Writing Roots 6 -  College Bound

This is the sixth “episode” of the prequel to The World of Words by Elias Tobias. It ends when I arrive at Ball State University at Edwards Hall for my freshman year of my bachelor’s degree. By the end of the senior year of high school, I was using a pen name, Olan dey Gabona, and used that until the early 1990’s. I had started making 5 x 8 inch notebooks I was assembling with typed poems I wanted to keep starting from high school and beginning at college. They have a brown cover, and I have six of them now. They were books that had pages with pre- punched sheets and I added the typed poems as they were written.

After a year or so, I would begin a new “book.” My first three books had to be retyped in 1980 when the woman I was engaged to at the time decided to keep the original books after we decided not to get married. At least I got $25 for a $225 engagement ring at the pawnshop in Columbus, Ohio, on my way back to Millersburg, Ohio, where I was working as a journalist. A life lesson. I hope she enjoys the books and looks at them every now and then. Below is a poem from my first “college years” book that was published in The Free Pen, Vol. 1, No. 3, a literary supplement to the Ed-Words, the Edwards Hall news letter. I see a trend here.

I Don’t Know

Strange places flashing smiling faces,
And I don’t know where to go.
Fun loving times are somewhere in between
The lines of the people I see.

I open my heart wide
And get what I can get.
Somehow, I keep living,
But I can’t believe in
Anything yet.

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Writing Roots 5- The Bubble

This story, The Bubble, was originally published in Write On!, a literary supplement at Columbus North High School in May, 25, 1975, the year I graduated from the school.

The Bubble
“When is our father getting home,” complained Tom to Margaret. “I wish he would invent something for me. But he has to work on some top secret project for the government. He has no time for the family anymore.”
Margaret suggested,  “Why don’t you fix yourself something to eat before supper?’
“Come on,” said Jan, ”Just wait ‘till he gets home. I’ll race ya to the den. The last one down has to turn on the TV.”

