South Carolina Irony/Introspection

This is a photo of Fripp Island, South Carolina, taken from a pier that runs out from one of the visitor centers at Hunting Island State Park. This is about as close as a "visitor" can get to Fripp. It's a private island, owned by the residents of the million dollar homes and condoes that make up Fripp Island real estate.

Pat Conroy is one of my favorite writers and a resident of the island. My favorite Conroy book is THE LORDS OF DISCIPLINE. In it Conroy explores the insulated world of the Charleston elite, wealthy old families, who have ways that prevent those who don't belong from becoming part of their society or caste or whatever term of that sort works for you. LORDS OF DISCIPLINE is an intense, insightful, sometimes heartbreaking story, seen through the eyes of Will McLean, a Savannah-born Irish-Catholic cadet at a thinly disguised version of the Citadel. Pat Conroy had graduated from the Citadel, so in my imagination he was, in spirit at least, that brave cadet, who dared defy the entrenched way of things in the novel. Will was the kind of young man that Pat Conroy, who was a true champion of his needy students on the barrier islands where he taught when he was a young man, would have been, if placed in the fictional situation of his own creation. What a great book! I love it!

Where is the South Carolina Irony of my title? It lies in the fact that the author of this wonderful indictment of elitism now makes his home in a most elite community. I am almost certainly being unfair to him. Like everyone, Pat Conroy deserves his privacy, and I'm sure it's a commodity that is often hard for him to come by. I asked myself, if I were financially able, would I own an ocean house on Fripp Island. Believe me, I would love to own a waterfront vacation house somewhere. One of the seaside mansions of places like Fripp Island doesn't appeal to me, though. Give me a little two or three bedroom cottage somewhere on the shore. I wouldn't buy on Fripp Island, if I could! Or would I?

Is There A Census Box to Check if You're Amish or Mennonite??

A story I heard and a photograph I took have bumped into each other in my head setting off a twisting train of thought. The story involved an Armenian man, who was troubled by the census form he was asked to fill out. He didn't know what box to check for race. Apparently, his skin is somewhat darker than "White," but he's not an "African-American." Neither is he "Native American" nor "Asian." Why, he wondered, couldn't we just check a box that labeled us all as Americans. Now I know bureaucrats and statisticians everywhere could explain why the "Race" demographic, (is that the right word?) is necessary. But I personally, think the Armenian-American, or shall I just call him an American, has a good idea.

Now, my train of thought jumped its track and landed on a beach in South Carolina, where I photographed two Amish or Mennonite girls playing in the surf. I didn't get particularly close, not wanting to invade their fun, but I was so touched by their play, that I had to have a picture. I had never seen Amish kids playing in the surf before, and they seemed to be so wonderfully out of place, so perfectly kid-like, even though they wore bonnets and long dresses rather than short shorts and hoodies.

So how does this train of thought get re-railed. For me, both the story and the photo are about the "alikeness" of everyone. And I like that.

Everywhere A Sign

We just love Beaufort, South Carolina.  The “beau” fits this area’s name as well as it fits “beauty.”  Of course, every new area is filled with surprises.  Some of my favorites around here are the unique signs, which sometimes advertise unique establishments. For example, yesterday we went by a sign that marked a “Terrapin Crossing.”  There are also signs, which announce fortunetellers, willing to tell you what’s to be if you cross their palms with paper or plastic.  There are also placards advertising “Bail Bondsman,” everywhere.  I’ve seen more Bail Bondsman storefronts in the small city of Beauford than I’ve seen anywhere else, I think.  Does that suggest that there must be a bunch of bounty hunters hanging around here, too?  But my favorite sign, which I just had to photograph, and which is at the top of this posting, was on the Hunting Island State Park Beach, which we visited yesterday.  I have no idea what it means or what, for that matter, they might be hunting out there!!

The House by the River

When you plan a southern sojourn, you have much to do.  You have to cancel the mail and the paper.  Make sure any bill that might be due is paid.  Check in with the police and your next door neighbors so your house is secure.  Turn down the heat.  Have the car serviced.  When it’s finally time to leave, you’re almost too tired to get in the car.

