for themselves. They idled their car to a stop at the base of the hill, shut off the ignition, rolled down their windows, and waited for the witchin hour to come. At first, they later told, nothin happened. They only heard the usual sounds of a country night—the soft wind, the chirp of the crickets, maybe the occasional whippoorwill. No ghost. No gnashin of teeth.
In their bell bottoms and sideburns, they probably laughed to one another, tryin to hide their relief, and started to go. The time for the spook had come and gone. The ghost had missed its appointment.
But the car would not start.
I picture them lookin at one another in dumb horror as they realize that they are stranded twenty feet away from the scariest place in the hills. I also picture just perfect what happened next. Grandma explained it so well.
Those boys suddenly noticed that the wind wasn’t blowin no more. The crickets weren’t chirpin, and the whippoorwill had stopped its song. And just when the night got its quietest, a howl—an awful close howl—split the night. It didnt come from the hill either.
The nearby brush came to life, the grasses spinnin back and forth. And then they felt it—that somethin they’d come to see— jump onto the roof of their car, a scrapin thud that signaled that the spiritual had just made its entrance into the natural world. It continued to howl, rockin the car side to side, the shocks groanin.
The boys howled too.
The friend pounded the dash.
My uncle fumbled with the ignition.
The headlights flicked on and off, shootin crazy light through the fencerows.
The seconds stretched out. Their hearts liked to beat out of their chests. Whatever was on top, neither wanted it to get inside.
At last the car roared to life.
My uncle gassed it, the gravel flew, and the friend looked eagerly behind them to see what he could see in the demonic glow of the tail lights.
But nothin.
My uncle said he’d never drove faster in his life.
When they made it back to Grandma’s house, it was way too late. She caught them at the doorway, their hands shakin and their eyes bugged. They told her everythin. It was good of Grandma to believe them. After all, it sounds like a pretty unlikely story—maybe used to cover up a likelier one. But she said that the dark streaks down both their jeans were enough to shed truth on the story.
If not, they were the best liars she ever seen. Most people don’t wet themselves over a lie.

COMMENTS: I really don't like dropping the g's off words. I guess that always got on my nerves growin' up, but that's how people down in those parts talk from time to time.

03-06-09 What I Actually Ended Up Doing

As I tackled the project I set before me (writing about my Grandpa), I realized that this task was going to be very difficult. I only knew one part of my Grandpa's life (his later years). I would need help to fill in the younger years. I tried to get information from a couple of my family members, and I utilized an interview that I done with Grandpa before he died. But I still found quite a bit of information missing.

Then I decided that I wouldn't present a comprehensive picture of my Grandpa's life, just a few snapshots from here and there. What I realized when I started on this process was that every time I sat down to write about Grandpa, I ended up writing about myself: what I thought about Grandpa, what I enjoyed about Grandpa. In the end it was more about me than him.

On the up side, a few good stories from my childhood got written down, and Grandpa and Grandma are still in there. They're just secondary.

ONE MORE VALLEY

We’ve got one more valley, one more hill
One more trial, one more tear
One more curve in the road
Maybe one more mile to go
You can lay down your heavy load
When you get home.

“ONE MORE VALLEY”

If all the world’s a stage, as it’s been said, there isn’t any doubt about it: every single one of us has the very same entrance, but it’s our exits that make the true statement. As we exit, do we hear sighs of relief? The polite clapping of hands? Tears? Or nothing—only to find out the audience had lost interest long ago.
Grandpa died when he was eighty-five years old.
He didn’t die in a nursing home.
He didn’t die in a hospital.
When he went, there was not a single tube attached to his body.
He died at home, surrounded by a ring of family and friends, every single one of them praying for a quick release—all thanking God for a life so well lived.
It was the old fashioned way to die.
It was the way he preferred.
And I say, What a way to go.

Grandpa joked about most things.
When it was time to leave, he’d say, S’time to wind the cat and put out the clock!
When it was time to burp, he’d make a show of it: Baaaaaaaah Humbug!
When I came to visit, he’d grab my arm and say, Boy, if I had an arm like that I’d go bear-huntin’ with a switch.
That was just Grandpa.
When he talked about death, he’d say, Don’t take me to a nursing home. Just take me to Charles Drago. He’ll know what to do with me. Charles Drago was the local mortician. But maybe we just thought he was joking about that one.
Grandpa stood a lanky six one. He stooped a little from age. Dad said if he’d just stop wearing the same old cowboy boots, it would help his posture. But old man orthopedic shoes were not for Grandpa.
To compliment his boots, Grandpa wore bolo ties. On fancy occasions, he’d wear a real tie—maybe with a western-cut suit coat. For many years he’d worn the same dark-rimmed glasses. They had almost become a part of him. But after Grandma died, he began to do his own laundry, and this healed his eyes. Actually there were a few steps in between. Grandpa said he would wash his whites time and time again, bleaching the fire out of them, but they kept coming out grungy. One time he mentioned his laundry-related frustrations to his doctor. Fred, she said, maybe the problem’s not with your laundry, but with your eyes.
Sure enough, cataracts were growing over his eyes. He had them removed, and Grandpa became an eighty-year-old with twenty-twenty vision. The surgery also let loose a pair of the clearest blue eyes. They were the eyes of an eighteen-year-old.
After Grandma died, not only the laundry fell to Grandpa, but also the cooking. He became a gourmet and could cook up any dish imaginable as long as its basic ingredients were beans and cornbread. Grease was also one of his specialties. Interior decorating became one of his duties too. He renovated their house into a bachelor pad. In it you would find John Deere cookie jars, multiple Lazy Susans loaded with toothpicks, clotheslines weighed down with old Christmas cards, a collection of old John Wayne movies, jars of butterscotches and lemon drops, cans of year-old peanuts, knick-knack gifts from the church, a door-guardian frog that croaked when you entered, a gag cane equipped with a bicycle horn, Grandma’s fancy china cabinet, a bible on almost every end-table, an enormous two-recliner sectional, a grandfather clock presented to Grandma and Grandpa on their fiftieth wedding anniversary, a malfunctioning Billy Bass singing fish, and a wall covered with years of pictures and postcards. Grandma’s prayer list still hung on the refrigerator, where she had left it—unexpectedly.

I waited patiently for the Lord;
and He inclined unto me and heard my cry.
He brought me up also out of a horrible pit,
out of the miry clay,
and set my feet upon a rock,
and established my goings.
And he hath put a new song in my mouth,
even praise unto our God.

PSALM 40:1-2

Fifty years before, Grandpa and Grandma moved to the Ozarks. They weren’t Grandpa and Grandma then, of course. Dad and his older brother John were young. They left the rich soil of northern Missouri to come the rocky ridges of Douglas County. Someone once said that the only crop an Ozarkian farmer can grow successfully is rocks.
But Grandpa didn’t move to farm.
Shortly after my father was born, Grandma was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The situation looked hopeless. Grandpa, a man who was raised in church but had fallen away, turned once again to God. As so many people do, he made God a promise in a moment of desperation: God, he said, if you heal my wife, I’ll start a church for you.
As Grandpa always told it, God came through on his part of the bargain, so Grandpa made good on his.
I don’t know what made him choose Dora, Missouri. An almost non-existent town today, it was considered wild country back then. There was no law, and folks were used to taking it into their own hands. Grandpa knew that there wasn’t a church there in that community, and on a trip through, he saw the old Dora Theater was for sale: closed from lack of interest. On a whim, he bought it, moved his family nine hours away from their home, and started the Dora Assembly of God.
Along the way, Grandpa had learned to play the mandolin, and Grandma could chord on the guitar or piano. They were set. All they needed was a congregation.
The congregation came—one they pastured for fifty years.
Grandpa always thought that his and Grandma’s partnership was fifty-fifty, but after she passed on, he realized it was more like ninety-ten.

TOAD IN THE HOLE
(OR THE DAY I LOST THE SKIN OFF MY REAR-END)

When people grow up, they get a bit windy. They talk about childhood like it was some kind of carefree paradise. Something must be wrong with my memory. I don’t remember it that way. For me childhood was more of a time for lesson-learnin’ than anything else. Everybody learns lessons as they grow up, I guess, but they seem to look back on theirs with fondness. My lessons must’ve hurt more than theirs.
One day I found a perfectly good toad in our back yard. I was probably seven or eight. I didn’t know how old the toad was. It didn’t really matter. After about three seconds I had decided it was that toad’s time to die.
God Almighty had created this toad. He had made its scrawny legs—its warty, wet-leaf skin. He had made the air-pouch chest; the same pouch was now expanding between my fingers. It’d only taken God one day to create this amazing creature, and it’d take me one second to destroy it.
In our backyard there was an old rusted pipe that ran down into an abandoned well. Months before, Dad slid a coffee can over its mouth and sealed it shut. Now the toad, still damp from the grass, sparked my imagination. I knew why Dad put the can there: to keep things from falling in. But what a mastermind was I! He never suspected that someone would dare drop something—maybe even a helpless animal victim—into its yawning mouth!
I put the toad in my pocket (only for a moment) and scraped the coffee can up off the pipe. Inside darkness nearly filled it. Only the inches closest to the top were visible. What waited below? Evil-eyed creatures? The nefarious Wampus-cats? Hell itself? Only one would know the terrors of the depths! Only one reluctant adventurer would descend to the earth’s core! Only one intrepid amphibian—
My shaking arm extended.
The toad gulped.
I paused. A voice had stopped me. A voice all-too-familiar.
“Drop that toad down that well,” the voice from above said—was it God?—“and I’ll give you a whippin’.”
No.
Not God.
Worse.
Dad.
Still part of me wanted to do it—send that toad packing—even with him towering over me. The toad’s life was mine. I wouldn’t give up without a fight.
The shadow disappeared, its verdict delivered.
There I was—left to my decision.
My palm opened. There was the victim, so ignorant of how close it’d come to death. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why Dad cared about a dumb old toad. I thought of my hind end. You never notice how much you use it until it smarts like all-get-out.
The victim’s life was saved. Mine was ruined.
And then something golden caught my eye—something away there, in the middle of the yard. My salvation, standing there in her pink corduroy overalls, thumbing her nose, staring off into nowhere.
“Cassie!” I barked. The noise startled the toad, and it tried to jump away. Nice try, Warts. I tightened my grip.
“Cassie, get over here!”As older brother, she was obligated to obey me at once.
She smiled stupidly, just glad to be included, and came over to me.
I held out the toad. “Drop this toad in the well.”
Her nose wrinkled in confusion. Her hair was curling on the ends. Her mouth was smeared with Kool-aid. Apparently this concept was too complicated.
“Here!” I yanked out her arm, straightened her grubby fingers, and then carefully placed the toad down in the pouch of her hand like I was setting a ruby.
“Now drop it!”
That look again. Her eyes were green, green like the grass, green like the stomach of a toad.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. Her looking at me. The toad looking at me.
I felt my hand shoot out. I popped hers on the bottom. The toad flew up into the air, like some kind of bulging circus performer off the springboard of her palm. It loopty-looped twice in the air before it started down.
I leaned forward. This was it.
The toad hung above the darkness—its glassy eyes locking on mine for a second—and then fell. It was gone.
All these sensations instantly added up in my mind, and left a sense of satisfaction behind—like the first swig of soda. I decided whatever came next—was worth it.
Cassie looked at me. What did it all mean? What was this deed we had done? I kinda felt like Adam and Eve in the garden—if Adam had tricked Eve, instead of vice versa, and they’d been throwing the forbidden fruit down a well instead of eating it.
The shadow was back. The jig was up. “What did I tell you about throwing that toad down that well?”
I thought about falling back on my standby excuse: “The Devil made me do it.” That was probably true. The Devil’s always causin’ all kinds of mischief, but I’d been in Dad’s court of law before. The Devil’s influence didn’t clear you of your charges.
I decided there was no reason to hide the truth.
“Cassie did it.”
I don’t remember much about the belt. It was the same ol’ belt—aged to leathery perfection—Dad’s name printed across it. I probably cried.
But, like I said, it was all worth it. My cries weren’t the only ones that day. Cassie’s came next—vainly professing her innocence’s only been an accessory! She was innocent! A patsy in my ingenious plan! She was only three after all.
I learned a valuable lesson that day.
No, it wasn’t that every life is precious. That toad had it comin’.
It wasn’t that you reap what you sew. Like I said, I was seven or eight. I hadn’t ever done any reapin’—or sewin’ for that matter.
What I’d learned, I’d learned from ol’ Adam, back in the garden. When you’re caught, you’re caught. But at least take somebody down with you.

“HOUSE OF GOLD” by Hank Williams Sr.

People steal, they cheat and lie
For wealth and what it buys
Don't they know on the judgement day
Gold and silver will melt away?

I'd rather be in a deep, dark grave
And know that my poor soul was saved
Than to live in this world in a house of gold
And deny my God and doom my soul

What good is gold and silver too
If your heart’s not good and true?
Sinner, hear me when I say
Better get down on your knees and pray

Cherokee Indian blood ran through Grandma’s veins. You could see it in her dark hair and dark eyes. She was sixteen when she first started dating Fred Hamby.
She always said that Grandpa would drive around Tarkio, Missouri with a load of girls in his pick-up truck. A couple in the front and even some in the back. They all desperately wanted to be the last one he took home. That meant she was the lucky girl he liked best.
The first night she loaded into Grandpa’s truck she hoped that she’d get to sit right beside him in the seat. But his sister Winona jumped in before she could and cozied up to him. It was her way of dousing his ego, I guess.
That evening was a complete disappointment, she said. Since Winona was along, she was the last one he took home.
Despite that slow start, love happened. Grandpa forgot the other girls and focused his attention right where it belonged—on Maxine Cobb.
Grandpa kept a creased photo framed on the mantle. In it was a picture of him, eighteen-years-old, sitting on the front steps of his old high school, squinting into the sun. (That’s how they must have taken pictures in the old days: the subject staring directly into the sun.) Even back then, he had the same hair: side-parted and slicked like crazy. The only change in sixty-plus years was the color. Time had made it white.
Another photo sat next to it, another window into the past. Grandma, sixteen-years-old, standing in front of a flowering bush, wearing a polka-dot dress, squinting into the sun as well. Grandpa stood behind—his arm snaked around her waist like the catch of a lifetime. His hair was covered up in this shot by a cock-eyed hat. That must have been the style. You could tell that in his free hand there used to be a cigarette. That is, until Grandma doctored the photo. She went back and blacked it out with a Bic pen.

TREE-CLIMBIN’

Grandma was good at many things, but she was best at spinning tales. Her favorite tales were those where something completely horrifying happens while doing something completely innocent. Like when people drown in their bathwater or die from trying to fork their toast.
Grandma had one of these for everything.
One day I was blowing up a balloon. “Watch out. One time I heard about a kid—sucked a balloon down his throat and died.” That’s all it took for me. I loved balloons, but I wasn’t willing to die for them.
One day we discovered a wasp’s nest on her front porch. “Watch out. One time I heard about a kid—got stung thirty-seven times. Didn’t get onion on them bites in time. Swold up like a toad. Onion’s the only thing for a wasp sting.” After this story I felt two things: a fear of wasps and a sudden love for onions.
One day we went to Silver Dollar City. “Watch out. One time I heard ‘bout a kid—stood up at the wrong time on Fire in the Hole. Sheared his head clean off.” That ride was scary enough without her help. Now it was even scarier.
Needless to say, early in life, I became a fraidy cat.
I became afraid of every-day situations: mom leaving the car idling in the garage too long. Would they discover us there asphyxiated from the fumes?
Sticking my head between the bars of a banister. Would my head get stuck forever. Would they have to saw it loose? The bar or my head? Both?
Even though I’d ridden horses my entire life, I began to wonder how far my eyeballs would shoot out of their sockets when a hoof caught me in the face.
The world was suddenly a dangerous place.
We’d run out the doors Sunday nights after church, and the summer air would greet us with a moist kiss. The rest of the kids all had one destination: the old oak tree. Church clothes or not, they’d scramble up the narrow trunk and hang in the branches like a bunch of howling sloths. It was second nature to them. Even the girls would hike up their Sunday dresses, kick off their shiny shoes, and about three branches up, show off their bloomers.
I just hung around the trunk and watched the action. Grandma hadn’t ever told me anything about trees, but I’m sure she had a story for them too. I would be just my luck to miss out on the one story that would save my life.
So I half-heartedly hung from the lowest branch and swung slightly (just to keep up appearances). The girls were up around the top of the tree, I think, spitting toward the road like the refined ladies they were.
About this time came the parents. The kids all froze mid-howl, their varmint eyes reflecting the door-light.
“Get down from there!”
“What’d I tell you?”
“If I ever—“
“Is that a stain on your dress?”
Most of the parents shouted. It was their Sunday ritual. Mine didn’t have to.
I just dropped my two inches to the ground, hoisted up my suspenders, and trotted happily over to their side.
Mom, like Grandma, was relieved I hadn’t been higher in the tree.
Dad, I think, was disappointed.

SWEET TURD CREEK
Growing up my Grandpa lived in north Missouri. He said that he and his brothers and sisters loved nothing better than swimming in the river. The only stretch of river they had to swim in was just below the city sewer pipe. That didn’t faze them though.
They’d swim for hours, he said. When it was finally time to go, they’d raise up out of the water. Their bodies would be brown up to where the waterline had been. They called their swimmin’ hole Sweet Turd Creek. Pretty unsanitary. But the funny thing is: all of them lived into their eighties.