When Margaret saw the smiling faces of the two kids, she smiled, too. Sooner or later she was going to realize the truth…” Mr. Gentry is actually spending more time at the plant than he spends with his kids,” she thought. Then in her usual promptness, she had supper prepared in time for Samuel’s arrival time.
There was a problem though; Samuel wasn’t home. In this familiar family problem, Margaret did the best she could. That was to feed Tom and Jan, help them with their homework and sometimes tuck the kids in bed. Whenever Samuel came home, Margaret would fix his late supper. Then Margaret left to come back early the next morning to care for the house and children.
“Hi, George,” exclaimed Samuel as he walked toward the underground elevator. “ Hello Charlotte,” greeted Samuel as she and Samuel walked into the elevator.
in the elevator going down, Charlotte asked, “What is your top secret project? Everyone I know is curious about it, especially me.” She ended this inquiry by a big smile and a cute wink. As the door opened, their identities were checked by computer. Walking out Charlotte said, “That’s me, nosy knows.”
“You’re so right,” agreed Samuel looking at the scientist’s hips move. A smile appeared on his face, but it disappeared as fast as it came. He started walking happily toward his lab, for his “top secret” project was nearly completed.
As the doors closed, this seemingly plain man transformed himself into a combination of a human computer and a top grade robot. In a course of twelve solid hours work, Samuel had completed his project. He was prepared to tell the world of his discovery.
Ironically, he was to tell no one until… the government allowed him to tell. The government had all rights and patents to the material produced by all the scientists of the plant. In a few weeks, he was to meet with Mr. Whitecoat, the head of all research in the Naval forces in the Midwest.
The telephone rang with a distinct ring common only to the Gentry household. Slowly, but surely, Margaret walked over to the humming sound. “Hello, Gentrys’ residence… Oh, good evening to you, sir. Well, the children are in bed and sleeping like babies.” reported Margaret. When she heard the tired voice of a weak man, it had to be Samuel.
“It’s 10:00 o’clock, Margaret. It’s time you get some rest. During these past few weeks you have stayed up late to care for the house and kids. I’ll be glad to pay you a little extra…” insisted Samuel.
“But, sir, you don’t have to pay me extra for my work here. I get paid by love from you and the kids,” interrupted Margaret.
“I will be coming home my usual time from now on. I won’t have to work as hard, so now everything can be normal for a few more weeks,” explained Samuel.
“Thank you, sir. And my doctor will appreciate that very much. When you get home tomorrow, spend some time with the kids, especially Tom. 1 can’t really tell the difference between the engine cowl and the carburetor or something off an airplane engine for Tom,” said Margret with a laugh. “Bye, Mr. Gentry. The leftovers are in the refrigerator.”
“Bye and thanks a lot for all that you’ve done,” sighed Samuel. Then they both hung up.
When Samuel came home the whole house was silent except for the kitchen appliance humming a sad chord. Samuel was tired, very tired.  In fact, he forgot about the leftovers and went straight to bed.
Early the next morning the door quietly opened, and someone crept slowly toward the kitchen. Margaret sat on the stool for a minute and surveyed the spotlessly clean room. Slowly, but in her usual way, she walked up the stairs to awaken her employer and his children. From the time she finished telling them to arise to a new day until 9:30, the once somewhat quiet house turned upside down and backwards from the hurry to make ready the venture into the outside worked. Listen to some of the conversation in that busy hour of the morning.
“Good morning, Tom,” said Margaret briskly. “You should be getting ready for school.”
“I am,” answered Tom. “I am getting my bubble gum I hid from Jan. 1 sell it at school for five cents apiece, and I make three cents profit,” said Tom smoothly.
“Three cents profit!” exclaimed Margaret.
“Yes, three cents profit… one cent for the gum, one cent for tax, and three cents for me!” explained Tom.
Margaret laughed and said, “I didn’t know the state charged tax on that.”
“Well, you see, I have a license to sell gum. That’s where the government gets all its money, from little kids like me,” joked Tom. Then he turned away with the bag of gum in hand showing tan advertisement on the back of his T-shirt for his brand of gum.
“Last one down to the breakfast table has to eat the oatmeal,” teased Jan, as she and Tom slid down the stairs.
“The first one to get up will go to school first,” added Margaret who was at the bottom of the stairs. Upon hearing this, both of the children leaned back and pretended to sleep. After this time-wasting scheme was over, the kids raced to the table.
Aside from all the time-wasting schemes and jokes, the Gentry’s had a big breakfast and left to work or school on time. From 9:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. the house was turned inside out and cleaned into a brilliantly gleaming model home. From 3:30p.m. to 8:30 p.m. there was the same kind of running around and forgetting of time and general time wasting.
When the bus stopped in front of the house, the children ejected from the vehicle like a missile from its silo, both racing to their home, the stars. After that paced action, Tom and Jan sprinted to the freezer. Soon the two children strode to the den where they spent the rest of the afternoon watching TV.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said Margaret pleasantly. “It is a great surprise that you are home so early,” she commented.
“I am finished on my project, as far as I am concerned, so I decided to come home early. From now on, I’ll try to be home at this time,” promised Mr. Gentry.  Then he proceeded to the den. “Hi, Jan,” he greeted, “How was your day at school?”
“Fair. It was the usual thing,” answered Jan. I’m glad you’re home now! I wish you were home forever,” she added cheerfully.
Over in the corner of the room sat Tom pretending to be sad. “I think I forgot someone. Is Tom here?” teased Samuel. By the time he finished talking; Tom had jumped and landed in Samuel’s arm.
“Hi, Dad,” he exclaimed loudly. “Do you think I would forget my favorite son?” asked Samuel lovingly.
“Never! Never! Never!”,  yelled Tom excitedly.
Suddenly he dropped Tom on the sofa. The room quickly burst into a laughing avalanche. Jan begged to be dropped, too. This fun and games was good to all that participated because the weeks of lonely nights disappeared in all the laughter.
After supper that night the normal procedure of home work, bathing and getting into bed was broken when Samuel and Margaret had a brief but important talk.
“I’m glad this month is over,” stated Samuel. “My project has passed every test but one.”
“Mr. Gentry I don’t have to know what your project is or anything about it. I imagine you are not supposed to talk about it anyway,” interrupted Margaret.