Then you’re on the road, dealing with rain and fog and trucks and a nervous dog, who spends two days in the car breathing as if a thunderstorm is about to strike.  You take what Google Maps lists as a shortcut around Roanoke and it ends up being a longcut on a winding road over a good-sized mountain that makes the trip at least a half hour longer.  And you spend a night in a dog friendly Ramada inn, where the housekeeping staff forgot to completely clean the toilet.

But then you motor into Beaufort, South Carolina, and you make your way to the little house in the Town of Port Royal.  Then it’s all worth it.  Fog and panting are forgotten, because the view from your deck of the Beaufort River is wonderful.  Live oaks hung with Spanish moss shade the deck, and there’s a marina next door with a bar and restaurant.  The sun’s out and the temperature is close to 70.  And we’re on southern time.

AVATAR and Some Other Stuff

Eyak krikkka kah bdbdbd keaa! This means, "we lost the Oscar because of CG backlash" in Na'vi. I think that AVATAR, one of history's biggest films, didn't get the biggest awards because people are still more impressed by other live people performing on film than they are with computer generated or computer enhanced folk flying around, interacting, loving, and such. I must admit, that I haven't seen AVATAR, although I want to. I also haven't researched this particular opinion in any way, but if it is true, I'm pleased. . .not because I'd be right in my opinion, but because I would rather the work of people triumph over the work of machines, no matter how spectacular that machine work may be. (And I realize that it takes people to make those machines work, but the people don't emote on screen like totally live actors. Does that sound like a Valley Girl? "Totally live!") And what's with all this 3-D?

I haven't written about my writing in awhile, and since that was the original intent of The Blue Moon Grille, I should write something. At this moment, I have a play under consideration by Brooklyn Publishers, a short story entered in the Highlights Fiction Competition, a poem in the society of American Pen Women's contest, and a young adult novel in the Amazon/Penguin Books Novel contest. That's 1 work per major genre. I survived the first cut in the novel's competition. Mine was one of 1000 manuscripts accepted from the original 5000 entered. That isn't saying a terrible lot, but being 1 out of 5 isn't bad. The next cut will be announced on March 25, I believe. My blog can now be accessed from the Oneida Daily Dispatch Website, which is nice.

I am writing a lot everyday, what with my blog and SUMMERPLAY. I have already finished 1 play this winter, UNCLE HARVEY'S WAY, for which some summerplayers and I had a read-through and pronounced the play too dark for summer audiences. I hope to do a public reading of UNCLE HARVEY for a mature audience sometime in the future. I am close to completing my second play of the last few months, which is called THE GIRL WHO WAS READING NICHOLAS SPARKS. It is much more light-hearted and will allow a large cast of people of all ages and both sexes! I hope to pick up a few more young summerplayers for those who are growing up and moving away.

Ook atah ta ta (2 seconds of tongue rolling) boota! That means "thanks for reading" in a seldom-used Calcutta dialogue called Na'ru!

Greg Mortenson, Humanitarian

On Wednesday, we went to Auburn to hear Greg Mortenson speak.

The best word to describe Mortenson is humanitarian. In the early 1990's, he was climbing K-2, the second highest mountain in the world, which is on the border of Pakistan and China. The climb was to honor his sister who had died when she was 24. He was saddened that he didn't quite make the summit, but on the treacherous route down, he became lost and was eventually saved by the people of a small village in Pakistan. He fell in love with these people, and when he left, he promised to return and build a school for them.

He did, and since then Greg Mortenson and his Central Asia Institute have built dozens and dozens of schools, in both Afghanistan and Pakistan. I can't begin to impart very many of the lessons that Greg Mortenson presented in his approximately hour and a half lecture. There were so many. He told his audience that the most important voices in Pakistan and Afghanistan are the elders of the many little villages. It is these people who approach Mortenson and ask him to help them build a school. Mortenson has become a facilitator, although I don't much like that word. He helps the villagers get the supplies they need for a school, helps them along in construction, but always makes sure that the project is theirs, their special creation.