GEORGIE GIRL, HOW COULD YOU?
I’ve had plenty of pets. Most of them had their hey-day and then went the way of the bullet. Or as my dad used to say, “They got lead-poisoning.”
I had a goat named Peckerwood (one of our more creative names for one of our dumber animals.) Peckerwood, like most goats, liked to eat things. When he developed the ability to climb up on the picnic table and eat the bark off Mom’s favorite tree, he suddenly vanished. I was too young to suspect foul play of course. Dad’s excuse sufficed: run over by a truck.
Then there was a dog named Oreo. He was named this for its black fur and white feet. My sister held him hostage most of the time, loading him into her Playschool-Flintstone car and taking him for the ride of a lifetime. One day while my sister was off her game, Oreo eluded her grasp and discovered the cow pasture. He had found his new love. Unfortunately, chasing cows is a no-no. Oreo turned up dead: kicked by a cow. Convenient, eh?
I really needn’t mention Miss Piggy. She was a pig who ran with the dogs like she was one of them. As dogs can do, they lead her astray. We caught her chewing siding off the house one day. The pig vanished without a trace. Later dad told me he’d taken her to the butcher’s. How could he? I loved that pig! Didn’t he know about the profound relationship that can grow up between a boy and his pig? Then he showed me the fat check she’d brought. I cheered right up.
When I later realized that my entire life was a lie and that most of these murders had been committed behind the shed with dad at the trigger, I was mainly annoyed. Over the years we had had dozens of pets. Why did he shoot the ones I liked? What about the rest of them?
Before he died, my uncle John presented me with two going-away presents. They weren’t planned going-away presents because he had no idea he was leaving this earth so abruptly. One gift was a tear-shaped rock. It had a Colorado mountain lake painted on it. He called it a memory rock. My name and birthday were lettered across the bottom.
The other gift was a horse.
My parents told me I could name my horse whatever I wanted. I picked the name “George”—a good name for a horse, I thought.
Unfortunately, my horse turned out to be a girl. My parents were sticklers on animal names. If it was a boy animal, it would have a boy name. Since this was a girl horse, it would have a girl name. I could not have a transsexual horse. So “George” was out of the question. Luckily, my mom remembered a song from the sixties called “Hey There, Georgie Girl.” I think she must have been the only person who ever heard or remembered this song. Anyway, they decided the horse’s name would be Georgie Girl. Since I was four, I went along with it. It was great being able to name my very own horse whatever I wanted.
Georgie Girl and I were inseparable. We would take late-night rides down the long country roads and listen to the crickets and bullfrogs chant in the darkness. Nothing beats the smell of country air mixed with sweaty horse hide. When I got old enough, I rode Georgie Girl in the junior rodeo, which wasn’t much of a challenge. Competitors rode in a circle around the ring without falling off. Not a great accomplishment, but we were proud of ourselves.
Then came the dark years for Georgie Girl and me.
A visitor came to our farm. He was boy about my age, some city kid who was a friend of a friend. Since he’d grown up in the city, he wanted to know what it was like to be a country boy. What was it like to ride a horse? Since he was a know-nothin’ city-kid and couldn’t be trusted to ride on his own, my parents said he could ride with me. They herded me and Georgie Girl inside the corral and plunked city-kid down in the saddle behind me. The first thing this kid does is dig his feet into the horse’s flank like he’s riding a carousel or something. For a horse, sticking your feet in their flank is like a crotch-kick.
Georgie Girl started to buck. Of course, city-kid wasn’t going anywhere. He’d already clamped on.
It was me who found myself air-borne.
The world did a summersault.
When I landed, I saw my dad rushing into the corral to rein in the horse. My mom was running toward me. I raised my arm to wave her off, tell her I was fine, but when I got it about eye level, I realized it had an extra joint. The middle of my forearm was goose-necked over. That’s when my mom started screaming.
I might have passed out, because the next thing I remember was Mom wrapping my arm in old newspapers. “Gotta wrap it in newspaper!” she kept saying. “I read that somewhere.”
Dad scooped me up, my newspaper-bound arm pressed against my chest, and slid me into the backseat of the car. As we peeled out of the drive, I saw old city-kid watching blankly beside his parents as we pulled way.
“Thanks for ruining my life.”
I didn’t cry or fuss the whole two hour trip to the hospital. I think I thought that if I was good there might be some McDonalds in it for me. When we arrived at the hospital, there was a wheelchair waiting for me and everything.
Maybe a broken arm wasn’t so bad after all. All my dreams were coming true.
The first stop was the X-Ray room, a pitch black hole with a machine coming out of the ceiling that reminded me of a ray-gun. Masked men laid me out on a metallic table and starting thinking up new ways of torturing me by twisting my arm. It hadn’t hurt until they got a hold of it. They twisted up, muttered to each other, and then disappeared behind a partition. Then came back with a new torture in mind. By the end of that, I was ready to go home—wheelchair or not.
The next stop was easier. There were more masked men, but they only put a plastic over my nose and mouth. They told me I would sleep. I didn’t believe them. As I began to drift away, I wondered, “What if I don’t wake up?
When I did, I found the biggest perk of the whole experience on the desk beside my hospital bed. It was a Garfield phone. When you picked up the receiver, it’s cue-ball eyes would flick open. If you pushed his nose, Garfield would beep. This made everything I’d gone through worthwhile.
The hospital stay was short, if I remember correctly. My roommate was a professional. He’d broken his arm three times in the same place. Once falling off a deck. Once falling off a jungle gym. And this time getting hit by a door. If he broke it one more time, he said, they’d have to cut it off. I started to get a little bit nervous. He had a Kermit the Frog phone.
When I got to go home, I started snubbing Georgie Girl. City-kid was gone, so I had to blame her. How could she do this to me?
I was starting first grade, and I had to learn to write and draw with a totally different hand. When I took a bath, I had to hold my arm out of the water like some kind of manikin. I got baptized during this broken-arm spell as well. When Grandpa dunked me under, I had to hold that stupid cast up out of the water. I feared when I went to heaven I’d have to walk the streets of gold with only one arm. The other one would be burning in hell.
And after six long, dry, itching months of my cast had passed, I saw yet another masked man run a portable saw down the length of my arm. He cracked the cast open like the shell of a bug, and a sickly arm appeared—definitely not mine. It was wrinkled like your fingertips after too much bathtime. Was this what we’d worked so hard to save?
In time, the arm plumped back up. My right hand went back to its regular duties, and my left hand forgot everything it had learned. My arm healed, but my relationship with Georgie Girl did not. She had betrayed me. From this time on, I had a new philosophy: never trust a woman.
To seal the deal, I passed Georgie Girl onto my younger sister. Girls should stick together.

SAM'S SON: AN OZARKIAN VERSION OF SAM SON & DELILAH (UNFINISHED) I have no idea why I pursued this idea. Hillfolk talk always kind of gets on my nerves, but I was inspired by Michael's presentation. I wondered: what would a Biblical story look like if it were set in the Ozarks. That's when I started the story of Sam's son. It went pretty quickly, but I soon found myself struggling with the ending. So it's a work in progress.

Big Sam was born on a full moon. Folks in Jericho Holler always said he was strange, but they mainly did this when he warn’t around. As you might’ve guessed from his name, he was the biggest feller in those parts. His shoulders were broad as a yoke, and he could palm a watermelon in one hand. He’d had a big ol’ grizzly beard—black as sin—ever since he was twelve that covered almost all his face. Folks said he could rip a stump right out of the ground. No one messed with him.
Big Sam was the son of Ol’ Sam. This got a bit confusin’, so when folks kept askin’, “Which Sam ye talkin’ about?” they’d say, “Sam’s son, I mean!” Didn’t cause a problem for too long, for Ol’ Sam was kilt by a wampus cat back in the deep woods when Big Sam was just a boy. Ol’ Sam’s widow knew how to raise her boy up right. She knew he would be the biggest an’ baddest boy to ever cross the ridge, and she ‘lowed that he wouldn’t be no hooligan.
“Sam’s son,” she tol’ him, “you grow up to do right. Your father weren’t no count now—though I loved him dear. He was always drinkin’ corn whisky when he should’ve been plowin’ these field. Always singin’ ‘Darlin’ Clementine’ when he should’ve been in Sunday church meeting. That ain’t no way to live. I reckon the Devil was in that wampus cat that got him.” To accentuate this point, she held out a dark ball in her hand.
“When the folks in Jericho Holler went out and tracked that wampus cat, they strung it up and cut it open. Weren’t none of Ol’ Sam in there, but there was this.”
Big Sam, always an inquisitive boy, took the ball out of his mother’s hand. It had the consistency of highly-packed fibers. “What’s it?”
“A madstone, boy. It drove that hell-cat to kill Ol’ Sam.” She paused, her eyes full of meaning. “And now it’s yours. It’ll make you strong. You’re big enough to go bear-huntin’ with a switch anyway. But with this ‘ere—you’ll do somethin’ special.”
See, Ol’ Sam’s widow was a religious woman, and she believed in God’s “mysterious ways”. When she saw that hairball fall out of that cat’s stomach, she knew it had some religious power. “Don’t show that to anyone, or it’ll lose its gumption. That’s the way with madstones. Not a soul saw me scoop it up that night either, so guard it with yer life!”
Sam was about nine then. He took that magical hairball and kept it in the front pocket of his overalls—safe from everyone. By ten Big Sam could already lift the house up off its supports on one side. At eleven he could wrestle a bull. By twelve, if folks needed a tree knocked down, they called Big Sam. He ‘lowed it was all thanks to his secret hairball.
Over the ridge from where Big Sam and Ol’ Sam’s widow lived was what folks around there called “wild country”. Over-the-ridge folks were as mean as a snake. All the boys chewed gravel and were the size of gorillas. The girls were a bad lot too—just as big and just as mean. Every once in a while, a group of them Over-the-ridgers would come down into our parts and raise cain. They’d steal cattle, shoot up the General Store, burn barns, and on one partic’lar occasion hog-tied Ol’ Man Parker to the back of a cow—just before they set its tale on fire. Ol’ Sam’s widow said they were “plain no good” and ‘lowed one day her Big Sam would teach them a lesson.
After they found Ol’ Man Parker and unhitched him, he was as mad as a wet hen. He rounded folks up and started blowin’ smoke. We’ve had enough of those boys from over the ridge, he said. Somebody’s got to teach them a lesson. Everybody agreed. They all knew who’d they’d elect for such a hairy job: Big Sam.
When they went and asked him, Big Sam just laughed. “Course I’ll go teach them boys a lesson,” he said. “Why, d’be my pleasure.” They all cheered him on and paraded him right up to the top of the ridge—even Ol’ Man Parker, though he was awful sore. None of them folks had the spine to stick around long though. They AttaBoyed and GodBlessed Big Sam a bit and then high-tailed it back down the ridge.
Ol’ Sam’s widow stayed behind with him a bit. “Now, boy, remember your hairball. God Almighty sent you the magic in that mad-stone. Don’t you dare throw it away, and you whip those boys good. Folks raised on that side of the ridge don’t have no morals. No one ever learned ‘em how to live right. Don’t trust ‘em as fur as you can throw ‘em.”
“I ‘spect I can throw ‘em pretty fur.”
“Good point. Jess don’t trust ‘em at all.”
Big Sam nodded.

Trees on the other side of the ridge grew three-hundred feet high, and the tree-tops were crawling with all kind of unheard of creatures, wampus-cats and boogers. As Big Sam made his way down into the holler, a big wampus-cat tried its luck. It was a big sucker too, twice as big as the one that had killed his pa. It knocked him to the ground. I don’t know what surprised Big Sam more: the fact that he was getting attack by a wampus cat, or that one would dare attack him in the first place. Big Sam was stronger as ten of these critter though, and he got his oak-like hands between its jaws. He darn near split the thing in two. After he was done, Big Sam picked himself up, scratched his beard, and patted his front-pocket.
Down through the trees, he could see the folks on this side of the ridge were having a big shin-dig. A big bonfire was shining through the trees, and they were all dead drunk—sprawled out around it. Men, women, children—all of ‘em—spread out on the ground like a bunch of sows. Now Big Sam didn’t think this was very sporting—to lick a bunch of boys who couldn’t stand. So he took advantage of this time to just check things out a bit.
He’d always heard that the girls on this side of the ridge were just as ugly as the men, but lying there in the firelight he saw the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Sure ‘nough, she probably chewed tobacco and smoked like the rest of ‘em, but he had to admit she was right pretty.
Big Sam slipped back into the night.
Back on the right side of the ridge, the folks let up a cheer. They wanted to hear all about it. How bad had he licked ‘em?
That weren’t the case, said Big Sam. They were all dead drunk. He’d go back some other time when the fight would be fair.
The folks didn’t rightly know how to take this news. Some even dared to say Big Sam must’ve not even gone over the ridge at’all. He was yellow. Of course, they all said this under their breath.
Ol’ Sam’s widow didn’t say much as she walked Big Sam home. He was strangely quiet. “What happened tonight, m’boy?”
Big Sam looked up and scratched his beard. “I think it’s time I got myself hitched.”
Ol’ Sam’s widow ‘bout fell off her front step. “What? To one of them far-siders!”
“Well,” said Big Sam,” she was sure pretty enough. Might be a good way to stop all this feudin’.”
Ol’ Sam’s widow didn’t like it much. Far-siders didn’t go to church. Once a preacher had gone in there to rectify and evangelize. He came back three days later, white as a ghost. And that’s not just an expression neither. Those far-siders had white-washed him all over.
Big Sam didn’t know how to propose. He’d heard that written proposals were the most romantic, but he didn’t know how to write. He went to Miss Sally Hawthorne, the new school-teacher, and had her draw up a proposal, using all the latest fancy touches. Big Sam took that proposal, tied it to a pretty fair boulder, and chucked it as far as it could.
Up, up, up it sailed, right on over the ridge, and he heard it crash down on the other side.
A week later a skinny little far-side—must’ve been the runt of the litter—came over the ridge riding a bony cow. “You Big Sam?” he asked.
“Who’s askin’?” said Big Sam.
“I’m one of Phil’s boys. We got your message.”
“And?”
“Couldn’t rightly make out what it was. None of us over there can read, ‘cept Miss Lilah—she’s my sister. But when she ‘ciphered it, she got right excited.”
“What about your pa?” asked Big Sam. “Wha’s he say about it?”
“Pa’s dead. That rock you chucked nailed him.”
“Good,” said Big Sam.
Two weeks later Big Sam and Ol’ Sam’s widow headed over the ridge for the weddin’. Miss Lilah wanted to get married in her neck of the woods. Big Sam wasn’t particular.
“Watch these far-siders,” Ol’ Sam’s widow reprimanded. She was riding on their donkey with Big Sam leading the way. “This is likely to be a trap.”
“D’nt matter none,” said Big Sam. “I can whoop the whole lot at once if I need ta.” He patted his front-pocket.
As they were passing the spot where Big Sam had killed the wampus cat, he left Ol’ Sam’s widow at the path and ducked back into the scrub-brush. He smelled something. In the underbrush he found the rotting carcass of that ol’ cat. There was a buzzing sound in the air though. A swarm of bees had made their hive in the cat. Big Sam swatted at the bees and dipped some of the honey out on his fingers.
When he returned to the path, Ol’ Sam’s widow said, “Whatcha doin’ back there in the brush?”
“Nothin’,” said Big Sam. “Found some honey.” He held out his fingers covered in honey.
All the far-siders had gathered for the wedding of Big Sam and Miss Lilah. They weren’t too pleased about it either. Miss Lilah’s brothers were all holding a grudge over the death of Ol’ Phil, their pa. In fact, his body was still laid out from the funeral supper a few days before. But all of them had heard about Big Sam and what he would do with his tree-trunk arms, so they kept their distance.
They’d planned quite a celebration. Plenty of corn whiskey and wild game. Miss Lilah was enough to catch Big Sam’s attention—her hair was all shining and her dress was white as winter snow. The party was planned to last for several days. Ol’ Sam’s widow didn’t like it much.
Since they knew they couldn’t lick him in an outright fight, Miss Lilah’s brothers were hatching a plan. They would like nothing better than to run this foreigner off from their parts. They were just looking for a way to do it and keep what little teeth they had.
After a few jugs of whisky, they all got a bit braver and started swearing at Big Sam. “Why don’t ye go back to the far-side of the ridge whar you belong!” “We don’t want yer kind here!”
Big Sam took it all in stride. He hadn’t come to be violent.
“Now boys, I’ve come to marry your pretty sister here—not start a fight,” he said. “So, I’ll make you a deal. If you can answer me one question, I’ll get out of your hair—go back to my side of the ridge—and leave your sister alone.”
Phil’s boys, who were all liquored pretty well, agreed to this at once.
“All righty, boys. Here’s my question: Something sweet comes from a critter that used to eat. What is it?”
Now those far-siders boys were a dumb bunch. I mean, to them this didn’t seem like a proper question. Big Sam wasn’t all muscle. He had some brains as well. Phil’s boys stewed over that one, making all kinds of half-cocked guesses.
When everyone bedded down for the night right there under the trees, Ol’ Sam’s widow whispered to Big Sam. “M’boy, what kind of question is that? I can’t even answer it.”
“Exactly,” said Big Sam.
The next day Phil’s boys got even angrier. For the life of ‘em, they couldn’t figure it out. Finally they went to their sister, Miss Lilah.
“Get your feller to tell you the answer to his question, or we’ll ruin this wedding!”
Miss Lilah, who was a far-sider at heart, didn’t want no trouble with her brothers, so she went to Big Sam and said, “Big Sam, surely you can tell me the answer to your question. That way if my brothers get awful hateful, I can say that I know too.”
Big Sam didn’t want to, but Miss Lilah kept at him. Finally, he caved. “Up the path there’s a wampus-cat carcass. I killed it with my own two hands. Inside bees have made a hive. Something sweet comes from a critter that used to eat.” Miss Lilah gave him a big kiss for this information, and as soon as he was asleep that night, she went to her brothers and told them everything.
Next day, they woke Big Sam up bright and early. “Big Sam, we’ve guessed your question,” they said. “It’s a wampus cat with a hive of bees inside—as any fool would know.” Big Sam at once looked at Miss Lilah, who turned away in shame. He knew he’d been double-crossed, and she’d been the one to do it.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go back to my side of the ridge.” Ol’ Sam’s widow tried to hide her smile as she rode Benjamin back up the path.
Not long after Phil’s boys came over the ridge and tried to complete their revenge. They surrounded Big Sam’s house with torches and tar and feathers. They called him out. Big Sam came out the house patting his front pocket.
Most of Phil’s boys had guns. Some had pitchforks. Big Sam didn’t have anything. Benjamin the donkey had died on the trip back. His jawbone was lying by the front step, bleached white from the tanner’s.
Big Sam picked it up.
Big Sam licked all of Phil’s boys, all twelve of ‘em, with ol’ Benjamin’s jawbone.
When they’d high-tailed it back over the ridge, Big Sam disappeared into the woods, and came back carrying twenty possums by their tails—all a-wrigglin’ tryin’ to get loose. He tied their tails together in pairs, so they’d have a harder time getting away, and attached a torch to each pair. Then he lit the torches one by one and swung those possums up over the ridge. For the next week, folks saw the forest on the other side lighting up the night sky. Sam’s Son had had his revenge.
Things lay low for a while. Big Sam decided he would never marry. Miss Lilah had been the only gal for him, and she’d shown her true colors. He spent his time helping the folks on his side of the ridge. Miss Betty Allan’s mule died, so Big Sam plowed her field for her—in short of thirty minutes. Rains came, and the river rose. Big Sam was there to block it off with boulders and keep it out of the crops. Little Clem Watkins went missing and most feared a booger or wampus cat had got him. Big Sam went searchin’ and found him soon enough. Little Clem’d wandered off and lost himself in a cave. Big Sam heard him crying inside, but the opening was too small for such a big man. So Big Sam just bunched up his breath and blew as hard as he could into the opening. Little Clem shot out the other end like a bullet out of a gun. Big Sam caught him before he hit the ground. Life in Jericho Holler went on.
One morning through the mist a rider on a donkey came over the ridge. It was a gal dressed in white. Her face was black with soot. It was Miss Lilah, and she was headed toward Big Sam’s house.
“Look at that Jezebel!” Ol’ Woman Watkins said as she saw her ride by. “How dare she show her face ‘round here after what she did to Big Sam. Ought to snatch that girl bald.”
By the time Miss Lilah rode all the way to Big Sam’s house the whole holler was buzzin’ with the news.
Big Sam looked out the window of his house. He saw Miss Lilah comin’ down the path, and behind her, a whole crowd of folks, gawking for all they’re worth. I can’t rightly say what went through Big Sam’s head when he saw that girl comin’ down through there, but he played it cool. He didn’t go out. He wanted to hear what she had to say.
Miss Lilah reigned up her donkey and took a rag out of her pocket to wipe some of the black from her face. Then she called out to the side of Big Sam’s house: “Big Sam! Big Sam! It’s me—Miss Lilah from over the ridge. Come to offer ya marriage. Let’s get hitched!”
All the folks behind her started to grumble, but Miss Lilah kept her eyes straight ahead.
No sign came from Big Sam’s window.
She called out again.
Jess then Ol’ Sam’s widow came up the hill from milkin’ the cow. She saw that herd of folks and quicked up her pace. “What’s going on here?”
“This here’s Miss Lilah from over the ridge. She’s the one that gave Big Sam the run-around. She’s one of Phil’s girls.”
Ol’ Sam’s widow tightened up her jaw and jammed her milkpail into Ol’ Man Parson’s hands. “I’ll deal with this.”
Ol’ Sam’s widow marched right up to Miss Lilah and stared her down. “I didn’t raise my boy to take after trash. Your kind’s not wanted here.”
“Please,” Miss Lilah said, “I’m terrible sorry for what I did. My brothers are awful mean, and they threatened to tar me if’n I didn’t tell on Big Sam. They said they’d tar him too if I didn’t run him off.”
“Don’t matter none. ‘Spect you better be movin’ along.” Ol’ Sam’s widow turned her back to the girl. Miss Lilah pulled on the reins to lead her mule back over the ridge.
“Wait!” It was Big Sam. He was standing in the doorway.
Miss Lilah turned and smiled.
“I tell ya, Miss Lilah. Folks are different on this side of the ridge. We don’ tolerate tricks or lyin’ or stealin’. We go to weekly church meeting here, and we fear God Almighty. If’n your willin’ to live by our rules, I guess we kin get hitched.”
Ol’ Sam’s widow pulled at her hair. The rest of the folks cried out. Two of the womenfolk fainted dead on the spot.
Big Sam jess smiled.