“But Margaret, I ….”, begged Samuel.
“Mr. Gentry,” she addressed sternly, “I mind my own business and that is all!”
I’ll skip the details. My project is being tested next Wednesday. I would like to take Tom and Jan to see the publicly shown test. Should I?” asked Mr. Gentry.
“Yes you should. Now the children will see why you spent all of your time away from them last month,” answered Margaret.
A voice said softly, “Dad, I would like to see your test. I think Jan would like to come along, too.” The voice came from the stairs.
Samuel paced to the stairs. “Tom, weren’t you supposed to be in bed sleeping?” he said.
“Well, I just couldn’t sleep. Besides, I heard you and Margaret talk…talk about us,” explained Tom.
“You know that you are going, but Jan doesn’t. Let it be a surprise to her,” suggested Samuel.
“Okay, I guess so. I won’t say a word to her,” agreed Tom.
Margaret smiled when she saw the expression of happiness in Tom’s eyes. With his eyes shining brightly, Tom said excitedly, “Boy, will Jan be surprised.”
On Wednesday the usual race to the den was canceled, and it was replaced by a trip to the testing grounds. “Oh boy! I have never seen any of your projects, Dad. The kids at school ask me all the time about you. I say I don’t know. Then they tease me about being so dumb, and I don’t like that,” complained Jan.
Samuel added, “That happens all your life, so don’t be bugged by it, Okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” agreed Jan.
Soon they stopped at the testing grounds. “Where is it. I mean where is your project?” wondered Tom.
“Is it invisible?” suggested Jan.
“No, it isn’t invisible. Just relax in the car. Just relax …”, said Samuel. As soon as he relaxed to a nap, the children ran away from the car searching for the project. As Tom had just hid behind a big barrel, he heard voices. “Dr. Gentry is in his car waiting. Should we start now?” asked a mysterious voice. As soon as Jan Tom found this place, Jan did too.
“No wait until more people come. The more people, the greater the impact,” answered another voice. “Mr. Gentry is outside. Go and invite him in the block. He knows all the small details,” he continued.
Then the first man walked to Mr. Gentry’s car, but he forgot to lock the door as he left. Tom’s eyes and ears were catching everything being done. They slowly proceeded to the unlocked door. The second man’s back was turned so that he couldn’t see Tom and Jan. In hast, they hid behind something that happened to be a tall grey rectangular panel. As the children inched their way across the floor, they heard noises coming from a source nearby. It was just ahead of them, for Tom stretched his way up the grey panel.
Tom was amazed at what he saw - a million little flashing lights all different colors. He looked a bit more and noticed a big strong man charging toward them. “What are you kids doing here?” he yelled
Just then Samuel ran in the block and yelled, “George, what is going on? I heard you say ‘kids’ I think,” he inquired.
“I saw some kids snooping around the control panel. They pressed a few buttons, but 1 fixed that,” answered George.
“My children, Tom and Jan are in the car,” suggested Samuel. Soon the men were searching near the car. “I thought they were…”
“Help! Help! Someone help!” screamed Jan.
“I want Daddy. Please help me Daddy!” yelled Tom.
“In the block. They’re in the block,” yelled the first man.  The three raced to the block.
“Where are they? Where is Jan? And where is Tom?” Samuel cried. Oh, my God! They entered the machine to hide probably,” he said quietly.
“You mean your kids went in the bubble and something went wrong. Are they…?” thought George.
“NO! No! No! No!”, yelled Samuel. Then he slowly proceeded 1 the car crying. -
“Hi, Daddy!” exclaimed Tom. “I hear you but I can’t see you. I’m sorry, Daddy. I think Jan and I tested your bubble, I mean your project. It doesn’t work.”
“Where are you?” asked Samuel. “I don’t know. I guess we’re still on the block. Everything looks so big like a microscope, only we are in the thing you look at,” explained Jan.
“Well, Jan, I don’t know what to do, except wait…wait until my project come back to life,” said Samuel sadly.
“Bye, Daddy. 1 miss you. Can’t you help at all?” cried Jan.
���No.”
“Goodbye, Daddy. I wish you here with us now,” sniffled Tom. Then an amplified sound of a motor running faded in the distance. “Daddy? Daddy? Are you there?” he cried.
Everything looks so big, and we can see everything around us.. .creeping down at us while they rub our transistors!” said Jan half cheerfully.
“It’s so small, cold and scary in this place,” he mumbled.
Jan suggested,” Why don’t we open the door and see what happened.”
“Okay,” he agreed. Then they each went to a different door. “It  doesn’t open. We’re locked in here,” Tom said lowly.
“Neither does my door,” added Jan. “I have an idea. See that panel over there. ..one wall in back?” started Tom.
“Yes,” she answered.
“I bet if someone pressed the right button, we would get out,” suggested Tom.
The thought passed through both of their minds, “What if someone pressed the wrong button? What would happen?”
Slowly Tom dragged over to the panel. Right behind him, Jan followed. At the panel he slowly studied every detail, every little flashing light and every dull black-colored button.
Suddenly, like an arrow, his finger pointed its way to a bright green button. Nothing happened. They waited patiently for a few minutes… nothing.. .nothing at all. So the children sat in the chairs to relax. Soon they fell asleep.
A loud crash of a jet shockwave went the sphere rolling down the not-so-level floor of the block. Within a few minutes the clear sphere was at the foot of the door. There it stayed, unnoticed by Tom, Jan or anyone else until morning.
Someone drove up to the block as the children yawned their early morning blues out to the new day. A great bang came over the speakers in the bubble as the car door slammed shut. A tall, dark clothed man stepped on it, and Jan screamed as they saw him slip. Then he fell on his hands. But in his recovery, the children had a chance to do something a, and they did.
“Hello out there. Who are you? Can you help us?” they yelled in unison.
“Who said that?” asked the man with a speech problem which was very prominent.
“We did…down here by the door somewhere.” answered Tom.
The voices from the bubble were coming in from the speaker on the control panel, but it had an insulated cloth over it. The sound could have come from anywhere because of that fact.
As the man walked over to the door, he cynically said, “If this is a joke, it is a bad one. Anyone could put a walkie-talkie somewhere and talk.” Then he smiled and laughed as if someone saw him in the right perspective.
He continued, “It’s a marble, a plain old marble,” as he held the marble in his fingers. “Now a marble can’t talk, can it? Of course it can’t” he finished scientifically. Then he bent back his arm and threw the bubble out in the dirt road where it rolled to the yard of a farm.