And Mortenson makes sure that these schools educate girls. Educating young women, he believes, is one of the surest ways to better all lives in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Girls, he explains, go home from school and teach their mothers. And read newspapers to their families. And become aware of the realities of modern life. He cited a very interesting example. Twenty years ago about 10%, I believe, of the female population of Bangladesh was literate. At the time, the average number of births per adult female was 8. Twenty years later, 60% of Bangladesh women are literate. Now the average number of births per adult female is 2.8. This figure is so important because Mortenson believes that a huge problem facing Asia is the exploding population.

With education, both poverty and fear can be defeated. Nearly everyone in Afghanistan and Pakistan want to defeat these two destroyers of life. The citizens of those countries have made Greg Mortenson their own. Not one of the schools he has helped construct has been destroyed by the Taliban, because the Taliban knows that these are schools of the people. Perhaps, my favorite story of the night was when Dr. Greg as he is called, although he isn't a doctor, told about this particularly rough group of elders from a village in Afghanistan, who wanted to see one of his schools before they committed to building their own. He arranged for a visit to a school that had a playground. When these tough, carbine-carrying men saw the swings and slide, they were entranced. Mortenson has a picture of two of the scariest Afghanis you'd ever want to meet swinging with huge grins on their faces, bullet-filled bandoleros across their chests. Men who had never gotten to play in their lives, played for an hour and a half, and when they were finally done, declared that they must have a school, as long as it had a playground.

Enough said. Read Mortenson's THREE CUPS OF TEA and STONES INTO SCHOOLS. Be amazed by a man who knows how peace is made and how life should be led. You will be moved and fascinated. And know this as well: one man can make a difference. Ten years ago, 800,ooo Afghani boys were going to school. Now, 8.2 million Afghani children are attending. Much of the thanks goes to Greg Mortenson, humanitarian.

A Brief Romantic Blog

This posting is in the response to the requests of both an old friend and of a sweet niece, for whom it could be sub-titled "How I Met Your Aunt Linda." It is the first or second day of school in the fall of 1969 and disturbingly hot in the halls of Chittenango High School. I am sweltering in a sport coat and tie because I believe that is the way a teacher must dress. The 13 English teachers, at least 5 of us newbies, attend the first English department meeting of the year in the upstairs teachers' room. Across from me sits Linda Baker, a lovely brunette in a blue dress. At least, I believe it was blue. I couldn't swear to it. Little do I guess that upon first glance, she doesn't like me. It's because I am wearing a suede sport coat and have a wide leather watch band. She thinks I must be one of those stuck on themselves, cool kind of guys, whom she doesn't care for. Needless to say we do not fall instantaneously in love.

But fortunately, Linda soon forgives me my deer skin jacket. She's very literary, so maybe my coat reminds her of Natty Bumppo. And gradually we fall in love. It helps that we teach ROMEO AND JULIET together to all the ninth graders at Chittenango High School. It helps that many of those ninth graders would choose to play Cupid and urge us together. For example, Sue Matina nee Myers delivers notes to me from Linda. Sue thought that was quite romantic, she reminded us not long ago.

Our love is also fueled by our proximity to each other during the hours off from school. Young teachers hang out together and party together, and there was a bunch of us new teachers, and we were a hanging and partying crew. It took almost 2 years until I asked her, in a cottage on Oneida Lake, to marry me, and a year later we were married and went honeymooning on Cape Cod. In the years that have followed we probably have been back to Cape Cod 100 times. Maybe more. We go back to the Cape for a little renewal, I guess, although I don't think we really need it. We always seem to be new to each other. Let me cite one of my favorite lines from OUR TOWN. On the morning of his son's wedding, Doc Gibbs admits to his wife that when they got married, "I was afraid we weren't going to have material for conversation more'n'd last us a few weeks. I was afraid we'd run out and eat our meals in silence. That's a fact. You and I have been conversing for 20 years now without any noticeable barren spells." For Linda and me, it has been 37 and 1/2 years.