Big Sam and Miss Lilah were happy as a couple of hogs. Big Sam said he ‘lowed it was ‘bout time for him to move out on his own. He went over the ridge to harvest some timber. He came back with several of those huge trees, roots and all. He built him and Miss Lilah the biggest log cabin folks had ever seen. Ol’ Sam’s widow was left alone in the house her and Big Sam used to share. She’d dyed her two dresses black.
Not long after Miss Lilah came to the near side of the ridge, Phil’s boys started raiding again. They’d slip over in the middle of the night and make off with livestock, burn crops, and steal eggs.
Folks asked Big Sam to take care of the problem.
“Deal with your own problems,” he said. That didn’t sound like Big Sam.
Ol’ Sam’s widow went to talk to her son. “What’s this I here? You stopped helpin’ folks? Ain’t Christian not to help folks when they need it.”
“Got my own life now,” Big Sam said.
“God gave you that strength, Boy, and he can take it away.”
Big Sam didn’t listen though.
Folks blamed the change in Big Sam on Miss Lilah. She’d put Big Sam under a spell. They admitted she was sure a pretty thing, and rumor was she was the best cook in the holler. The question on everyone’s mind was the same one: Was Miss Lilah really in love with Big Sam?
They say, you can’t go back on blood.
They say, the apple don’t fall far from the tree.
They say, once a skunk, always a skunk.
Anyway, it didn’t take long for Miss Lilah to return to her roots. One night after Big Sam brought home a wild pig he’d wrassled in the forest, she said, “Big Sam! You’re so strong! You’re the strongest man I’ve ever seen! Tell me now—how did you get so strong?”
Big Sam slammed the hog down on the table. It was so big it almost broke it. “That’sa secret, Lilah-belle. Only Ol’ Sam’s widow and me know the answer. An’ that’s the way it’s gonna stay.”
Miss Lilah didn’t much care for that answer, so she got all bent out of shape. They say, it’s better to spend the night on the ridge-pole of a roof than live under it with an angry wife. Big Sam found it’s true.
“Alright. Alright,” Big Sam finally said. “Don’t be sore. I’ll tell you the trick. Nothing in the world can get the better of me. I’m stronger and better than all men. But see this bushy ol’ beard. If’n someone were to shave it off, I’d be as weak as a cat.”
After he said this, Lilah started figurin’. She waited until he took his afternoon nap, then she took out his razor and carefully lathered his face up with lye. Big Sam was a heavy sleeper. Miss Lilah had enough time to cut all of that big-ole bushy beard off before he’d finished his nap. When she’d finished, Lilah cried out: “Big Sam! Big Sam! It’s my brothers! Phil’s boys! Back from over yonder!”
Big Sam came to life at once, swinging and a squalin’. He durn near knocked the house down before he realized they were alone.
“What in tarnation?” he yelled. “Tain’t no boys ‘round here.”
“Well,” said Lilah, “I figure you’re right. I coulda swore.”
Big Sam reached up and felt his cheeks. “My beard. It’s shaved off.”
“Ever since I’ve known you, Big Sam, you’ve had that bushy ol’ beard. I decided it was time for it to go. No girl wants to kiss that ol’ stickerbush.”
Big Sam got a right puzzled look on his face. “Hey, this ain’t got nothin’ to do with what I told ye this mornin’, does it?”
Lilah scrunched up her face. “Nah. I knew you were lyin’ to me when the words came out of your mouth. And now I’ve done proved it! Big Sam, how can I be married to a feller who don’t love me?”
Big Sam could see she was getting’ mighty agitated, so he changed his steps. “Well, I was lying ‘bout the beard. But if someone were to hit me over the head with seven cast-iron skillets, straight in a row, I’d lose my stren’th forever.”
Miss Lilah’s eyes got all sparkly at this news.
That night after Big Sam started snoring, Lilah got up and lit a lamp and set it in the window. Across the clearing on the edge of the forest, torches appeared. It was Phil’s boys, waiting for her to play her trick.
There was a scratch at the door, and Lilah opened it. Ferret Jim, one of her brothers was standin’ there. Big Sam was still snorin’.
“Fetch me seven cast-iron skillets,” she hissed. “And do it quick-like!”
Lilah watched her husband sleep while she bit at her nails. Soon enough she heard another scratch. Sure ‘nough, it was Ferret Jim with a bag slung over his shoulder with seven cast-iron skillets inside.
“Took some doin’,” he whispered, “but I got ‘em for ye.” He slinked in the door and six other of Phil’s boys came behind. They all grabbed one of them skillets and crowded around Big sleepin’ Sam. They nodded to their sister.
“Big Sam! Big Sam!” she cried. “It’s my brothers from over the ridge!”
Big Sam jerked awake at once, and each of those brothers whacked their hardest. It made a terrible noise. But instead of renderin’ Big Sam worthless, it only made him angrier. Phil’s boys saw their plan wasn’t workin’ so they high-tailed it out of there. Big Sam had already lit into a few of them, and they didn’t hardly get away.
When they’d disappeared back into the darkness, Big Sam stood in the doorway, rubbing his head. “Lilah,” he said. “How’d them boys know about cast-iron skillets?”
If Miss Lilah Belle was good at somethin’, it was thinkin’ with a crooked mind. “I don’t know, Big Sam,” she said. “I jess woke up, and they were here. I musta been talkin’ in my sleep.”
Big Sam grunted. “Funny.” He patted the front pocket of his overalls. “S’probably it.”
Lilah waited a week, but then she started in on him again. “Big Sam, how come Ol’ Sam’s widow knows a secret, and I don’t? A man shouldn’t love his mama more than his wife. It ain’t Christian.”
“There ain’t no one I love more than you, Lilah. You know that.”
“I’m guessin’ I don’t.”
“Alright. Alright. Jess calm down. I’ll tell you my secret—but this time don’t go talkin’ in your sleep. And don’t tell nobody neither. Womenfolk are mighty gossipy.”
Lilah swore up and down that she would keep Big Sam’s secret. So he told her.
“S’kinda silly, but my stren’th is magical, and it don’t follow normal rules. If’n I were tied down to seven stumps in a circle with horse-hair ropes, I wouldn’t be able to break loose. And my power would leave me forever.”
That night Lilah put her lantern in the window again. Ferret Jim came scratchin’ at the door once again. He looked awful pale though. Lilah told him what Big Sam had told her.
“Cut down seven trees in a circle and rustle up ‘nough rope to tie him to each one. Then he’ll be helpless as a baby.”
Two days later Lilah got word it’d all been arranged. It taken Phil’s boys that long to steal enough horses and cut off enough tales to make the rope. They’d cut down the trees in a clearing near the ridge. So Lilah suggested a picnic.
She baked a big ol’ blackberry cobbler and packed it in a basket and everything. She led Big Sam up to that clearing and filled him full of cobbler and jug wine. Before he knew it, he was out cold.
Lilah whistled, and Phil’s boys came out of the woods. They tied each of the ropes to each of the stumps and to Big Sam.
Then Lilah screamed, “It’s my brothers, Big Sam! Come from over the ridge!”
Big Sam jumped up, but the horse-hair ropes held him. He looked annoyed for a second and trashed around. Phil’s boys thought it was going to work. The ropes held, but the stumps didn’t. They came right up out of the ground like spring potatoes.
Big Sam started swingin’ those stumps on the end of his rope, round and round and round. Phil’s boys started to run, but Big Sam whacked ‘em flat with his new weapon. He wound them all up, stumps and all, and rolled ‘em down the hill.
He turned to Lilah. “How do you reckon them boys knew to tie me to seven stumps?”
Crafty Lilah had been figuring this in her mind. “Same way as before, Big Sam. I was sittin’ here, watchin’ you sleep, and you started talkin’ out—talkin’ just like you were awake. You were talkin’ about the seven stumps and horse-hair ropes like you told me before. Next thing I know, those boys run out the woods.”
“How’d they know to bring horse-hair ropes with ‘em?”
“Horse-hair’s all we use on the far side of the ridge.”
“How come there’s seven stumps in jess the right spot?”
Lilah began to cry. “Big Sam, do you think I’d lie to you? My bunch may be a bit rough ‘round the edges, but we was taught to stand by them that stood by us.”
“Now, now, Lilah,” Big Sam said, smilin’ a bit. “You know I love ye, and I trust ye completely.”
Lilah’s eyes got all big and tearful. “Then tell me yer secret! If’n you trust me so much, twon’t be a big deal!”
“Alright. Alright. I’ll tell ye. See, my stren’th ain’t no ordinary stren’th. It don’t come from muscles. It’s magical. It come from God Almighty.” Big Sam reached into the front pocket of his overalls and pulled out his madstone. “When my pa was kilt by that hell-cat, this was in its guts. Ever since I’ve-a had this here hairball, my stren’th has been tenfold a regular man’s.”
It took all of Miss Lilah’s restraint not to snatch that madstone out his hand. She wanted it so bad. There wasn’t any love in her heart. Just a bunch of sawdust.
The rest of the story is a sad one.
If only Big Sam hadn’t been such a mighty sleeper, his life would have been a much happier one.
Ol’ Phil’s boys came back, and Lilah showed them where Big Sam kept his madstone.
When Big Sam woke up, he didn’t know what was happening. There were ten or twelve boys on him (which normally wasn’t any problem) but his strength had slipped away. Those boys hauled him off, Miss Lilah bringin’ up the rear, back over the ridge.
Folks nearby heard the commotion, and they came to investigate. Big Sam’s house was empty. It looked like a tornado had been through there. Ol’ Sam’s widow was standin’ in the doorway, shaking her head.
She raised her hands up. “God Almighty, I tried to raise him right. I tried to warn him about that woman. Now she’s gone and hollered out his life.”
Since Big Sam had stolen their water wheel, Ol’ Phil’s boys put him to work in their mill. Just to make sure he didn’t get no ideas, they put out both of his eyes and chained him to the grist stone. Day after day, he pushed and pushed, grinding and grinding, in the basement of Ol’ Phil’s Mill, while Phil’s boys drunk themselves stupid upstairs. Miss Lilah, for all her trickery, started to feel mighty bad about the part she’d played in it all. She kept Big Sam’s madstone in the pocket of her dress and took it out every night before she went to sleep. In the the night she’d hear Big Sam singin’ along with the sad song of the crickets.

End of Draft

IN-CLASS WRITINGS WITH HIGH-SCHOOLERS

I had several discussions with my students at Nixa High School about what is unique about Nixa. Most of them had a hard time with this. Some mentioned the sinkhole cave-in a couple of years ago. Some mentioned the name. Some mentioned Sucker Days, a local festival. Since I didn't a lot of information with this question, I rephrased it. What landmark (if you saw a picture of it) could you identify as a Nixa site? Some of them mentioned Taco Bell and Sonic. I just stared at them for a second in suprise. Really?

I had them write poems about their hometown, using either a haiku or cinquain formula. The results are typed below:

Nixa
Cayla Young

Nixa is quite small
Nixa is very boring
Nixa is a drag.

Drug Bust
Brennon Salveter

Community builds
The parties are not stopping
Court hearings are called.

Untitled
Kyle B.

Nixa, Missouri
The dumbest city ever
I wish I didn’t live here

Untitled
Katie Batterson

Nixa, Missouri
Nothing at all here except
Restaurant and homes
And a few stores and bowling
Needs entertainment and fun.

Untitled
Brittany Edmiston

Nixa city schools
Population growing fast
Need more space, less kids.

Untitled
Clinton Joslyn

As they sit around
Wishing for some excitement
Time slips by, wasted.

Untitled
Tanner Thompson

Nixa pretty much sucks
And that’s about all to say
I wish it were like burger king so I could
Have everything my way.

Nixa
Sam Jackson

So completely dull
There is no entertainment
Springfield is better.

Untitled
Ali Haddock

Never ending drugs
Nothing to entertain
Now it’s down the drain.

Untitled
Jonner Liss

Better things to do
Cuz’ nixa school isn’t cool
Too bad there are cops.

Nixa
Nikki B.

Uneventful place
Never anything to do
Wanna move away.

Nixa
Britnie Murphy

Wasted time, nothing here.
Everyday just the same
Never changing. Nixa.