“What happened? Where are we?” Jan wondered as she sat up. Her eyes traveled in circles recovering from the light blow on her head. As she did, she noticed everything was upside down. Just then Tom shook his head and slowly sat up. Then he used his arms as support as he looked, outside.
“Jan! Jan! Where are you, Jan?” asked Tom.
Jan crawled over to Tom and said, “Here I am right beside you.”
“What happened? Where are we?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I think I remember a man… picking us up and throwing us,” she said slowly.
Tom added, “Ya! Now I remember. He said that we were a marble, a plain old marble…” There was short pause, then a sniffle.
Tom comforted, “Don’t cry, Jan. It’s okay. We’ll get out of this mess somehow.”
Jan leaned on his shoulder and whispered, “I hope you can. I hope to God you can.” Then she burst out in tears. Tom tried his best to comfort her. Gently, but surely, Jan stopped her emotions from getting out of hand.
Meanwhile, back in Newson, New York, Samuel was ill in bed. “Margaret, would you come here, please?” he begged.
“Yes, Mr. Gentry.”
“Would you please fix something to eat, like soup… I hate myself for making that machine, it caused too much death and misery,” he said suddenly, but sadly.
Margaret smiled, and Samuel tried to smile back. He couldn’t.
“Have you heard any…”
“No sir, I haven’t” she replied. Every hour for five days he asked if she had heard anything about the children.
“We have to get out. Remember when I pressed that button,” Tom reasoned.
“Yes.”
“What color was it?” he asked.
“I think it was blue. No, it was red. That’s wrong. It was green.” Jan thought out loud.
“You’re as mixed up as I am. I’ll try something.
“What, she wondered.
Tom stepped over to the control panel and said, “Pick a color red, green or blue.”
“Blue. That is my favorite color.”
“Okay, now pick a number between one and five,” Tom ordered.
“Why?” she asked.
Tom just stared at her. Jan wanted to crawl in a shell then and there.
“Three.” she said disgustedly. Then Tom pressed the blue button three times.
“Pzamg! Zato! Qupz!” came from the computer.
The bubble rolled what seemed a mile and then was hoisted up by flesh-colored grips.
A gigantic face appeared in front of them, but only for a second. In a flesh of lightening, a grey film covered the sphere, and an ear-splitting yell rang happened at the same instant. Jan and Tom fell to the hard floor when their house rocked back and forth.
“A bug! A human attacking marble bug bit me!”, the yell rang again.
The children fell through space and landed on what seemed a high mountain.
“Well, I guess I pressed the wrong button, Jan,” Tom chuckled. Tom was sprawled out on the cot, but Jan was near the seat, lifeless. “Jan, Jan. Are you awake or dead or something?”
Jan moaned slowly and then blinked her eyes. “Oh! Where… What happened?” she wondered
“Someone picked us up and dropped us,” be explained.
“Hey, look,” she exclaimed. “The doors that covered this thing are open now. And look at that control panel.”
“The green light is flashing. Shall I press it?” asked Tom.
“Yes.”
“Okay, here I go, he said carefully. His finger gently floated to the button. KZinko, Kpzgt, PQdpLT went the computer.
A feeling of life spread through the bubble. The grass that seemed like trees grew to their normal size. Everything grew just as nature wanted in just a few minutes. Suddenly, the door opened with the hush of pressure. They walked out.