Pep Assemblies
Melody Franks

All this school spirit
Eagles, eagles flying high!
Please just make it stop

Exploring community by stepping out of your comfort zone

sarahtate — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 17:35:47 CST

Exploring Community by Stepping Out of Our Comfort Zones On a daily basis, we spend our lives going to the same stores, same movie theatres, same gyms, and even the same gas stations. Rarely do we try new things! We are boring and it has to change. I am very much guilty of living in a rut and not exploring anything that goes on in my community. Because of my lackadaisical approach to life, I have decided to step outside of my comfort zone, take pictures, and write about how I felt when I didn’t go to the same grocery store, or when I explored some great fundraisers that our community puts on for children in need. I have created a lesson plan for our students to explore their own communities and I plan to use this lesson with my students at the beginning of the school year. What a great way to start the year! Over the last month, I had the opportunity to attend two fundraisers, The Sertoma Chili-Cook Off, and The Oscars at the Gilloiz. I also went shopping at an organic store, MaMa Jean’s; an ethnic market, Binh Tay Market and Gift Shop; and the Salvation Arm, all of which I had never been to before. I documented my experiences through writing which I displayed on a power point. . The Sertoma Chili-Cook Off As I pulled up to the EXPO center in downtown Springfield, I noticed that there was no parking anywhere in sight. The parking garage was filled with cars, the University Plaza had a full sign and many of the roads were blocked. It took three turn a rounds, backseat yelling, and five dollars to get a space. My friends and I piled out of the car and started the half a mile walk with freezing gusts of air ripping through our sweaters. By walk, I mean we ran! It was cold. Once inside we found the correct line and were soon in the middle of the Chili Cook-off. I started upstairs and as I entered the first room, the smell of beer, chili, and sweat permeated the air. Thousands of people were in the room and trying to make the way through the crowd was almost impossible. There were 100’s of booths set up and decorated for the different organizations handing out the chili. There were also two bands, one upstairs, and one down. Each of the chili booths had a different theme. There was an Indiana Jones booth that actually had a walk-through area much like a haunted house, which included a shrunken head and bones. One booth had an undead theme going one with a vampire and Satan and other scary Freddy Kruegeresque types, and other booths were just straight forward, no gimmicks, just here to win the cook-off. The Sertoma Chili Cook-off has been around for the last 28 years, and it benefits the Boys and Girls Club of the Ozarks. Every year, they entertain under a theme, and this year with the cook-off falling just two days before “Fat Tuesday”, the theme was Mardi gras. The cook-off also featured ten bands on two different stages. According to the Sertoma website, there were around 80 ten-member teams competing in the cook-off for various awards such as, best booth, best costumes and showmanship, and of course best chili as judged by professional chefs. This year the public also voted for their favorite chili in the “The Peoples’ Choice” competition. The cook-off started at 11:00 am on February 21, and went until 5:00 pm. There was an estimated 8,000 people who attended, and tickets were only 12 dollars if purchased in advanced. Last year, the cook-off alone raised 175,000 dollars for the Boys and Girls Club of Springfield, and this year with the huge turnout, proceeds are expected to be even higher. Attending the chili cook- off, either as a participant, or just a patron, is a great way to get involved with the community. It is not really the best place to take your children or for high school students to attend, as there is a rowdy older crowd with all of the alcohol that is served, but it is a great way to give to a wonderful cause. As this was my first time attending the cook-off, I did not know what to expect, but overall it was a fun time and I can see myself going back next year. However, next year, I will not be on a diet and the words “chili, chili, everywhere and not a drop to eat” will not be going through my head! Oscar Night at the Gilloiz The second fundraiser I attended this weekend, the Oscars at the Gilloiz, was a bit different from the chili cook-off. The words extravagant and rich came to mind as we walked from the Volkswagen past the Limos to the red carpet. Paparazzi lined the entrance and flashes of light came in all directions. This was my first experience on the red carpet, and even though it was only in Springfield, I felt very nervous and awkward. Do we stop and pose like they do on TV or do we just walk down the carpet and act as if it is no big deal? Once inside the Gilloiz there were more photographers and of course an important looking person with a microphone interviewing people as they walked in. Fortunately, I was not interviewed! On the main floor of the Gilloiz, huge life-sized Oscars lined the entrance as well as posters for the nominated movies. There were also small tables placed throughout the room with miniature Oscars on them. Upstairs, there was a buffet filled with appetizers and in a smaller room, there was a bar, filled with all types of wine. The women, including myself, were all wearing gorgeous dresses, and the men donned tuxedos. As the evening went on, and Oscar time drew nearer, we found our seats in the theatre. An anchor from KSPR 33 hosted the Oscars, which we watched on the big screen. During commercial breaks, the cabaret from Drury University performed and around 9:00 pm, the desserts and coffee were put out, just outside of the theatre. The desserts were amazing; they were bite-sized portions of brownies, cakes, cheesecakes, anything else that could be put on a fancy toothpick. My husband and I left the party around 10:00 pm, but I have yet to stop thinking about it! It was almost like a prom for grown ups, and it all went to benefit Isabel’s House, which is a crisis nursery here in Springfield. Isabel’s house takes in children when the child’s home is no longer suitable for them. They work with crises such as the loss of a home, drug or alcohol rehabilitation, loss of utilities, and emergency hospital stays, however children who are currently in the foster care system are not eligible to stay at Isabel's House. The mission of Isabel's House, the Crisis Nursery of the Ozarks, is to provide immediate refuge for children age’s birth to 12 whose families are in crisis. By collaborating with families and the community, we will strengthen families and prevent child abuse and neglect. The goals of Isabel’s house are to strengthen families. That is why providing support, education and training to the caregivers of the children we serve is an important part of our mission. Isabel’s house is non-for profit and exists solely on donations and volunteerism. The Oscar Night in Springfield was just one of the many ways they raise money throughout the year. Mamma Jean’s This is a whole health food market, but to my surprise, it is massive and they have a lot more than just food here. I have been driving past MaMa Jean’s everyday on my way to school and have never taken the time to shop there. Like most people, I am uncomfortable changing my routine, so instead of trying new markets, I usually go to Price Cutter and usually is it a specific Price Cutter. I am now in love with MaMa Jean’s. Not only is it not overpriced, they offer a wide variety of product and food. In addition, yes, they are all natural and great for you! The first thing that impressed me was the fact that they sell bison. I am not sure where else in Springfield you can buy bison meat, but I am going to have buy some from MaMa Jean’s because Bison is one of my favorite meats. They also have a whole wall of different flour, oatmeal, spices, sugars, and stuff I could not pronounce, not to mention the all-natural maple syrup they sell or the fact that they have an almond grinder, which turns almonds into almond butter. Not only does this fabulous store sell the healthiest food you can find, it has a whole section of health care products for just about anything you could imagine. They even have a great little area for people to sit and eat their homemade soups, which were very reasonably priced. When I walked into MaMa Jean’s I felt very awkward at first. My reaction was, why are there so many people working here, and why are they staring at me. I get the feeling that the same people shop at this market daily and that the employees may not be used to seeing newcomers. I was also trying to very discreetly take pictures of everything, which is somewhat hard when you do not know how to turn off your flash. At one point, I heard an employee say, “was that lightening outside,” oops; I will have to be more discreet in the future. I was overwhelmed with all of the different sections of the market and I felt unsure of how to even work some of the stuff in there. Trying new things is always a bit awkward, especially when everyone else looks like a pro at it. I finally did pick out some organic fair trade whole bean coffee, which was surprisingly cheap, and I made my way up to the counter. I paid for the coffee and was out the door, but I really wanted to go back, so the next day I stopped back by, and even though I had only been in one time before, I felt more comfortable in the store. MaMa Jean’s, which is locally owned, will definitely make it on my weekly trips list, which will then just turn into another monotonous place that I shop! Salvation Army I went to the Salvation Army for the first time ever a few weeks ago. What I expected to find and what I found were two different things entirely. I expected to walk into the place and be greeted with a jumble mess of clothes and other household items. I expected, for some reason, to see a bunch of homeless looking people, I know that it is horrible to say that, walking around asking for money. Yes, very horrible stereotypes, I know, I feel bad even admitting them. What I saw was a very organized, systematic store with various sections of used clothing and household items all marked and labeled. The Salvation Army was very clean and bright, and looked almost like a Big Lot’s or a TJ Maxx only everything was less expensive and not new. It was great. I spent some time looking around the clothes and shoes, the purses, the books and all of the household items. As you probably know, the Salvation Army also is non-for profit and exists on donations and volunteerism to support its building and maintenance. It is a place were people who are struggling with finances could go to buy the necessities at a low cost. I remember vaguely from my childhood, my mother and grandmother shopping at thrift stores for clothes for us kids, but I never really thought about it until now. I guess as a child you do not really know that your clothes are not brand new, nor do you really care if they are. In recent days, I have been seeing lots of news articles in our paper, and in USA Today, about how thrift store shopping is becoming huge, and the consignment shops, and the resale stores are actually profiting during a recession. I plan to start looking at thrift stores in our community, before I head out to the mall to purchase something overpriced! Binh Tay Market and Gift Shop The final place I visited, which I normally would not, was the Binh Tay Market and Gift Shop. It was located on West Sunshine. I will admit I was nervous as I walked into this store, as I had no idea what to expect, and I could see dragon sculptures inside the building. The Binh Tay Market and Gift Shop has just about everything one could ask for. It is literally an ethnic Wal-Mart! It not only has the most exotic food I have ever heard of, it has a plethora of household items and two isles full of rice cookers. I carefully went down each isle of the market looking at everything the store had to offer. There were probably 50-60 different types of dehydrated fish in packages, think beef jerky, but fish. There was also, a frozen section, which hosted fish I had never heard of before, and they had a fruit section with various fruits and roots I had never heard of before. The candy section was the most impressive; there were isles of candy and cookies and dried fruits to choose from. I did buy some to bring to the institute, and I am anxious to try them. There was a whole bunch of stuff I could not pronounce, nor did I know what it was, but I would probably be unwilling to try. I will admit that when I left the market I felt a bit nauseous due to the very exotic, very clear packaging that everything came in. The woman who checked me out for my candy items, was obviously very nice and I am probably not her usual cliental. This market is definitely set up for a specific culture, which only makes me wonder, how busy is it in our very non-diverse city? The Binh Tay Market is probably not a place I will be visiting again, not because there is anything wrong with it, but because, it just does not fit into my American tastes. Unless that is, I try the cookies I bought and cannot live without them! Stepping Out of Your Comfort Zone For one month, you will be keeping track of the places where you spend most of your time. Each day you will record your whereabouts, and at the end of the month, we will analyze where you spend most of your time. Make sure you indicate where the places are that you go. For instance, if you go to the movies, don’t just write “movies” write what movie theatre you went to. A sample calendar is below. February 2009 Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday

1 Cox Fitness Walgreens Price Cutter(R)	2 Parkview Fitness Center	3 Parkview Target MSU	4 Parkview Price Cutter(R)	5 Parkview MSU	6 Parkview Ruby Tuesdays	7 Fitness Center Target Battlefield Mall Hamlet play at Parkview
8 Home All Day	9 Parkview Fitness Center	10 Parkview MSU	11 Parkview	12 Parkview MSU	13 Parkview Fitness Center	14 Fitness Center Price Cutter (R)
15 Fitness Center	16 Branson Tanger outlet mall Ruby Tuesdays	17 Parkview MSU	18 Parkview	19 Parkview Parent Teacher Conf. No MSU	20 Parkview	21 Fitness Center Chili Cook-off Buffalo Wild Wings
22 Ocean Zen Oscars at Gilloiz	23 Parkview	24 Parkview MSU	25 Parkview	26 Parkview MSU	27 Parkview Target Dawn’s House	28 Rogersville Community Center (Baby Shower) Ruby Tuesdays, Movie Gallery

March 2009 Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday

1	2	3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30	31

Now that you have filled out your calendar look for the place, besides your house and school, which you go to the most often. It could be a grocery store or even the gym for a basketball game. Once you have found this place, I want to write a page indicating why you go to this one place so much and how you feel when you are there. My Place Is:___________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Stepping Out of Your Comfort Zone: Writing and Research Project Project: Over the next three weeks, you will be visiting and writing about places in our community where you have never been before. Requirements:

Choose three places off the provided list to visit, take pictures of, and write about.
Create a poster board presentation or power point presentation showcasing the places you visited, the pictures you took, and your writing about the experience.
Display poster in class and give a 2-3 minute oral presentation explaining the places you attended and how you felt when you went to these unfamiliar places.
Write a one page essay detailing if this project changed the way you think about community.

Choices: Attend a Church you do not normally go to Shop at an ethnic food store/market Take a ride on the city bus Do your laundry at the laundry matt Visit a farmer’s market Shop at a thrift store Go to the skate park Go to the one of the City Libraries Attend a sporting/band/theatre event you have never been to before Participate in a club meeting after school in which you are not a member Volunteer at the soup kitchen for one shift Walk around a college campus for 30 minutes Shop at a store in the Mall that you have never been in before If you have a better idea, let me hear it! I am open to options.

My Choices Are	I Chose This Because
1.
2.
3

I have three weeks to complete my project which means I need to visit one of the above places a week. I have listed dates for myself below on when I think I will be able to go to my top three choices. Week One: Week Two: Week Three: Lesson Plans for Community Inquiry: You could really start this lesson at any time during the year; however, I feel that starting it at the beginning of the year gives the students a chance to get to critically analyze where they spend all of their time, and to learn a lot about themselves and their fellow classmates. This project will be done over the course of about 8 weeks or one quarter. It will only take a few minutes a day to update the calendar. Introduction: Give the students the definition for community, and then have students in their own words write what community means to them. Students should share out their ideas with a classmate, and then the whole class needs to discuss the idea of a community. After discussion, pass out the blank calendars, tell students that they will be keeping track of where they go on a daily basis for one month. At the end of the month they will analyze their calendars and reflect on where they spend their time. Give students a few minutes each class period to update their calendars. They should probably leave their calendars in the classroom so they do not lose them. Updating the calendars could even be their bell work for one month. At the end of the month have students analyze their calendars and reflect on where they spend all of their time. Pass out the community inquiry project handouts and give instructions orally. Give students some time to think about where they would like to go. Let them discuss with a classmate what a good choice would be. After this, the project begins and it is in the student’s hands. You could give some class time before the due date so they can get their presentations ready. You could also have them conduct interviews if you wanted to add to the project. I feel like this lesson could be adapted to almost any grade level, and I am confident that our students will enjoy completing the assignment.

Crime in the Ozarks

sarahtate — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 17:31:11 CST

Community Inquiry Topics

sarahtate — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 17:29:14 CST

On Wednesday, September 10, 2008, we met at Missouri State. We began the morning with writing, focusing specifically on possibly topics for the our community inquiry projects. Each person in the Institute has created a page that records their research process and products. Below you'll find a link to each person's page.

On this day, we shared our tentative ideas.

Kim P., a fifth grade teacher at Wilson's Creek Elementary, took pictures of places in the Ozarks and had students write about those. Her personal inquiry project focuses on the Rockaway Beach area in Taney County.

Sarah, a teacher at Parkview High School, is exploring her community through a project that requires her to step out of her comfort zone. Through photos and journaling, she will show her students how we can think differently about our community, and we can explore our communities.

Kim W., a teacher from Mt. Vernon, is planning on interviewing several people in the Mt. Vernon community and writing a multi-genre piece.

Kim P. wondered aloud "Where is the Ozarks?" geographically. We had looked at a map from Brooks Blevins' book called Hill Folks.

On October 18, 2008, we met at the Library Center. We began the morning with writing, and we partner-shared about our potential projects. Laura asked us to create a poster--a visual representation of our community inquiry project. As each person briefly presented their topics, we took notes on post-its and held brief discussions. At the end of the time, we did a short gallery walk and posted our notes to each of the posters.

Larry is now considering a focus on education in Lawrence County with an emphasis on one-room schoolhouses.

Joe is photographing the Ozarks for a photo essay.

Michael is working with university students who are writing scripts that incorporate the theme of the Ozarks. In addition, these "In-School Players" visit K-5 schools to perform the scripts.

Caroline is exploring H-Town--the story of Hollister, Missouri. She has visited the Grape Festival, Hollister High football games, and she has interviewed a 98 year old community member and a teacher who grew up in Hollister, moved away, and has returned.

Sarah is exploring several options--meth in the Ozarks, a project on her grandparents and the Holocaust, and a community project focused on safety.

Faith has recently written a grant to obtain money for the Ozark Wood Turners to visit her class and mentor her students in the skill of wood turning.

Kim P. has been busy researching Rockaway Beach, reading, researching, and incorporating community inquiry writing activities found in Writing Our Communities into her class. Her focus now is to begin writing a fictionalized story based on her research.

Kim W. is writing a multigenre on community that she will use as a model for her own students. She is interviewing people in the community and writing a narrative. She will write a "Where I'm From" poem, an ekphrasis based on local photography, a found poem from local newspaper articles, and a "Where I Belong" essay.

Genesis is exploring community in her school. She asked great questions as she explore what community inquiry can look like in her classroom and in Pleasant Hope.

Kathleen is working on creating a writing group for veterans in the Ozarks.

Zak is collecting research on his grandfather and writing stories about himself and ghost stories passed down from his grandma.

Sharolette is using social studies themes to explore music in the Ozarks.

Katrina is also completing her own inquiry project of Licking, Missouri, so she can have a model to share with her eighth grade students.

Pleasant Hope School Community

Genesis723 — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 16:11:44 CST

Note: I have figured out the whole attachment thing (woot!), but most of my materials are too large (boo!). I planned on posting a couple audio recordings, but will have to settle for the transcripts (which, unfortunately, are on the PH server instead of my flash drive).

As I contemplated ways to integrate community into classroom instruction, I was struck by so many ideas that it was rather difficult to settle on one or two that seemed manageable within the context of everything else we are supposed to do within the curriculum. With the passing weeks I found that when we did bring up community-centered topics in class the students were generally much more willing to get involved and I resolved to take advantage of the students’ sudden enthusiasm with more detailed projects in third and fourth quarter. Though the English III classes discuss issues of community and culture within the context of American literature, the activities that I describe below are things that my English IV students have been doing during the end of the Fall 2008 semester and the first half of the Spring 2009 semester. Included as well is a plan for the fourth quarter project to be completed in April-May 2009.

Class Discussions

We started off by having some whole-group and small-group discussions about various issues of community. Though I was initially guided by the questions listed below, students were good about bringing in other issues for discussion.

What traits define Pleasant Hope as a community? How is it similar to/different from other communities in the region? What are the core values of the people of Pleasant Hope?
What are the characteristics most valued in Pleasant Hope community members? What does it take to belong to the community?
How do you feel about Pleasant Hope? To what degree do you feel you belong in the community? How much does the community belong to you?
What things should be changed about Pleasant Hope? What should definitely be kept?

One thing that struck me was students apparently mixed attitude toward their community. Both among students and within individuals there is a divergence of views. On one hand, many students are generally negative about the “small town experience,” and are anxious “to get out in the real world,” but as a whole students are quite defensive of their community and what they feel it represents (honesty, hard work, family, etc.). A prime example is their discussion of the school’s long-standing rivalry with Marion C. Early, a school located across the highway in Morrisville.
While many small towns I’ve been in seem so insular that I would think it hard to feel like a community member after moving from another place, most of the students who have come into the area in the past few years claim that they felt welcome immediately and the feeling of being an outsider wore off fairly quickly. The students were nearly unanimous in feeling that though the belong to the community, but feel that the community belongs not to them, but to the older generations of the area.

Poems about Community

Using examples and a template adapted from the internet students composed Where I’m From poems. Using the end of a class with a substitute, students made copies of the poems, some elaborately decorated, to hang on the wall. I was first leery of using a poem template because I feared they would all sound so much the same that I wouldn’t want to read them after the first few. Luckily that wasn’t the case, and for the past several months many people, both students and visiting adults, have enjoyed reading each student’s work and commenting on them.

After we shared the Where I’m From poems, the students brainstormed details about the place they most considered home. The students then discussed their homes in small groups adding more details as they talked. I then asked them to write a poem of any variety about their homes. Leaving the assignment open as to form and content (the only limiters were “home” and “poem”) opened up the door to diversity and students surprised me with their different interpretations of home. Many did deal at least some with the actual building they think of as home, but several also worked in images of family and community with the physical building they consider come.

Oral History Project

In advance of the oral history project we viewed Mark Bigg’s The Ozarks: Just That Much Hillbilly in Me (available free for educators). Before discussing as a whole group I asked students to reflect on the film and be prepared to talk about their reactions. The discussions of the two classes were diverse, but had some overlapping topics. Both groups were intrigued by the image of hillbilly life many non-Ozarkers associate with the region and we debated the positive and negative aspects of being considered a hillbilly. Without knowing much (if anything) about the upcoming project, both groups ended up talking about the interview process used by Biggs and people that would be good to talk to about local history. Taking advantage of the segue, I gave students the oral history assignment sheet and we discussed the basics of the project.

Students were much more receptive to the idea of the collecting an oral history than I thought they would be. In spite of the fact that completing it would take several hours of out-of-class time (and a handful of in-class hours as well), most of the students were pretty excited about the prospect. I was particularly struck by one girl’s enthusiasm. T.J. had a fairly frustrating first semester in English IV and I was a bit surprised that she didn’t drop the class after finals. For the first few months of school she categorically hated all the projects the class did, but her attitude shifted the day after she got the project description for the oral history collection. For the first time in two years I did not have to walk her step-by-step through the process of getting started or prod her to get her work finished. She knew immediately the subject she wanted to interview and arranged to check out materials early. When we returned to school after she and her partner had conducted the interview, she immediately set about transcribing the interview by hand (everyone else insisted on using a computer) on a day her partner was absent and when the other girl returned she had trouble keeping up with typing the transcript as T.J. kept sending her pages of tiny script. I had spent a year and a half trying, many times unsuccessfully, to get her motivated to do English homework, but during this project I would find her in the library working on it during other classes and lunch.

As I was first envisioning the oral history project I assumed it would be an independent assignment, but as my thoughts evolved over a week or two I resolved that it should be completed in partners. The primary reason that I opted to make the project collaborative was that we simply did not have enough resources for sixteen students to work by themselves. We had only two audio recorders and one camcorder to use during the interviews, and there are only half a dozen or so library computers that had the programs and drives students needed to work on transcripts (in fact, during the bigger class students had to use my laptop). While my motivation were initially based on the availability of resources, having students work with one another provided additional benefits. Those who moved into the area in recent years were nervous about finding a long-time resident to talk to before they found out that they could pair up with someone who has lived in the region for several years. Having partners also allowed for students to pair up based on their personality. Students who are more introverted and anxious about talking to others could pair with a more outgoing student while students lacking technological skills could get a partner that knows what a camcorder is. Additionally, since students were working in pairs they could divide the work-intensive transcription. Although there were some minor issues with people working with partners (mostly regarding attendance and scheduling interviews), the benefits certainly made those glitches worth it. Were I to do the project again, I would certainly keep it as a partner exercise (although I’m sure my students would tell you that having yet another pair of hands for typing would be an excellent addition).

During discussions of the project I found myself revising the initially guidelines for interview subjects. Initially I wanted students to speak with someone who was born before 1945 and a life-time (or at least long-time) resident of the Pleasant Hope area. But when a pair of students suggested a grandparent with ties to Sparta and Springfield, their story was compelling enough to make me reconsider. Another group wanted to talk to a life-time resident who was just shy of the 1945 mark. Yet another group wanted to talk to a person who has been influential in the community in the past decade or so, but meets neither of the characteristics “required” in the assignment sheet. I accepted all of these suggestions and had my reservations about going back on my requirements until I got the camcorder back with some of the best interviews of the project. I am not sure whether I will let future students have so much wiggle room because I believe having some level of consistency in interview subjects could be beneficial to the project as a whole. But really I probably would let them. Call me a sucker, but if students feel strongly about something and can put forth acceptable reasoning for making an exception, I’ll consent to such things.

Watching the videos of interviews and reading the transcripts show my that, though many of the students have great interpersonal skills, I definitely should spend more class time practicing interview techniques and the use of the recording devices. Most interviews were satisfactory in both respects, but some students could have had even greater success if we addressed those issues in more depth than our assignment calendar reflects. With regard to interviewing skills, some students used the class-developed list of potential questions as too much of a checklist instead of letting the conversations develop more organically. Doing more in-depth mock interview sessions in class could help students learn when to ignore the list and rely on their inquisitive instinct. With regard to technology, it has shown me where I particularly need further lessons. Although I mastered the basic functions of the one camcorder I obtained for our use, there were many slightly more complex functions that baffled me throughout the process and I was completely useless to the girl who had recorded the interview on a relative’s camera and had no way to retrieve the data at school. My technological shortfalls are still noticeable as I contemplate what to do with the video. Not only are the files too large to upload to anything I know of, I can’t even figure out how to cut clips from the interviews (when I try to figure this out I find myself wishing for my own personal Larry!).

Typing the transcriptions was the only part of the project that students whined about. We would be about halfway through a work day and I would look around and see students trading seats with their partners and shaking the feeling back into sore fingers. But their grumblings did not generally last long, and there were more comments about how typing out spoken language makes them think about what they sound like when they speak. For better or worse, I think they have become much more conscious of what effect verbal pauses have on their communication. Going word-by-word also led to comment on things they could have said to encourage the person they were interviewing to say more.

Though the students’ written responses contained several ideas for modifying the assignment for future use, the participants generally agreed that it is certainly a project that is worth doing. The day after students turned in their reflective essays we had a celebration day that brought the two sections of English IV into one group and involved sharing sections from their videos or transcriptions, discussion, and (of course) food. Their responses, and those of the people the students interviewed, demonstrated the potential value of the activities, but my own involvement in the students’ work speaks for the quality of the project. Usually by late winter I find myself procrastinating about reading student work, but during this project I would read everything they gave me the day I got it (even those single-spaced transcripts that ran well over ten pages). Sometimes it was hard to actually do the work I needed to because I wanted to watch all of their videos when they turned the camera in after an interview excursion. So we have a good bit to show for our hours: several hours of video and audio of interviews, pages upon pages of transcriptions, and a few scanned images to go with some of the pages. But more significant are those intangible benefits. The interview subjects have commented that it was a positive experience to spend time talking to a younger community member. The students feel more aware of and connected to the world immediately around them. And so do I.

Gazing Into the Future

As I’ve indicated, there are many more things I can do to get better at working community into my classroom, but based on initial positive experiences I am sure that it is something that will continue. In addition to reviving and revising a community-based simulation game that calls on groups of students to research and write a proposal, I’m beginning to have thoughts of ways to work it in next year. I am still in the tentative planning stages for the year in general, but have resolved to return to the oral history project once more. By then I hope to work in a handful of changes. These include, but are not limited to, the following:

Complete the project during the first semester
Acquire more recording devices
Coach students in interviewing skills more effectively
Invite a community member to be a guest speaker at the beginning of the project

Museum field trip

wittk — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 13:43:44 CST

There is no abstract available for this page revision.

Theatre in the Ozarks

Full_Frontal_Nerdity — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 08:48:42 CST

The Missouri State University In-School Players Present:

"Ozarks Tall Tales!"

The In-School Players (ISP) consist of a small cast of Missouri State University students who travel the local elementary school and Springfield Public Library circuit to bring live theater performances to children. Created in the fall of 1984, the cast consists of six to eight members who present 40 to 60 performances of stories, poems, and music per school year.

It is estimated that the In-School Players Touring Group has entertained over 500,000 children since it was formed. The group claims to be able to perform anywhere such as classrooms, libraries, and playgrounds, and offers Tuesday and Thursday performances. Other performances include S.T.A.M. (Speech and Theater Association of Missouri) Conventions.

For the ISP homepage, please visit this link: http://theatreanddance.missouristate.edu/inschoolplayers.asp

The Idea:

Early in the semester, I made the decision to use Ozarks folktales as the focus for our script. It soon became evident that many of the folktales contained decidedly "adult" themes inappropriate for the Kindergarten through fifth grade audiences for whom the ISP performed. I decided to seek help, so I contacted Dr. Rachel Gholson, an Associate Professor of English whose specialty happened to be folklore:

Dear Dr. Gholson:

My name is Michael Frizell, and I am director of the Writing Center here at Missouri State. One of my secondary duties is directing the In-School Players, a children’s theatre troupe devoted to bringing theatre to Title I schools and other K-5 schools throughout Springfield. This is my first semester as the director of the troupe, and I have come up with an idea that calls upon your particular expertise.

The troupe is made up of six college actors selected by audition. During the fall semester, we write a 40-45 minute script, adapting poetry, prose, and songs into a themed variety show for tour in the spring semester. The troupe was created by Sharon Ellis of the theatre department. Ms. Ellis is planning to retire, and the reins were given to me (I was a former troupe member during my first master’s degree, way back in 1994). I met with the troupe for the first time yesterday and pitched the idea of performing a show themed around Ozarks folklore, tall tales, poetry, and song. The troupe members, and Dr. Mark Biggs, department head for Theatre & Dance, were receptive of the idea.

I was wondering if you could share some of your insights and perhaps give us some direction to turn as we research and locate materials for adaptation. I am familiar with the storytelling of Richard and Judy Dockery Young from Branson, but I’m afraid my knowledge of the Ozarks and folklore stops there. I’d be interested in having you address the troupe as we begin our search. We meet on Mondays and Wednesdays from 1:00 p.m. to 2:50 p.m. as THE 497 Special Problems for the Theatre: In-School Players, a three credit hour course, in Craig Hall 209. If you could not meet with us, any information you care to share would be welcomed and helpful. Thank you for considering my request.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely, Michael

Her response was both thoughtful and informative:

Michael,

Please call me Rachel (Dr. whatever is so formal among peers.) This sounds like a truly wonderful idea. I have no experience beyond audience participation n the area of theater, but can already see some wonderful portions of a performance…perhaps a few young women thinking about boys and tossing a(n imaginary) cat to see who will be married first, etc.

This is exciting and I would love to be able to speak with your class. However with 6 courses on my plate this semester, I’ll be teaching IDS110 at the time you all meet. Perhaps I could let them out early with a quiz to complete on campus one day, if you think my speaking to the class would be helpful.

The Dockery’s are wonderful story tellers. Other key texts, of course anything by Vance Randolph. _Ozarks Magic and Folklore_ will be the text of his that will give you more beliefs than you want. For traditional tunes you might look at the on-line collection of Max Hunter. There are Ozarks versions of ballads that have stood the test of time and reach back to the old countries (Barbra Allen, the Two sisters, etc.). There are also (and I think this is VERY important) songs about Ozarks history that have unique topics (local mine explosion for instance- hmm, I believe…try the West Plains explosion/mine as search term for this) and serve a very important role in preserving our view of our history.

Of course perhaps the big question is do you all –as a class- want this to be folklore of the past or to include folklore of the present too. (I hope the latter) We have festivals like hootin and hollerin, Sucker days, traditional musicians (one recognized by the national government as a national treasure who kids should know about-Bob Holt, recently passed), traditional quilters, tractor days at Ozarks schools were everyone comes to school on some piece of farm equipment instead of in their car, schools that let out for the “holiday” of hunting season (of one type or another, but deer season comes to mind over towards the boot heel). Etc.

Do you want to chat in person a bit, or take a look at these sources and get back to me, or…? Whatever will help let me know because this is a Wonderful project!

Rachel

PS Another approach folklore of the cultural groups of the Ozarks. Folk art/food produced by the largest Am. Vietnamese gathering which happens annually here in the Ozarks, Fr. MO folklore (story, festival, song), Catholic folklore in the Ozarks (bathtub Mary’s), Giraffe houses/buildings in the Ozarks… My examples here are mostly material culture, but I’m sure other non-material lore could be found.

Much of what Dr. Gholson suggested had already been discussed in some detail during the institute, but she certainly got me to thinking outside the box. Perhaps, instead of straight adaptation of the found material, we could take Ozarks traditions, stock characters, and local culture and fit them into stories that may not be specifically Ozarks in origin. Thus, the group started their research.

NEXT: THE STORIES ARE BORN

Possible Logo Designs

Oddly enough, in its 24 year history, the In-School Players have never had a logo.

Logo Design #1:

My brother, D.A. Frizell, creator and director of "D.A. Frizell's Mind's Eye" (http://dafrizell.com/index.html), a for-hire graphic design workshop, agreed to come up with a logo. However, he offered this caveat, "I am very busy right and this sort of work is not usually something I do." I asked him to create a logo using the MSU logo, the words "In-School Players," and a bear, the MSU mascot. I told him I wanted a "toy bear or teddy bear" to represent the mascot. Here's what he came up with in about 15 minutes:

The design was cute, but not quite what I was looking for. However, not knowing how to talk to a designer, he did, techinically, give me what I asked. The players didn't like the eyes on the bear, stating that they were "scary" and "empty."

Logo Design #2:

I contacted Creator Designs (creatordesigns.com) to requisition a logo I could place on T-shirts, letterhead, and the official website. I told them what I had told my brother, but I also showed them the art of Skottie Young, a comic book artist currently working on a creative adaptation of The Wizard of Oz for Marvel Comics, as inspiration. The designer's mission was to create a logo that could be modified each year according to the ISP show's theme. This year, the title of our production is, "Ozarks Tall Tales!" This logo would need to appear on seven different colors.

Here's what the designer created...

Here is the logo for letterhead, repeated on several colors:

I love the official logo with MSU and the bear, but the players didn't like the tree on the T-Shirt design for Ozarks Tall Tales, feeling that the tree was a bit scary. Still, this logo is definitely a step in the right direction.

Logo Design #3:

The designer cleaned up the image and removed the trees. Additionally, since my budget for the troupe is small, I requested the design be one color. Here is the revision:

Final Logo Design:

It was suggested that the bear should be facing the title of the production. So, a quick rearrangement later...

This final version of the logo and title will be printed on long-sleeve t-shirts for the players to wear while touring. I will also use the logo for correspondence, posters, and other marketing tools.

Reader's Theatre Workshop

The In-School Players Touring Group will be visiting Kim's 5th grade class at Wilson's Creek Elementary School on Wednesday, November 5, 2008, at 1:30 p.m for a reader's theatre workshop of the script. It is the Player's hope that the students will give feedback on the rough-draft of the scripts and offer suggestions for making the writing feel more relevant to them and to help the group decide which stories to keep for the touring performances in the spring of 2009.

Script Doctoring:

After the ISP's final rehearsal of the reader's theatre script on November 3rd, careful readers will notice several changes were made to the original script. Those changes include:

1. "Charlie Joins the Circus" was removed from the script: The group decided that "Charlie" was telling the story through lengthy exposition as opposed to showing the story. Though "Alan Den" suffers from the same affliction, it is still a favorite of the cast due to its incorporation of pop culture references. Thus, "Alan Den" has been heavily edited to shorten long monologues.

2. "The Mule Egg" and "Dylan the Eagle-Hearted Chicken" received additional dialogue: Both scripts work well and show the story rather than tell the story. However, for reader's theatre, additional dialogue was added to make the action of the stories clearer to the listener.

3. The Jonas Brothers song in "Alan Den" is fleshed out: The group debated some as to whether to have the Jonas Brothers, who serve collectively as the genie in this "Aladin" adaptation, should sing or speak their dialogue. It was decided that their first appearance should be sung. To make the song feel more fully realized, some lines were added and others repeated.

4. Addition of the entre' act: I used the poem, "If You are a Dreamer" by Shel Silverstein as a way to begin the production. In the original script, the poem was used merely as an introduction to the written document, but I believe it serves the show well as a way to get it started. I divided the lines among the cast members to simulate the effect of a Greek chorus.

5. Length: The show ran approximately 37 minutes. The goal is to have a fully-staged show that runs less than 45 minutes in length. I feel that the current reading length is perfect.

The Reader's Theatre Performance at Wilson's Creek Elementary:

COMING SOON!

Marketing the Troupe to the Springfield School District:

The marketing letter to area teachers:

Hello!

My name is Michael Frizell, and I am the new Director of Missouri State University’s In-School Players, a small cast of Missouri State University students who travel the local elementary school and Springfield Public Library circuit to bring live theater performances to children. Created in the fall of 1984, the cast consists of six to eight members who present a performance consisting of stories, poems, and music. It is estimated that the In-School Players Touring Group has entertained over 500,000 children since it was formed.

The MSU In-School Players will begin touring on February 5, 2009. This year’s show is entitled “Ozarks Tall Tales!” This collection of nine poems, songs, books, and original stories were written or adapted by the company members. The books include “Because of Lozo Brown” by Larry L. King, “The Tortoise and the Hare” by Roald Dahl, and “Dylan the Eagle-Hearted Chicken” by David Harrison. The performance also includes adaptations of the “The Mule Egg,” an Ozarks folktale, and a modern retelling of “Aladdin” entitled “Alan Den,” and a Pecos Bill story titled “The Start of the Rodeo.” The song, “Here I Am,” by David Yazbeck has been adapted with Ozarks flair and will be sung by the cast. The original script featured this year is titled “The Great Mountain Snipe,” by Dan Kohl, a senior majoring in theatre.

The play can be presented in any setting – classroom, all-purpose room, cafeteria, library, gym, or playground and offers Tuesday and Thursday performances with a preferred starting time between 1:20 and 2:00 p.m. The running time is approximately 45 minutes, but can be shortened if desired, and is best suited for children for grades K to 5. As has always been our custom, there is no charge for these performances.

If you would like to have the MSU In-School Players perform for the children in your school, please e-mail me at MichaelFrizell@MissouriState.edu as soon as possible since the tour will be booked on a first come, first serve basis. Please see the attached document for tour information and dates. A small poster is also attached. The poster is in black and white for both easy printing and is offered as a coloring page for your students.

I hope that you will take advantage of this free entertainment provided by the Missouri State University Department of Theatre & Dance. Please see our website at http://www.theatreanddance.missouristate.edu/inschoolplayers.asp.

If you are interested in a blog chronicling the creation of the show this semester, please visit the Ozarks Writing Project’s Advanced Institute wiki at http://owpai.wetpaint.com/page/Theatre+in+the+Ozarks.

Sincerely,

Michael Frizell
For the Office of Student Development and Public Affairs:
Director - The Writing Center
Director - Supplemental Instruction

For the College of Arts and Letters/Theatre & Dance Department:
Director - In-School Players

Missouri State University 901 South National Avenue Springfield, MO 65897
Office: Pummill Hall 1A, 417-836-5006 or 417-836-6806 Center: Pummill Hall 401, 417-836-6398 Web: http://writingcenter.missouristate.edu Center E-Mail: writingcenter@missouristate.edu Director E-Mail: michaelfrizell@missouristate.edu

The Tour Dates:
Please complete the form below and mail as an attachment to michaelfrizell@missouristate.edu

Request Form for MSU In-School Players Tour – Spring 2009
Name of School
Address of School
Phone
Principal
Person Requesting Performance
Grades Seeing Production
Estimated Number of Children in Audience
Location of Performance
Did the In-School Players perform at your school last year?

Choice: Mark 1st, 2nd, or 3rd choice	Dates	Performance Times: List preferred starting time of performance between 1:20 and 2:00 p.m.
	Thursday, February 5
	Tuesday, February 10
	Thursday, February 12
	Thursday, February 19
	Tuesday, February 24
	Thursday, February 26
	Tuesday, March 3
	Thursday, March 5
	Tuesday, March 10
	Thursday, March 12
	Tuesday, March 17
	Tuesday, March 31
	Thursday, April 2
	Tuesday, April 7
	Tuesday, April 14
	Thursday, April 16
	Tuesday, April 21
	Thursday, April 23
	Tuesday, April 28
	Thursday, April 30
	Tuesday, May 5
	Thursday, May 7
	Tuesday, May 12

Rehearsal Pictures:

Final Tour Schedule:

SCHOOL	Dates	Performance Time:
Portland Elementary	Thursday, February 5	1:30
Fremont Elementary	Tuesday, February 10	1:20
Eugene Field Elementary	Thursday, February 12	1:20
Wilson’s Creek Elementary	Thursday, February 19	2:00
Watkins Elementary	Tuesday, February 24	1:20
Rountree Elementary	Thursday, February 26	1:20
Bowerman Elementary	Tuesday, March 3	1:20
Sequiota Elementary	Thursday, March 5	1:20
Cowden Elementary	Tuesday, March 10	1:20
Wilder Elementary	Thursday, March 12	1:30
Disney Elementary	Tuesday, March 17	2:00
Wanda Gray Elementary	Tuesday, March 31	1:30
MSU SHOWCASE - PSU Theatre	Thursday, April 2	1:30
Weaver Elementary	Tuesday, April 14	1:30
Jeffries Elementary	Thursday, April 16	1:30
Pleasant View Elementary	Tuesday, April 21	1:30
Weller Elementary	Thursday, April 23	1:20
Sherwood Elementary	Tuesday, April 28	1:20 (K-2), 2:00 (3-5)
Holland Elementary	Thursday, April 30	2:00
Campbell Elementary	Tuesday, May 5	2:00
Robberson Elementary	Thursday, May 7	1:20

Portland Elementary

Opening day was a hit! The show clocked in at about 45 minutes, a bit longer than it tested, but actors must hold for laughs and the unexpected.