Have you read the childrens story, The Peasant Princess? It is in English, French, Spanish, German, and Arabic.

Writing Roots 4 -  Write On! 1974

By 1974, while I was still in band, I was offered a chance to be one of the editors of Write On!, and I spent my extra time in the publications room working as one of three editors that year.  I had the logo redone. Here’s what it looked like …

In this position as an editor, I saw how things were put together.  I was later asked by Mr. (Keith) Wellman, the publications advisor, who helped us layout  literary supplement, if I wanted to work for the school newspaper, The Triangle, my senior year.  I had a choice between band and publications.  My band director, Mr. Brown. suggested I go to the newspaper, thus ending my career as a musician. The summer of 1974, I went to a journalism workshop at Western Kentucky University and had my first dorm experiences away from home.  I became the feature editor of the school newspaper, was eventually initiated into Quill and School, a high school journalism honorary, and received the Most Improved Journalist Award the the 1975 Publications banquet.  Decisions were made for me to attend Ball State University majoring in photojournalism.

I had always taken family photos, and got my first camera (I still have it) when I was 10.  My roommate at WKU was a photographer, and I was on my way to another career interest.  I took an art photography class at Ivy Tech in Columbus before starting at BSU, just to get a head start.

The opportunity to be an editor of Write On! gave me the chance to get a few of my own works published as well.

Write On!,  Vol  IV, No. 3, Columbus North High School, Columbus, IN, March 14, 1974 

Clean Green Jean

Look out everybody,
Because here he comes.
Clean Green Jean is sweeping a path
And clearing out the bums.
“Who is he,” you ask.
Just look around for a six-inch imp
With his nose to the ground.
From the East to the West,
And the North to South
He will clean every home
To the dirtiest mouth.
Clean used to be good, But now it it bad.
If it doesn’t sparkle you are had!
The trail he leaves shall never end.
The smell of dirt he officially offends.
So beware of his poisonous spray,
Or his deadly broom.
Clean Green Jean might come
And bring you to your doom.

Write On!, May 24, 1974

Afraid

Afraid to care;
Afraid to know what’s coming;
but the future always comes.

What am I to do -
Run away and hide -
Or brave the truth?

My fingers are shaking,
And my teeth are chattering,
And my smile is still faking.
The silence grows louder-loudest.

I hear the door slam,
And I am still here;
And I am shaking, and
chattering,
And my smile is still faking.
WHAT IS THE FUTURE?
The Republic, Columbus, Indiana, Wednesday, October 9, 1974, Page 17

“Students Express Thoughts on Verse on Poetry Page”

Poet of Purpose

I do not build on money,
Nor do I build on lies.
I just work with words alone.
I am the Poet of the People
Searching for a home.
I am heated by anger,
And am cooled by fire.
I am scorched by wind just blown.
I am the Poet of the People’
Searching for a home.
I am not an actor,
Nor am I a player.
I don’t have seeds to be sown.
I am the Poet of the People
Searching for a home.
The world’s smallest libraries
Are filled to the brim,
The books of knowledge have grown.
All I am is a Poet of the People.