The "unexpected" came during the Emily's monologue, playing the lead character in Larry L. King's book, Because of Lozo Brown, adapted by troupe member Ariel. "Mean Lozo," played by Nathan, stalks the kids in the crowd. The kids, of course, stopped listening to Emily and became very squirmy and loud. It was great! However, Emily, unsure of how to get them back, looked to me for help. Nathan eventually left the audience, allowing Emily to regain control.

What we learned...

It was obvious after the first show that we needed to teach the audience a signal to direct their attention where we wanted it. I noticed that most schools have developed a culture for this type of signal. At Portland, if a speaker is trying to address a loud or unfocused crowd, merely needs to raise his or her hand. The children follow until all are silent. The troupe decides to follow the culture of the school. It will be up to me to discover the signal.

MSU Showcase

The ISP Troupe, in existence since 1984, has either never or rarely performed for the college community. The troupe has, historically, relied upon its strong reputation and word of mouth for marketing.

I'm too impatient for that technique.

On April 2, the ISP will perform a free show on campus in the Plaster Student Union Theatre. The audience:

1. The campus community: I specifically want student interested in performing so that I am able to continue enjoying a strong a cast. Only Levi will be returning to the troupe in the fall. Thus, it is imperative that I find at least five more performers as strong and dedicated as this group has been. Mark Biggs, acting department head of Theatre and Dance, has suggested I also invite the provost and the president. He also stated his interest in attending since he has never seen an ISP performance.

2. Home Schooled Children: I have several friends and acquaintences who home school their kids. There is a constortium of some sort that has contact information for home schooled children in the area. I plan on contacting them in the next week to spread the word about the upcoming show.

3. Alternative Schools in Springfield: Springfield has several special schools in the area. I would like to invite those kids, too.

4. Springfield Schools: Many schools were unable to book a tour date. I plan on extending an invitation via e-mail to these schools.

There is also a method behind the madness...

The schedule will look something like this:

1:00 PM - Warm ups, pep talks, and set up.

1:20 PM - Doors open. Various members will juggle, sing, and mix with the crowd.

1:30 PM - I will introduce the concept behind the ISP troupe. Flyers will be available announcing the upcoming auditions. Following the culture of the theatre department, sign up sheets for audition times will be available on the call boards in Craig Hall and I will create a Facebook event page for sign ups, marketing, and to generate some buzz.

1:35 PM - The Show.

2:20 PM - The show ends. I will set up a "talkback" event where those interested can talk to the cast.

2:30 PM - The talkback begins.

2:50 PM - End talkbacks, strike set.

Dylan's Film: A Student Produced Community Project

ScalesK — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 07:09:58 CST

In November 2008, I happened to be at the home of an acquaintance. Her son, a senior at Kickapoo High School, was working on a computer based project for the cabinet at his school. I asked to see his project. Wow. Was I ever surprised to see that his topic was military veterans at his high school. He was making a movie to show at an assembly at school. His project involved interviewing the veterans—all faculty at the school, taping with audiovisual equipment, collecting personal photos and artifacts to use in the film, selecting musical backgrounds, and using a green screen for production.

A Description of the Project
Dylan produced his film using a Mac computer and Final Cut Pro HD software. By word-of-mouth, he determined that there are eight faculty members at Kickapoo High School who are veterans. Dylan worked with his teachers and two other students to coordinate setting interview appointments and missing class time in order to conduct the interviews. The administration was extremely supportive of the project, and two of the veterans interviewed were the principal and an administrative assistant. Dylan had some questions ready for the interviews, but he also shared that he used open-ended questions and asked additional questions as they flowed from the conversation. He and another student filmed the veterans using a Canon GL2 camera, and he used a green screen during the process. Dylan asked the veterans to submit personal photos from their military experiences. Some faculty brought in pictures, which were scanned to the computer. Others submitted digital copies of photos. After taking the film footage, Dylan reviewed it and made note of patterns and personal stories. He edited the footage with the goal of retaining as many of the stores as possible. He used the personal photos as the background against the person being interviewed. He also added music that he had obtained from the computer. The film was shown over the central television system in the school and was well-received by faculty and students.

After obtaining permission from his parent and him, and the various faculty members depicted in the film, I followed up with an e-mail to Dylan asking about his process of film production.

Hi Dylan, Your movie is just wonderful and I can’t wait to show it off as part of my presentation next week to the MSU writing program. It is such a fine example of excellent work about the community of your school. I hope that you will not mind answering a few questions about the process you went through to produce this film. You could just respond to this e-mail, if you don’t mind. (Dylan’s responses are in italics following the questions.)

Describe how you came up with the idea for this project? (Cabinet, a teacher’s suggestions, etc.)

I was basically told [asked] by administration to do this project as a member Cabinet. They knew that I had skills with the technology and everyone agreed that it would be a good project for Veteran’s Day.

What materials did you need? (type of camera, green screen, personal photos, lights, type of computer program, etc.)

I used a Mac computer, Final Cut Pro. HD, and a Canon GL2 video camera. Five of the veterans interviewed brought in personal pictures which we scanned and some submitted electronic versions of photos.

How did you discover that so many veterans work at Kickapoo?

Basically, my buddies and I just asked around. By word-of-mouth we learned about the teachers and faculty members in our school who are veterans.

What type of collaboration did you do, and how many people did it take to put the film together? (work with friends, work with teachers, etc.) And how was it working with those other people? (difficult, smooth, etc.)

I worked with two other students. I wrote the interview questions, but sometimes the questions just came to me as I was talking with the veteran. One guy set up the interview times with the teacher and another assisted me with the filming. Our teachers worked with us about missing class so that we could complete the interviews and the film editing.

About how much time did you put into this project?

We were short on time to do this project, but it took about 2 days to do all the interviews and 2-3 days to do the editing.

How did you determine your segments of the film during editing?

I reviewed the film footage several times and noted the patterns that I saw. One goal I had was to keep as many of their stories in the final film during the editing.

7. How was the project received by your peers and the faculty at Kickapoo? Would you do this type of project again?

Well, of course, with this topic, who wouldn’t receive it well, but we got good feedback on production quality. We showed the film over the central system T.V. during Chief Time Yes, I would make another film like this if given the opportunity.

I know I am asking a lot of you, but I so value your input. Your answers will help other teachers design projects like this for their students. Thanks, Kathy

Educational Considerations: First and foremost, it is imperative that educators remain open to new technology potentials to engage students in lessons and projects. This can be difficult when students are often more adept at the technology than the teachers. Also, schools often do not have access to newer types of technology or there are security issues involved.

Lessons Learned: Never underestimate the potential of students. Dylan is exceptional in that he has talent in the areas of using the materials necessary for film creation, but his bright mind also conceived of the project and applied it directly to his school community. I was most impressed with Dylan's process in editing his film. He told me that he reviewed the footage several times and began to notice patterns. From these patterns he developed each segment of his film: the soldiers, the path, the brotherhood, and the purpose. He said that his goal was to retain as many of the veteran's stories as he could during the editing process.

In terms of this project, I have learned much about computer files. One problem I have had is the size of this film and figuring out how to make it accessible to this wiki so that others can see and learn from it. This film is a 3.32 GB dv file. It is too large to upload directly to this wiki. I attempted to access widgets that would support this file. YouTube does not accept anything this large. I tried net.box to see if I could store the file there, but this file also exceeded the storage limit for their free space. When I have this problem solved, my intent is to have Dylan's Veteran's Day film viewable from this wiki site.

Outreach Writing to Vets

ScalesK — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 15:07:17 CST

As an extension to my small writing group, I was also able to do what I call outreach writing with another small group. As a service project for a community group in our church, these ladies agreed to write notes and cards to veterans. We did this together one evening, and it was the best experience for me personally. We collaborated on how to best phrase messages and wrote inspirational sayings. We wrote together for about one hour, and each lady decided to mail her own cards. I took pictures of this event, and formatted these with a Smilebox web-based scrapbook style posting.

Outreach Writing Project

Materials:
pens
stationary or cards
willing participants
an hour or less of time
postage
inspirational sayings or quotes
address of a group or organization collecting letters for servicemen (We used the Salvation Army's Walter Reed Army Medical Center project, no longer functioning, but AnySoldier.com is a good source for address of military units wanting mail for the moral of the service members.)

Click here for a link to Smilebox and a slide show of photos of my small group writing letters to veterans.

I learned about the different types of formatting available on the Internet through posting this to the wiki. There are so many creative ways to use digital files. This was by far the most satisfying aspect of my community inquiry project. I enjoyed writing collectively and with a service minded goal, and the creative aspect of uploading photos was stimulating and fun.

Veterans in the Ozarks

ScalesK — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 14:41:50 CST

September 6, 2008
I have attached a word document below that describes my field notes for two recent visits I made while exploring veterans in the Ozarks. I went to the Missouri Veteran's cemetery in Springfield, and I was able to talk with the staff and take many photos.

I made a visit to American Legion Post 639 on Scenic Ave. While there, I talked with the prior commander of this post. He is a Vietnam war veteran, and he stated that he is quite passionate about making sure that veterans returning to this area feel welcome home. His experience was much different. This post also has helicopters and a sub top, called a sail, on the property. This post has an annual anniversary celebration where entertainers such as the Branson Baldknobbers perform. I am told that as many as 600 people participate in this event each year.

I have worked on developing a document for oral interview permission, which Keri has posted on the wiki. I have interviews scheduled to talk with an Iraqi war vet and his wife this coming week. I want to focus on the types of communication they used while he was away and the experience of coming home. I have another interview scheduled later in the week with Ralph Manley, a well-known Springfieldian. Mr. Manley has written an autobiography about his WWII experiences. I want to talk to him about his homecoming from this war and what Springfield has meant to him in the years since.

September 9, 2008
Last evening I had an interview with David and Chris Maggard. David is local veteran from the Iraqi War. He deployed with the National Guard reserve. David and Chris shared with me their experiences while David was deployed. We discussed communication, support systems, and their experiences of homecoming following his deployment. I used an audio recorder for the interview. We talked for about 1 1/2 hours at the Library Center in a reserved study room. David and Chris' son, Thomas, was also present. All three signed permission forms before we conducted the interview. I modified the form from Mark Brigs and adapted it to this OWP project. Each offered a unique perspective of what it is like for military families here in the Ozarks. The next step is to transcribe the tapes onto a word document. I have done this type of work before with research data on another project. It is extremely time consuming, but worth it in the end. I am still not sure how I am going to use the information for writing on this project. Chris and David have also agreed to provide me with some of their e-mail communications, and Thomas said he would share a piece of art work he sent to his dad while he was deployed. The one thing that I meant to do and neglected was to take a picture of the family during the interview. I had my camera with me , but I forgot.

October 1, 2008
Keri sent me an article from the NWP website about a Veteran's writing group that was started in Utah. I am fascinated by this as an idea for my community writing project because I believe that veterans and their family members have stories to tell. I know that my husband and I have some stories about his times away during the Gulf War and about our experiences during other deployments. My dad used to tell stories about his time serving in the Army in Korea. My dad has passed away now, and those stories were not written down. I have a brief sketch of them in my memory, but it seems such a loss that the story from his perspective has been lost. Writing that could have been passed down in my family is no longer an option.

This leads me back to the idea of a writing group for veterans and family members of veterans. I have many anxieties about a project like this. Would anyone come to my group? How do I even begin to start a group and find people interested? If people did come, how would I keep them interested?. Would I be in over my head as people started to explore sensitive and painful memories of war and sacrifice? Mostly, would anyone come to my group? Keri gave me a book to start exploring the therapeutic aspects of writing, Writing and Healing, edited by Charles M. Anderson and Marian M. MacCurdy.

I am excited, nervous, and intrigued with this idea. The writing I would do from this community project would be about the process of starting a writing group for veterans and their family members. This writing is the start of that.

October 2, 2008
I sat down tonight and quickly conducted a search on the computer for writing groups in Missouri. I found a website started by a woman named Linda Fisher. She has done work with writing about Alzheimer's. In fact, she has published extensively, according to her bio. Through writing, Linda has chronicled her own experiences with caring for her husband during his struggle with dementia. She lives in Sedalia, MO, and her information suggests that she is involved with the Missouri Writer's Guild. I found a short piece written by Ms. Fisher on The Early Onset blog. It is a story about taking flowers to the Veteran's Cemetery in Higginsville, MO. I sent Ms. Fisher an email asking her if she had any suggestions or tips for starting a writing group and working with adult writers. It will be interesting to see if I get a response.

October 3, 2008
Surprise. Linda Fisher has responded to my email. She said that she would like to speak with me, and then she directed me to an article she wrote about therapeutic writing. This is located on the Missouri Writers Guild website under articles about writing. She writes about how journaling is essential to help keep the details that tend to go fuzzy with memory. I am pleased that she responded so quickly to my inquiry, and I do hope to connect with her for a more detailed talk.

October 18, 2008
Today was a scheduled workday for the AI. We met at the Library Center for the 6 hour session. The day started with writing and processing about our inquiry projects. We shared ideas with a partner. Next, we created a poster, a visual representation, of the ideas about our project. After displaying these in the room, we each shared our visuals with the group. Each member wrote out sticky notes of comments and placed these on the posters after we had each had a turn to share. Many of the members had some excellent comments and ideas about my Veteran's project. Keri helped me to solidify the goal of my project, which I will state at the bottom of this post. Kim P. gave me some advice about her own experience creating a writing group. She said that it is helpful for there to be some type of connection already existing with the members. Instead of trying to draw people together from different areas of the community such as school, a neighbor, a veteran's group member, etc., it might be more helpful to start with people who already have a link. These might be members of an assisted living center where an activities director could help facilitate a gathering. Or, veterans from the same church or neighborhood who already have some connections might be willing to meet. Another question I got was how I intend to use my project in the classroom. This is a great question and one I have not put much thought in because I am not teaching high school right now. I wonder about taking the I-search aspect of my project to the classroom. I could use my inquiry and paper as a model for the type of research I want my students to conduct. I could also address aspects of community writing in my own I-search paper and make suggestions for classroom writing activities.

My goal for the members of my veterans writing group is to help the writers record memories of personal experiences either as service members or family members of veterans to preserve the stories. I have no intent to share their stories on a public display or for publishing. The intent is that each of the writers have their own stories written down for future generations.

October 29, 2008
I was on the MSU website today and happened across an icon for Veteran's Day events. I clicked it and found this pdf flyer about the theme for Veteran's Day this year. I sent an e-mail to a contact name because I also saw some text related to a Veteran's club. Hopefully, I'll get a response on this club and its activity on campus. If there is such an organization, maybe I can use it for contacts about a writing activity.

November 3, 2008
I did receive an e-mail response from the Veteran's club point-of-contact. She mentioned that this club is not as active as it has been in the past and is looking for involved members at this time. She gave me a phone number to call for more information. I have not pursued this aspect, yet.

Other progress has been made on my writing group process. I met with Ed Smith at Wesley United Methodist Church, my home church. Ed is responsible for many of the creative programs at Wesley. He will be conducting a Veteran's Day program on Nov. 12 during the WOW (Wednesday at Wesley) meal at Wesley that evening to honor Veterans with associations to our church. After listening to my ideas about a writing group for Veterans, Ed enthusiastically offered to give me a few moments with those veterans who have gathered for the program following the show. He also directed me to put an ad in the Wesley Word newsletter which should run this week and next. I did a text box type insert something like this: Veterans (and family members of Veterans); Preserves your stories in writing, Wednesday, Nov. 19 at 6:15 following WOW; MSU community inquiry project; my contact information. I will have a flyer available that evening with information, my contact numbers and e-mail and probably the link to my Ozark Veterans Write blog.

I asked Ed about the success of another writing group for preserving memoirs that used to be at Wesley. He said that people responded, participated, and wrote. So, I am hopeful that I can clearly explain the goals of this group and the value that I see in writing their service stories. I am keeping my fingers and toes crossed that people will respond and be willing to participate.

My next step is to prepare the flyer and have it ready. I also need to update my blog so that people can look at it and respond if they want. I need to prepare a simple writing activity as inspiration for that first meeting on Nov. 19. I like Keri's idea of providing a selection of adjectives that writers can choose from that best describes them as service members. I could have these on cards that the writer could take home and use to get started. Then, when we meet a second time, writers could share their writing based on these cards.

November 15, 2008
It has been an interesting week in terms of set-backs and changes to my project. I did create a flyer announcing the informational meeting of my veteran's writing group. I have attached this below in the attachment section. I also have advertised in the Wesley church bulletin for the past two weeks. No one has called me for information. I attending the Veteran's program Wednesday night at church. There were 90+ veterans in attendance. In the confusion and mass exodus at the end of the program, my plan for announcing the project to the group did not happen. I was able to hand out a few flyers, but people were not too responsive. In light of this, Ed provided me with a list of veterans who had attending the meal that night. He was nice to mark the ones he thought might be receptive if I contacted them. I called two people today. But, my problem is that I feel so strange about all of this. Maybe this is an indication that the direction this project is taking is not right for me. Another person said that she would come to my meeting on Wednesday night. So, I guess that is 50/50. I intend to try some more people tomorrow, but I just can not sort out my feelings about it all. I feel like I am intruding on people to help me with this project instead of keeping the goal of community research in mind.

Another interesting potential came about last week. One of my church friends has a senior in high school. He is involved with video production at his school. He used a green screen to record short interviews with several teachers in his school who are veterans. He collected photographs from their time in service and used these as backgrounds and use used military and inspirational music in the background. He produced this video and the school played it in observance of Veteran's Day. This is exactly the kind of community inquiry project that this OWP advance institute is all about. I was so impressed. I do not have access to the equipment like this young man does through his school, but I am most interested in his process and the potential for student work of this caliber. Maybe I could come up with a short video of a similar kind that would demonstrate the potential for collecting artifacts like this.

Another aspect I would like to include in my writing project is some form of outreach writing. There are many military personal deployed during the holidays, and this is the perfect time of year to give back from this community. I am going to see if there is interest in writing cards and words of encouragement and sending those to some unit overseas.

November 18, 2008
Today I made a handout of tips for how to start writing. Of course, the first tip is to simply write. This is a simple one sheet page of tips for generating ideas, creating hooks, including a conflict or lesson learned, and for considering creative elements such as dialogue and more powerful images. I have uploaded the handout in the attachment section.

December 7, 2008
The local news stations, KY3, had the following segments on Pearl Harbor remembrances. In this first segment, the news reporter speaks with Bill Martin, a local survivor of Pearl Harbor. The second segment is an interview with Guy Piper, also a local veteran of Pearl Harbor. I think that it is important that this news station has made an effort to remind the community of the service of our veterans. This video is a useful tool to preserve the service and sacrifice of these members of the Springfield community.

January 29, 2009
I want to reflect a bit on how I have used this page as a journal of my community inquiry project. Due to being engaged with this project for over six months, this journal has been extremely important as a place to record experiences. It has been helpful to return to this page often to see the project's process. I have a deeper appreciation for recording ideas, news articles, visits, interviews, and anything else that goes with this sort of long term project. I would most certainly encourage students to do a similar type of process in the event that I did a research project lasting more than a few weeks.

I have had a few issues with technology over the course of this process. I had no problems linking information from these pages to outside Internet sources, but each time I tried to link to pages within this wetpaint site, my computer would freeze. I tried on a different computer, and it did the same thing. I also had issues with the size limits of some files and with the addition of widgets. When I would find a widget that I wanted to use, such as Imeem for a sound file, it would not completely upload my file. The other item I wanted to upload and use was a student produced film. At 3. 32 GB it was much too large to upload to YouTube or to attach to this wetpaint site. There are storage sites available, such as Box.Net, but it too has a size limit or a fee associated for larger spaces.

Overall, I learned much as I worked with different aspects of this project. My favorite part was writing with a small group of women in an outreach capacity. There is just something that feels good about members of the same community reaching out to others with words of comfort and inspiration. The part I disliked the most was trying to pitch my small writing group to people. Yes, I did step outside my box and learn about advertising and rejection. I also learned about not giving up. There is a fine line between backing off and pushing forward. What I did not want to have happen is any damaged relationships where people felt uncomfortable with my requests. That aspect of the project just did not work for me.

My awareness about veterans in the Ozarks has been heightened. There are so many people who have served our country and given of themselves and their families. Their sacrifices have been real and significant, and it is through their giving that this community remains steadfast and American.

Kathy's I-Search

ScalesK — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 14:23:00 CST

Veterans In the Ozarks: An I-Search Paper

Looking for Treads of Commonality:

An Analysis of Project Inquiry with Lessons Learned and Educational Considerations

As a participant in the Ozarks Writing Project (OWP) Advanced Institute (AI), in August 2008 I began searching for a topic for my community inquiry project. Being a relative newcomer to the Ozarks and having moved frequently due to my husband’s 20 year career with the Navy, I know that if can be difficult to connect with and integrate into a community. This is partly due to our numerous moves over the years due to my husband’s military service and partly due to my own personality. I tend to be somewhat reserved in reaching out to connect with various aspects of the community. Yet, the focus of the AI is community, and I committed to the process of discovering a topic for inquiry. Despite my hesitancy, what I learned of most value from this project is that the process of discovery is best explored through finding treads of commonality.

I decided on the topic of Veterans in the Ozarks because my husband is a veteran of the Gulf War. In fact, it was due to his military service that we moved to Springfield, Mo when he was stationed at the Naval and Marine Corps Reserve Center. I knew that there was a strong military presence in the area, and there are many veterans who either return to the area or move here following their service. Also, there are many people who have sent loved ones to war from this place. I had many questions regarding veterans’ experiences. What aspects of home have been important to veterans who have left the Ozarks during military service? What has called them home to this place or drawn them here following their service? What support and experiences have the people left behind experienced in this place? What stories of service do these veterans have that are now an integral part of them as an Ozarkian? All of these people have stories. All of these people have experiences based on some aspect of being a veteran that collectively contribute to this community, this place.

Some of the artifacts and stories I collected and the writing I did in response to this exploration is on pages of the wetpaint wiki site. My AI project has taken many streams and avenues. Some of the efforts have merged into stronger flowing processes; others have dried up or dead-ended. The purpose of this paper is to share some of the lessons I have learned along the way. I also want to evaluate the types of activities I attempted in light of educational considerations suitable for students. I will share the types of activities I tried over the past several months and reflect on what worked, what I might do differently, and what I have learned through the process. It is my hope that through my own community inquiry I have gleaned insights that will influence lesson planning, writing activities, and research that will in turn impact my students.

Write a Celebrity
It is difficult to live in the Ozarks for any amount of time and not eventually see a show in Branson, Mo. Most of the entertainment productions have some aspect, theme, or segment regarding patriotism and salutes or tributes to veterans. It was in thinking on this that I recalled that the celebrity Tony Orlando does a Veteran’s Day tribute show each November.
Here is a video off of YouTube of one of Mr. Orlando's performances in Branson.

My husband used to work at the Springfield airport, and he had frequent encounters with Mr. Orlando as a traveler during that time. This was my tread of commonality. I thought about how interesting it would be to obtain feedback from him regarding his interests in veterans and his commitment to this group of people. Therefore, a letter to Mr. Orlando was my first inquiry, and it read as follows:

Mr. Tony Orlando
c/o The Brokaw Company 9255 Sunset Blvd.
Suite 804 Los Angeles, CA 90069

Kathleen B. Scales
2861 S. Eldon Ave.
Springfield, MO 65807

September 9, 2009
Dear Mr. Orlando,

I am writing to inquire about your work providing entertainment that is tailored specifically in honor of America’s veterans in Branson, MO. As a graduate student at Missouri State University, I am conducting research for a community inquiry project through the Ozarks Writing Project. One goal for the project is to look at how we can preserve the experiences of groups of people in the Ozarks. Through writing, the collection of letters, pictures, and other artifacts I hope to document the experiences of local veterans and the influence that they have on the Ozarks. I seek to explore not only the experiences that these men and women had serving in the armed forces but also what draw them to return to Missouri and how important home is to their experience as veterans and members of this community.

I am interested in the part you play in honoring veterans at your annual Veteran’s Day show in Branson. If you would be so kind as to respond to my inquiry, I would be absolutely delighted! I do have some questions, which I will list below:
1. What experiences did you have to lead you to connect with veterans?
2. Why do you see Branson, MO as the ideal place to house your annual Veterans’ Day show?
3. What passions drive you to invest your energy into honoring veterans?

Any response from you would be greatly appreciated. I would love a signed picture or letter from you to include in my classroom presentation. On a personal note, my husband is a former TSA employee at the Springfield-Branson airport. He recalls speaking with you on a somewhat regular basis as you traveled in and out of Springfield. He is a veteran of the Gulf War. You were always personable and friendly; you made a wonderful impression on him as a person.

With deepest respect,

Kathleen B. Scales
Missouri State University
Ozarks Writing Project

Lessons Learned:

I would love to be able to report that Mr. Orlando wrote me back. But alas, he did not. We can see his entertainment here thought. The lesson is that although valuable as a learning tool, recipients do not always respond. Students would need to be aware of this prior to the letter writing, and then, grades or bonus points should not be awarded or contingent upon an uncontrolled aspect such as response. If a recipient did respond, the excitement and affirmation would be a great reward to the writer.

Educational Considerations:
The activity of letter writing with a specific agenda is of educational value. In fact, letters are useful for creating bonds (Smith, 1995). In education, students benefit from learning the proper mechanics for letters, formatting, and most important, communicating with a specific purpose or intent. Students gain the additional value and extension of reaching out to someone successful in the community, which adds an aspect of engagement and excitement.

Interviews
In last August I arranged to interview a prominent, native of Springfield and WWII veteran, Mr. Ralph Manley. He was gracious and allowed me an hour of his time at his office. My community connection to Mr. Manley was that he had sold us our house several years prior, but at the time I had not realized he was a veteran. I learned of his military experience when I heard him speaking on a local radio program about his work on city council. Mr. Manley was quite the host during our interview. He answered all my questions, he gave me one of his signature silver dollars, and he gave me his book, The Sky is the Limit, and autobiography of his experiences during WWII (Knust, 2006). I audio-taped the interview with Mr. Manley. See Mr. Manley's D-Day story page on this wiki. I embedded a soundwave file in a PowerPoint presentation where visitors to this site can hear Mr. Manley tell a short segment of his story. He also provided me with a written transcript that was collected by a Drury University student in 2004 that details some of Mr. Manley’s experiences that were sent to Washington, D.C. as part of the Veteran’s History Project.

During the early fall of 2008, I met with Chris Maggard at the Library Center on S. Campbell for a taped interview about her experiences as the wife of a deployed soldier. Chris candidly shared with me her struggles acting as a single mom of three children, her feelings during her husband’s deployment, how her and her husband David communicated while he was deployed, and how David’s homecoming was for the family, her workplace, and her friends and community. Our common tread was that I had also been the spouse of a deployed serviceman many times over my husband’s career. I could identify with many of the responses give by both Chris and David. What follows is a list of the types of questions I asked: Veterans in the Ozarks Interview questions David and Chris Maggard September 8, 2008 The Library Center Audiotape What brought you to want to be in the service? Where did you join from? What is your rank and service? How long have you been in the service? Where have you served? How many times have you deployed? How long were you gone from your family? What conflict were you in and where? What made you decide to be in the reserves? Where do you go for your weekends and 2 weeks of service each year? Describe your job duties. What brought you to Springfield? When deployed, how did you communicate with your family? How often? What method worked best for you? Chris, what are some of the challenges you had while David was gone? What support systems did you have that assisted you? Describe how important communication was with David while he was gone. Tell me about the times you have returned home from deployment. What were your homecomings like? Did you feel welcomed back by the community? Your work place? Your church? Your friends and neighbors? Are you a member of any of the veteran’s organizations? If so, describe the experience of being with other veterans and families. Do you have a sense of camaraderie here in this town with other reservists and families? Do either of you have a story about his time serving or your time apart that you would like to share? How important do you see the military to be to the Ozarks and this place?

I do not have a completed transcription of the answers to these questions, but I returned to the tapes and listened to them many times since the interview. As I listen to these transcripts some three months later, I am struck by how often I interjected my own experiences as the memories were prompted by similar experiences I had while my husband was deployed to the Gulf War. One of my questions for Chris was to relay a special story or humorous memory that happened between her and her husband while he was gone. As she was telling her story about a misguided letter fiasco, I was reminded of my own memory of my husband’s request for cash while he was living in the Kuwaiti desert. To this day, I still do not know why Steve could possibly have needed money while he was living in fox holes in the middle of the desert. It still doesn’t make sense, but what of war does? Maybe that makes the memory all the more funny. And, Thank God to find a funny memory in all that could have been. The following are two poems written based on the audiotapes of my interview with Chris and David. The first, “Special Delivery,” is based on their experience. The second, “A Simple Request,” is based on the memory that their story prompted of my own experience with my husband Steve when he was deployed during the Gulf War.

Special Delivery

It might be embarrassing.
He asked me to write letters—
Personal and intimate.
Recycled envelope intended for the desert
Bar-coded, an unintentional, misguided missile
sent to Met Life instead.

How kind of Met to forward and
Mail it on to him.
Envelope’s end stapled shut again, but
Suspiciously missing the stable by trip’s end.

How embarrassing for him
to find His letter so revealed.
I told everyone at work how when only weeks went by,
Met Life sent salutations:
A simple thank you to you “Our most Valuable Customer”
A tribute for our servicemen.

A Simple Request
He asked me to send cash
For what, I still don’t know
He said, “We needed smokes,
The whole platoon was out.”

I only tried to follow the rules
They said to chunk it up.
The letter held a single bill.
Two weeks in route to him
On opening the envelope, he cried,
“Oh, what a bunch of bull.”

I just don’t understand.
I tried so hard to manage
This difficult request
The directives of the unit,
And still support the moral and welfare of the troops.

Another letter followed suit
And still another went
By now, he simply laughs and sighs,
Her way simply makes no sense
By many weeks end he had his cash
The unit cheered and smoked the stash.

Lessons Learned:
I learned to use an Olympus digital voice recorder, and I learned how to install and transfer the soundwave files to my computer. I found great freedom in not transcribing the interviews word for word, but by listening to the answers, I found nuggets to respond to. Writing poems was an excellent way to reflect on what I comprehended from the tapes. I also found great satisfaction in reflecting on my own memories as they were prompted by the stories shared from Chris and David.

Educational Considerations:
I find that this type of activity can be a way to work on listening comprehension. By keeping in mind that students have various learning styles and by adapting activities to those styles, more students can become engaged in the classroom. Taped interviews can prompt different types of written responses. Students should be allowed freedom that exceeds far beyond word-for-word transcription of the tapes. Students will also benefit from the formal interview process. Making an appointment, arriving on time, being prepared, and engaging in conversation are all potential aspects where students can gain skills in a process such as collecting interviews.

Forming a Writing Group
Early in the fall, my attention was directed to an August 2008 article on the NWP’s website regarding the creation of a writing group for veterans. The Utah Writing Project had success with a writing group for veterans. It was suggested that a similar writing group based in Springfield, Mo might be a focus for my AI project. I began to think about ways I had seen veterans represented in the community. My church, Wesley United Methodist, immediately came to mind. Each year, veterans are represented at a Veteran’s Day music program. I contacted the man in charge of these types of programs at the church. We discussed how there is a large population of veterans in our congregation, and that through advertising the idea, I might be able to make some connections. The following text box is the advertisement that ran for several weeks in the church newsletter, a weekly publication mailed to all members of the congregation.

Veterans

Family members of Veterans welcome too!

Preserve your Service Stories in Writing

Wednesday Nov. 19 6:15 (After WOW—room off the Gym)

~Informational meeting: a writing group for Veterans & family members of Veterans

~Purpose: To preserve service stories for your families ~All levels of writers welcome

~Outreach writing component

Facilitated by Wesley member Kathy Scales MSU Community Inquiry Project
For more information or questions:
350-4723
Scales087@missouristate.edu

I got no responses to the advertisement. Another way that I attempted to advertise my writing group was to place phone calls to veterans that I had some acquaintance with in the congregation. No one was interested. What I found was that many people just were not inclined to write about their experiences. Finally, I did make connections with two women who had sent children to the Iraq War. These two women did meet with me and agree to write. One expressed a desire to write about sending her child to war; the other was interested in writing, just not about recording her experiences being the mother of a soldier. Again, the personal nature of experiences with war and with the emotions associated with war is difficult for many to relive in writing. Writing can be extremely therapeutic, but the writer has to come to a place of trust and readiness in order to record these personal memories on paper.

At the first writing group meeting, I discussed the goals of the writing group, which was simply to encourage and support each other in writing efforts. The overall goal was to write stories and reflections for our family members. This is the type of writing that has most meaning for me personally, and it is through the preservation of life stories that we can pass on our experiences to our loved ones. I discussed how journaling is an excellent way to prompt memory and pre-write. I provided examples of writings and creative non-fiction about military experiences and veterans from the inspirational magazine Guideposts. These stories are typicaly creative non-fiction and the authors detail a lesson learned or some change resulting from an experience. These types of stories are good models because they often use dialogue and are told in first person. I also gave them a handout of writing strategies. This handout outlines ways to get started, and these strategies are listed below:

Getting Started: Tips to Start Writing

~ Write You have to write in order to be a writer.

~Ideas
Brainstorm/talk/share/think List/jot/journal
Read—articles, magazines, letters
Rewrite fairy tales, legends, or articles as modern stories
Draw on your experiences

~Hook
Think of one sentence synopis—something exciting, compelling
Start with attention grabbers:
Jenny was in love.
It began the day he thought it was over…
“Here is comes again,” she hollered.

~Conflict/lessons learned
Conflict drives the narrative.
Man against man
Man against nature
Man against himself
Characters change or grow or make realizations in some way.

~Creative Elements
Use dialogue Enhance images:
Appositives—rename nouns, Sarah, the queen of the veteran teachers,…
Action verbs Absolutes—noun + ing Horn blaring, wheels screeching, the car raced…
Participial—ing phrases Falling down the stairs, the man grabbed….
Out-of-order adjectives Bright and shiny, the white star glowed.
Tap into senses: sound, smell, feelings, touch, and taste

We set a time to meet again. I reserved a room at the church for the second meeting. Only one woman returned. She did bring writing with her. Together, we read our writing and discussed the process. She was interested in how I went about journaling, and she wanted more information about poetry. I mailed her some poem structures and information later that week. Due to the holidays and the beginning of the semester activities, we have not been able to meet again.

Later, one woman in my church approached me about my advertisement. She did not want to write herself, but she said that her father had written some stories about his time in the military during WWII. Mr. John D. Gadeken agreed to sign a permission form and share his stories for this project. They are posted on the wiki. Mr. Gadeken’s stories are exactly the type of writing that I had hoped to accomplish by writing with veterans. He relays his experiences with humor and a clear voice. His purpose was to record his memories and leave these in written form to pass on to his children and grandchildren.

As an extension to the small writing group, I was also able to do what I call outreach writing with another small group. As a service project for a community group in our church, these ladies agreed to write notes and cards to veterans. We did this together one evening, and it was the best experience for me personally. We collaborated on how to best phrase messages and wrote inspirational sayings. I took pictures of this event, and formatted these with a Smilebox web-based scrapbook style posting. Wiki visitors may also see this page on this wetpaint site.

Lesson Learned:
In retrospect, I can see that this approach to this project did not suit my personality. Although committed to my project, my personality is such that I find it uncomfortable trying to persuade people to write something they may not be ready to do. I had no problem trying to provide an opportunity for writing, but if someone was hesitant, I tended to back off. I did learn many things from attempting to create a small writing group. There has to be some commonality of experience in order to garner interest for writing. Trust is paramount. The veterans I asked to join this group did not know me. There was not a deep enough prior relationship in order for them to consider investing time and energy in my project. It was different with the two women. We did have the common experience of sending loved ones to war. We had been involved in other groups together. There was a comfort level and trust that we already had prior to coming together to write. Still, after one meeting, one woman did not return. One aspect is simply the business of our lives, all work full-time. The other is that the holidays interrupted the time frame of our group. Despite my struggles with this project, there is great value in sitting down with people to write. I also learned about creating a simple document as a help guide for writers. Each of my writing group members was interested in the document and took it home. A project like this would benefit from just one person with enough interest and the type of personality that can influence and motivate others to join in. I also learned that writing collaboratively with a purpose was most beneficial. The writing outreach with a small group of friends and social interaction was quite satisfying.