Write On!  Nov. 8, 1974

The Eyes

The eyes -feel
The eyes -hear
The eyes -smell
The eyes -tell if you…

The eyes -observing
The eyes -bloodshot
The eyes -happy
The eyes -sad
The eyes -tell
of you
like or love me

My senior year, I started working as a janitor at a department store, Ary-Way, to support the gas and oil for my 1962 Ford Fairlane 500 my dad bought me for my first car.  Between school, the school newspaper, my 20 or so hour a week job and my girlfriend, I was a busy guy.  I wrote something about my job, and it was put in the monthly newsletter.
Ayr-Way Speaking  Page 2, December 11, 1974

BALLAD OF THE 21-A
With his golden broom,
He will sweep any room.
Page him on the phone,
And he will be there soon.

With his great sweeping crew,
That never takes long,
They shall sweep the store;
And the 21-A leaves, singing’ a song.

When the sweeping is done,
It is time to wet-mop.
The 21-A works to the bone,
Only then will he stop.

The call of nature is clear,
And the 21-A is near.
The rest rooms are spic and span,
Fit for any child, woman or man.

The boxes of the store coming
To him shall never cease.
But the 21-A compacts them
When the button is released.

So, if you have a job
For the 21-A
Just contact him, and he’ll
Be there right away.

For anything that is thine,
He will clean it
‘Till it will sparkle and shine
This is the end of this rhyme.

 Learn 10 ways how you can harness the Power of Words with modern technology.

Writing Roots 3 - Write On! 1973

After writing longer short stories, I concentrated my writing to poetry in my spare time from school work, band, friends and being a kid.  Here’s what happened in Write On! in 1973.

Poems in Write On!, October 19, 1973.

I will have peace

I will have peace
When the Party is over, and the crowd has left,
I shall rest my head to sleep.
I will remember and dream the memories I will
Forever Keep.
There would be Marie and Bill, dancing in the light
With the help of some strange pill.
At 12:35 he would fall to the ground with a dazzled look,
with no sound.
When he hit the floor, I knew that he would speak
no more.
Marie acted about the same, but she would live.
Who is to blame? Tom, Jack, Terry, and Sam passed
the needle around.
Heroine it was, and Heroine it will always be.
Tom, Jack, Terry and Sam died later.
When will they see?
When the party is over, and the crowd has left,
I will rest my head to sleep.
Even though the memories are there,
I will have Peace.
I will have peace, at last.
I sign my name

As I sign my name upon the line,
I watch the rich people dine.
I also prevent and solve many crimes.
I have the master-of all seat,
For as I walk my particular beat
the shoes wear from under my feet.
I sign my name along the line
And I shall live my appointed time.

Patterns of love

As the light starts flashing,
I feel the painful wound, deep and gashing.
The blood smears stain my skin,
And my heart is empty again.
This is a pattern of love.

As I walk in the city park,
I remember moments in the dark.
Our lips met in the uncertain, suspended time.
No words can describe it. There is no rhyme.
This is a pattern of love.

I care for her, even die for her,
And she obeys “Yes Sir,”
We had kids, but they’re all gone,
Yet we are still singing our love songs.

Smile

See the suicidal manic
Upon the 10-story ledge.
He has been there a while.
Soon help will come,
and he will live
with a smile.

See the lonely fisherman
drifting in his boat.
He has been there a while.
Soon a fish will come, and
He will smile.

See the everyday housewife,
scrubbing and cleaning all day long.
She has worked a while.
Soon her husband will be home, and
she will smile.

See the people in the park.
All kids, some young, some old,
some new.
Look at them a while; Talk to them,
walk with them.
And you will smile too.

Distant smiles

The distant smiles and
The forgotten laughs have
lost their way in the past.
Kisses have come and
Embraces have gone into
some special time and place.
No love is left in me, at last.