Educational Considerations: Educators are in strategic locations to find commonalities with others in their schools, sporting events, and communities. The idea of starting a small writing group in a middle or high school is appealing. Teachers could develop a writing club or writing workshop as an extra-curricular activity. Students could write about their lives as members of a school community. The teacher would need to be careful to be a co-participant and not take on an authoritative role in the group. Teachers could write with other teachers about their school, the aspects of their professional development, or even professional practices they have found to be successful. Members of small writing groups could be encouraged to bring writing strategies, models, and samples of the types of writing they have found useful. The more connections writers make with each other and with the processes that work for them, the more knowledge and enthusiasm for writing can be shared.

Researching Community Aspects Related to the Topic
I began to collect information about veterans and services for veterans early on in this project. I took a technical writing class fall semester 2008, and through that class I learned about writing for information value vs. entertainment value. I decided that posting community information about veterans in a common place such as a wiki would be a new experience for me and additional practice with this technology. I used wetpaint and created a wiki called Veterans in the Ozarks. Its primary purpose is to collect useful community information for veterans. There is information there about where to go for ID cards, the various American Legion and VFW posts, and social services for veterans in the Springfield area.

Lessons Learned: I learned how to make a wiki by researching the free sites available and by making the proper selections. I learned about creating pages and linking information. I also engaged with the various aspects of services available for veterans in the area. There are organizations specifically created to enhance and provide to the lives of veterans.

Educational Considerations: Teachers could create a research activity with a technology component. After selecting a community topic, students could start a class wiki or blog and invite members of the school or community to contribute. This could be an on-going classroom activity with periodic reflection. Students would have immediate access to the information and be able to see what their peers were contributing, as well.

Journaling the Project
Over the months of working on this AI project, I kept a journal of activities, my thinking of the processes, and contacts. This can be accessed on the wetpaint page for Veterans in the Ozarks. I found the practice of journaling to be helpful in documenting ideas and outcomes. It has also served as a tool for remembering, which I have found to be useful due to the long term time frame of this project. With the electronic technology of the wetpaint site, I was also able to add pictures of places I visited such as the American Legion post and the Missouri Veteran’s Cemetery.

Educational Considerations: The act of journaling on this wiki served a purpose of giving me a place to practice some of the aspects of linking and widgets for the wiki. I was able to link to news items I found about veterans in the community. I was able to upload and embed pictures. I also attached field notes to the journal page for reference. The jounaling of my community inquiry process was an excellent way to document my findings and practice with the wiki.

Student Produced Artifacts: Dylan’s Film Project
In November 2008, I happened to be at the home of an acquaintance. Her son, a senior at Kickapoo High School, was working on a computer based project for the cabinet at his school. I asked to see his project. Wow. Was I ever surprised to see that his topic was military veterans at his high school. He was making a movie to show at an assembly at school. His project involved interviewing the veterans—all faculty at the school, taping with audiovisual equipment, collecting personal photos and artifacts to use in the film, selecting musical backgrounds, and using a green screen for production. Link to the film here. After obtaining permission from his parent and him, and the various faculty members depicted in the film, I followed up with an e-mail to Dylan asking about his process of film production.

Hi Dylan,
Your movie is just wonderful and I can’t wait to show it off as part of my presentation to the OWP AI writing program. It is such a fine example of excellent work about the community of your school. I hope that you will not mind answering a few questions about the process you went through to produce this film. You could just respond to this e-mail, if you don’t mind. (Dylan’s responses are in italics following the questions.)

Describe how you came up with the idea for this project? (Cabinet, a teacher’s suggestions, etc.)

What materials did you need? (type of camera, green screen, personal photos, lights, type of computer program, etc.)

How did you discover that so many veterans work at Kickapoo?

Basically, my buddies and I just asked around. By word-of-mouth we learned about the teachers and faculty members in our school who are veterans.

What type of collaboration did you do, and how many people did it take to put the film together? (work with friends, work with teachers, etc.) And how was it working with those other people? (difficult, smooth, etc.)

About how much time did you put into this project?

We were short on time to do this project, but it took about 2 days to do all the interviews and 2-3 days to do the editing.

How did you determine your segments of the film during editing?

I reviewed the film footage several times and noted the patterns that I saw. One goal I had was to keep as many of their stories in the final film during the editing.

7. How was the project received by your peers and the faculty at Kickapoo? Would you do this type of project again?

Well, of course, with this topic, who wouldn’t receive it well, but we got good feedback on production quality. We showed the film over the central system T.V. during Chief Time Yes, I would make another film like this if given the opportunity.

I know I am asking a lot of you, but I so value your input. Your answers will help other teachers design projects like this for their students. Thanks, Kathy

Educational Considerations: First and foremost, it is imperative that educators remain open to new technology potentials to engage students in lessons and projects. This can be difficult when students are often more adept at the technology than the teachers. Also, schools often do not have access to newer types of technology or there are security issues involved.

Lessons Learned: Never underestimate the potential of students. Dylan is exceptional in that he has talent in the areas of using the materials necessary for film creation, but his bright mind also conceived of the project and applied it directly to his school community.

Conclusion
My AI community inquiry project has been a process, and that process is on-going. I attempted various approaches to the project that I might never have considered, and even though some of these did not turn out as I had hoped they would, I do believe that I gained confidence in the process. I learned to initiate contacts with people and attempt to create interest. I practiced asking questions and recording information. I experimented with responding to the information I gathered, be that by posting to a wiki, writing letters, sending e-mails, or formatting an advertisement. I took risks by asking people to participate and accepted their responses. I considered how each of my attempts could be adapted to the classroom to enhance student learning. In the end, that is the largest benefit of a project such as this. How do we encourage our students to connect with their communities? We have to set the example ourselves. We have to do the things that we ask our students to do. For me, this was the lesson learned. Taking risks myself, connecting to my community in ways I had not before, and responding to those experiences are the lessons I want to pass on to my students. Be it in the classroom or outside the walls of the school, community is our common tread. Developing an awareness of the experiences of groups in our communities and encouraging writing responses to that awareness can have lasting and positive effects for our students, our families, and our communities.

References Knust, S. (2006). The sky is the limit: The autobiography of Ralph K. Manley. Marshfield, MO: Birch Creek Publishing.

Utah writing project creates writing group for veterans.(2008, August). National Writing Project. Retrieved Nov. 11, 2008 from http//www.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/ 2659?x-print_friendly=1

Smith, C. (1995). Grandparent pen pals: Authentic writing at work. Teaching PreK-8, 25, 40-41. Retrieved June 11, 2008, from Wilson Web database.

A Soldier's Story

ScalesK — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 14:08:33 CST

The following two narratives are written by John D. Gadeken, Jr. Mr. Gadeken wrote these stories to preserve his some of military experiences from WWII for his family. Although he entered military service from Nebraska, he currently resides in the Branson, MO area. Mr. Gadeken's daughter lives in Springfield, and she obtained her father's signature on the permission form for me to use his stories in my community inquiry project. My original intent was to use these writings as a form of inspiration for poems or some other type of reformulation. But, after reading his words and hearing his clear and original voice in these pieces, I decided they were best left intact as artifacts of this man's experiences of war. I find the stories to be realistically telling of what it was like for an ordinary man called to step up for his military duty. At times his voice is humorous, yet he has a straight forward manner of telling his story. I have recorded these writings as they appear in the original document. This is the kind of writing that matters because these stories have meaning for future generations of his family.

SILVER STAR CITATION

JOHN D. GADEKEN, JR., 37751048, Private First Class, Infantry 359th Infantry, United States Army. For the gallantry in action on 17 April 1945 in the vicinity of Oelnitz, Germany. Private First Class Gadeken and three companions volunteered to enter the village to capture hostile troops. As they neared the village, the men were subjected to heavy machine gun, automatic weapons and small arms fire. Despite the unrelenting fire centered upon him, Private First Class Gadeken continued to work forward until he, with his companions had cleared the village and taken 68 enemy prison. His gallantry was in accordance with high military tradition. His gallantry was in accordance with high military tradition. Entered Military Service from Nebraska.

SILVER STAR DAY

On April 17, 1945 our squad leader Mac, was called into headquarters and told to take his squad of 12 men out and try to locate the enemy and estimate their strength. We mounted 2 Sherman Tanks at 8AM and took off. We had been told there was a village out there. We traveled about 12 kilometers, then dismounted the tanks and continued ahead on foot. The tanks stayed back so not to give away our location.

We soon came upon a nice village in the valley. The squad scattered out and down to a green meadow. About halfway in, the Germans threw the kitchen sink at us. Mas in the lead, then Assistant Squad Leader Piganelli, then George, who could speak good German. I was next; I carried a B.A.R. (a large 30 caliber automatic).

As soon as the Germans opened fire, Mac waved us to the left so we could get more distance between us. We would run and roll one way, them stagger our runs and rolls. We still aimed for the village but down wind further. Mac and Piganelli made it in. George was not too far behind, but about that time he went down. I crawled up to him and saw he had been hit in both legs by a stray machine gunner. About then I looked back and all our buddies had retreated.

I laid down beside George, put his arm around my neck and drug him to cover. I will never known why we decided to stay in the village and see what we could stir up. From there two carried George. I was usually up front with my B.A.R. I can't go into too many details, but we soon captured 5 prisoners and then picked up 6 more. The Germans did not have any idea we were still in the village.

Mac thought that we should set up a Command Post on account of the prisoners. He chose a two-story house down next to the meadow. When the German soldiers went into a village, the residents are usually all left.

We put the prisoners upstairs in one bedroom and had the prisoners carry George upstairs and put him on a bed. Mac and Piganelli went out and milled around and I was put in charge of the prisoners. Ever so often they would bring in a few more.

A young prisoner who could speak perfect English said he had a bunch of buddies back in the village that would rather surrender to the Americans than to the Russians, and this was a known fact! He asked if he could go get them. One prisoner, more or less, so what, but I told him he better not double cross me. I told him we had a column of armor coming in about late afternoon.

Mac kept bringing in more prisoners. It was getting around 3 o'clock and I was getting worried about my little buddy I had let go back, but shortly here they came, a bunch, somewhere around 20 to 24 with their hands in the air, no weapons. I searched each one as they came in the door. I gave my little buddy a hug and put all the prisoners upstairs.

At one point during the day I went upstairs to check on the wounded man and found a big pile of watches and wallets on the bed next to him, which he had confiscated from the German prisoners. Not only was this against regulations but I had spent hours convincing these guys that they were going to be treated well and here was another American soldier stealing from them. I gave all the stuff back to the German soldiers. Returning their stuff made the Germans think I was a great guy, which no doubt helped our situation considerably. Mac and Piganelli were now in to stay at the Command Post.

I need to insert one thing about here; it was not us running this day it was the Good Lord looking over us.

It was now about 5 o'clock and we were debating when and how to leave the village, when two of our own tanks that had brought us in earlier, started blasting away. They had no idea we still existed. I ran upstairs to another room, grabbed two white bed sheets and put one out the south window and one out the west window. I looked out to the east upstairs window and the ground was black with German soldiers leaving the village. The story I had told about a column of Armor coming in was just a white lie.

We put George on a home-made stretcher and 4 prisoners carried him in the lead, and I brought up the rear with my B.A.R. Our tanks were waiting for us and also our 8 buddies that had retreated earlier that morning.

The tanks radioed for trucks. We laid the prisoners face down on the ground. At 11 PM we turned over 68 prisoners to the Company Commander. George was sent to the hospital. Now the 8 men that stayed back got to ride on trucks to guard the prisoners and take them back to Prison Camp. The three of us had had quite a day and were ready to go to bed without supper.

Author--2005
John d. Gadeken
Veteran, World War II

THE DAY THAT WOULD NEVER END

Just another day that I thought I would never see the light of the next day. Once again, early in the morning, our squad leader Mac came back with orders to take a group of six men to check out the enemy, but not to encounter them. In the time I was there I don't think there was a patrol out that I wasn't one of them.

We set forth and had not gone much over a mile when we walked right into the Germans. We were going down a small black top road where a creek was flowing beside the road on our right side, away from where we came. There were a number of trees on the other side of the creek. We were all spaced out at least 75 to 100 feet. There was a small bridge up ahead and Mac yelled back that the bridge had been blown out.

About the time Mac yelled, all hell broke loose. The enemy was well dug into the trees and we had no idea anyone was around. I was dead center across from where they were dug in. I took a few big steps off the road and hit the dirt. That side was all grasslands, there wasn't a ditch but a depression that gave me very little cover. The Germans had a big gun trained on me--a gun that would compare to our 37 millimeter. I had no idea but that everyone was down.

This place on the ground turned out to be my home for the next 7 hours. At the time I did not know that the two men ahead of me were far enough ahead that they made it over a hill. My good buddy Merl was also down behind me and the two men in the rear were able to retreat. Merl and I didn't have a chance; it appeared we were dead ducks. The Germans talked to us all day and tried to get us to surrender. We didn't know why we were getting so much attention but it was because the other four had made it out.

The Germans kept firing at me all day long and yelling. I found myself waking up once, but I don't think I went to sleep--I must have passed out. If they lowered that big gun a notch the shell would bounce off the black top road and spit dirt in my face, if they raised it a notch the bullet would crack going over my head.

Our Company knew right where we were by the four men that got out. First they used the sixty-one three-inch mortars with smoke shells to give us cover so we could run out, but there was too much wind. Then the Company tried to come in from the side and I heard a big gun battle for more than an hour, but the Germans were well dug in. At least that gave Merl and me a little relief for awhile. It was quiet for some time and wasn't looking too good.

During this time my Company had called in the Heavy Weapons Company, which was mobilized. They carried the large machine guns and the big 4-inch mortars. They were good!

Late that afternoon, all of a sudden those mortars which are Arial artillery shells, started dropping all around us. It made me upset, because they knew right were we were. What in the world were they doing? I have just said how good they were. I could hear the thud as they dropped the shell in the tube of the mortar and they came 10 or 12 in a bunch and as soon as your heard the 10th thud, the first one hit. We didn't know how many mortar they were using, then all of a sudden my brain woke up. When these shells start coming in, the enemy will also be down. The next time I hear a round of 10, this kid will hit the road. Just as I got up Merl was waiting for me. All of the German 88 artillery bombardments the good Lord had taken me through; I hoped he still knew where I was.

As we came down the road a number of our buddies met us. A close friend of mine said, my God Gadeken I didn't think I would ever see you again. I just said let's make that both of us.

One of the soldiers I met on the ship going over to War was sent to the Heavy Weapons Company. He cried when we were separated, but he was the one on the mortars that day. He later told me he got a direct hit on the hole of the big gun and said the gun and two men were blown out of the hole. Remember, I told you how good they were!

Merl and I have always stayed in touch. We have gone to many Army Reunions, call at times and send Christmas cards. He was a little wavy haired blond guy and always told people that he stayed right behind big John, that's why he stayed alive.

Author--2006
John D. Gadeken
Veteran, World War II

Ralph Manley's D-Day story

ScalesK — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 14:00:27 CST

Mr. Ralph K. Manley agreed to be interviewed for this OWP AI Veterans in the Ozarks community inquiry project in September 2008. I went to his office and audio-taped the interview. Mr. Manley is a successful businessman in Springfield, MO. He joined the military during his senior year of high school before he had graduated and fought in WWII. His story has been recorded in The Sky is the Limit, a 2006 publication as told to and written my Susie Knust.

Mr. Manley has also been interviewed by a Drury University student in 2004. Mr. Manley's transcript was sent to The Veteran's History Project in Washington, D.C. He gave me a copy of this transcript for the purposes of a collected artifact for this project. He also gave me a copy of his book.

I interviewed Mr. Manley for about an hour. I uploaded the audio files on SoundWave software. I was unable to find a widget that would upload the sound file so that I could link to this wetpaint page. Therefore, I created a PowerPoint single file presentation that has the sound file embedded in it. I also had success uploading the PowerPoint file as an attachment to this page. It is accessible below, and Mr. Manley's 3 minute telling of his D-Day experience is worth hearing in his own voice.

Mr. Manley is just one example of the many brave men and women from the Ozarks who have defended America with military service. He is a model of success and someone who gives back to the community in countless ways. Mr. Manley expresses this best in his own words from his book, "But to have trust and faith in America, a person needs to have it in himself. Then he can have it in others. I hope my story shows that, having seen the worst of things and having seen the best of things, I prefer the best of things. I prefer America and those who dream big dreams and search for a better way. And I'm thankful for them all" (p. 222).

Please open the attached PowerPoint file below to hear Mr. Manley tell one of his stories.

Mount Vernon

wittk — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 13:13:05 CST

My senior composition students and I embarked on a community writing journey together this fall. It started with the photograph writing experience described in Writing Our Communities book along with an in-depth discussion on my students' perceptions of Mount Vernon. Next we took a field trip to our local museum and participated in a writing marathon. The culminating experience was the creation of a community multigenre. The following is the handout given to my students that describes the various types of writing they would do about our community. On the due date of the project, we had a gallery walk in the classroom so students could admire one another's work. We also had a "coffeehouse" poetry reading in the media center (with coffee, hot chocolate, and snacks!) at the end of the experience where several of my students read one of their selections to the class.

Where We’re From
Many of you are getting ready to embark on a new adventure, one that will more than likely take you outside of the community that you’ve called home – for months, for years, or for a lifetime. As you get ready to take this leap, we’re going to engage in some writing to reflect on your idea of home, of your place in this world. As you write, keep in mind what we learned about Mount Vernon from our visit to the museum and cabin. This project will involve the following three pieces in addition to two others of your choice. For you math heads in the room, that means you’ll have a total of at least five pieces of writing in your community collection. You will then put these pieces of writing together in a small booklet with a cover, a creative title, and photographs throughout.

Where I’m From poem: This legendary narrative poem explores your own personal sense of place, of belonging. Thinking about where you’re from is important in determining where you’re going. This poem uses a template, but of course you can use your own creativity in the writing.

Interview with character sketch: Which important person in our community would you like to know more about? For example, I grew up hearing stories about my Grandpa Merle, but I never had the opportunity to know him myself. That always bothered me because I wanted to know more about this legendary man. This could also be someone still living, too. Maybe you would like to know more about your step-dad or a favorite aunt from the area. The first step will be to interview either the source directly or someone who knew your topic well. (I interviewed my dad about his father, Grandpa Merle.) Then turn this interview into a character sketch/narrative about this person.

Hometown paper found poem: Using words from headlines in our local Lawrence County Record, you will create a found poem that reflects the spirit and character of our community, Mount Vernon. This poem needs to include some of the poetry “tools” we’ve discussed this quarter, and it should include enough lines and phrases to contain a theme or message about our community.

Ekphrasis poem: Using a photograph of our community as inspiration, write a poem. Ekphrasis is a literary response to a visual piece of art. In this case, your literary response is your poem, and the visual art is your photograph. Use words to replicate the experience you have when looking at this photograph. If necessary, you may borrow one of my photos of Mount Vernon.

Final project due: _______________________________________