Write On!, Columbus North High School, Columbus, Ind.,  December 7, 1973, Vol. IV, No. 2

The Difference of Light and Time

In the distant passages of time,
Lurking in the murky darkness,
Is the eternal  light. Life will cease,
And then it will begin;
And the light still shines;
And I can breathe again.

In 1973, my youngest of three sisters was born, and here’s what was published.

Little Babe
Open your eyes, little babe,
And behold your new room.
Do not frown, little babe,
For then the world will be bad.
Open your mouth, little babe,
And let your voice be heard.
Now lay in my lap, little babe,
And close your eyes to sleep.
If you are bumped, little babe,
You will shake the world.
Now you are asleep, little babe.

Several other poems written during this time are already included on The World of Words by Elias Tobias blog, and most of these these were self-published in “A Poetry Sampler -100% Natural Words, by Elias Tobias,  in 1991, and in a second revised in 1995. I have a few of these books left, by the way.   See Poetry Credits for details.

Photos by Mike Hall converted into brushed paintings are in the ArtBrushed Photo Gallery. Download art for free.

Writing Roots 1- Shoes

We all have a beginning, as humble as it may be.  We all have to start someplace, and usually with some coaching or external motivation.  By 1970,  I went from  6th grade at  Lillian C. Schmitt Elementary Elementary School to being a freshman at Northside Junior High School, a big change from going two more blocks down the street from the elementary school.  I was a longer walk.   I had as my English teacher, Mr. (Donald) Ray.  We did the journal thing, and a poem about shoes was another assignment.  He saw more than that and encouraged me to write more.  He didn’t know what he started.   The poem was later published that school year.  I re-typed it from a surviving typed page used as a master for a ditto machine (remember those and the fluid smelled so good).  Wherever he his, Thanks for seeing beyond a few foolish words.

From The Northside News, Northside Junior High School, Columbus, Indiana,  Before  March, 24, 1970 (page 7)
My Shoes—
Look like they forgot
to pay dues.
They are sore.
They are poor.
My shoes aren’t good.
I would like to throw them away if I could.
Those are my shoes.

Later, I updated the poem, as a ninth grader, and it, too, was published in the Northside News, Page 9, date unknown , 1972

My Shoes

My shoes
Are green and white,
And they’re quite a sight.
Those are my Shoes,

My shoes
Are every bright
And Are And full of might
Those are my shoes.

My shoes
Are very old.
They’re soiled from our very sod.
Those are my shoes.

My shoes
Are made of wood
And are very.very very good
Those are my shoes.

My shoes
Make me very mad
Because they look very sad.
Are those my shoes?

I had written other poems, and I still had journals to write.  The subject worked once before, so I tried it again.  This version also got in Northside News, 1972.

My Tennis Shoes
I thought I was so poor
When I walked through the door
With my torn up “white” tennis shoes.
As time went by, I begged Dad more
To take me to the tennis shoe store.
So he got rich by getting a loan.
And I got my orange tennis shoes.
Now that I have my orange tennis shoes,
I like them very much, and I run
Through the neighborhood
And through the puddles and such.
I run through the many fields,
And fall in their small holes.
I run in the baseball and football fields,
And score many goals.
I have a  good time in my orange tennis shoes,
And they follow me wherever I go.
I event wear them in the snow.
I’m glad I went to the orange tennis shoe store.

Here are another gems from that year.

A Fake and a Fool

The Northside News,  page 8, unknown date, 1972

When I took a test
And didn’t know what to do;
I ran to the nurse’s office
And pretended I had the flu.
My parents rushed me home
And threw me into bed.
The thermometer said
was sick.
“Of course, I’m sick,” I said
As soon as the test was over,
I sprinted back to school.
Whenever you play hookey
You always end up a fool.

The God of Love

Northside News, 1972

Far way in a strange land
I met a stranger who was
alone playing in the sand.
I knew not who he was,
but he gave me a clue.
He gave me a look, a look
that everybody knew.
It was a look that
seemed like passing time.
It was a look that was a
real as a dime.
It was a look of hope and love.
A smile is the look I
was speaking of.
He gave me another clue.
He wrote it in the sand.
It was a verse I now know
like the back of my hand.
“When love wasn’t here long ago,
I came here to let it flow,
But the people are gone
And my job is done.
He was the God of Love.

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Museum Artifact

(Photo by Mike Hall)

A page from the past is shown from this book called “English Grammar” by Kate Smith, Ethel B. Magee with S.S. Seward, Jr.,  published in 1928  by The Athenaeum Press of Ginn and Company in Boston.

I heard on the radio recently that Barnes and Noble was closing even more stores around the country in the shadow of the closing of Borders book stores.  The announcer said there was something about books which was comforting. This got me thinking.  I admit I probably could not  many afford books at the B & N stores, and the Half Price Books Store is to more my liking. They also have real records there too.  I still have a few books from college, because I paid for them, they still may have some informational value (Photography books are that way), and perhaps they were a part of my past.  It may be ironic I am writing a blog about this topic on the Internet, but when I get confused and such, a poem sometimes helps resolve the problem somehow.  I imagined how in the not so distant future 40 to 50 years from now, books became obsolete. This is a basis of several novels, too.  I have no time for novels, and arrived at this poem, “Museum Artifact.”

Museum Artifact

I saw a thing I used to read in school.
It was a book along with other
volumes shelved in storage in a
wooden book case behind the glass.
They had lots of information, and
they didn’t need batteries, nor did
they need to be plugged in to operate.
Some books had thin paper back, and
were small enough to fit in a pocket.
They took me to places where I had
never been without leaving the room,
and I wasn’t looking at any color videos.
Words inspired my imagination.  Back then,
some people had quite a few bound books
In elaborate personal libraries,
but now they are gone in the electronic
age, and I can only use this gadget that
I really don’t like at all.

Learn 10 ways how you can harness the Power of Words with modern technology.

Yard Sale Treasures

(Photo by Mike Hall)

Patty Hall smiles after getting back home with the groceries recently.

Yard Sale Treasures 

Normally, with temperatures reaching to get up to freezing, the concept of yard sales would be, to put it one way- frozen- in most places.  Patty and I have found three moving sales and one church sale - all indoors for the most part- in Zionsville, a community northwest of Indianapolis.

We have been pleasantly surprised at what we found and bought.  Most recently we have brought home a name-brand reversible belt that fits me after the holidays, and new name-brand tie for work, a bargain on earrings for Patty, a mini-sandwich maker (for 50 cents),  a new lace old-fashioned table cloth that work well with the Old West theme of our apartment, a wooden snowman accessory kit with a heart and corn-cob pipe (just add snow), a few cool music cassettes that may make it to my computer (with my conversion kit), and a mini-emergency flashlight with three kinds of lights (batteries not included).

For $8, I bought a new digital compact camera case with a HP Photosmart M525, made in 2009.  First introduced in 2006, I read on the Internet the camera was a good basic compact camera that originally sold for $104.  Amazon had two new of the discontinued items for $292 each (at the time of this writing).  Even though the built-in lens cover didn’t close when shut off, the one I got worked well otherwise.   Look at the photo of Patty I took just after I brought in the groceries.  This camera was a good deal for the price, and even though I have five other digital cameras, I took a chance.  That’s the fun of it.

Sometimes the electronic sales from yard sales are not so good, and blogs on the topic suggest not buying electronic devices. I say just don’t go crazy.  I once got a complete Pentax K-1000 film camera outfit with bag, three lenses and flash for $50. I still have it.  That camera bag was used for another camera set-up I have, and the Pentax system is now in another large camera bag I got that same weekend.

One thing about going to yard sales, even when it’s 25 degrees outside, is the thrill of finding different locations.  You learn things about other places.  By going to the historic town of Zionsville, we discovered a great restaurant , The Carolina Grill, in Zionsville that serves real fried chicken the way Patty likes it, and a local coffeehouse, The Eagle Creek Coffee Company, along Main Street, not a franchise, that was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon.  By checking the newspaper for places to go, filling up the gas tank, and filling the wallet with a few bucks, the rewards can be amazing.  We often contribute to Goodwill, as we did this weekend, before going on to our  adventures, so what we don’t want any more is someone else’s treasure.   It’s all a matter of balance. Happy hunting.
Click on the name Patty Hall or her photo for a biography of her.

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