A Writer's Tale

Oct. 16-18 We went to Tehachapi, visited the cowboy museum, then attended an air show at Edwards Air Force base with my brother Bob.

Oct. 28-29 I read and corrected the proofs for the Cemetery Dance edition of The Cellar.

Nov. 14 I received and began autographing the signature pages for The Cellar.

Dec. 6 I finished all except the wind-up section of The Midnight Tour.

Dec. 7 In a private chat room on the internet, John, Peter, Bob and I made some decisions regarding the contents, format, special features, number of copies to be published, prices, contract, etc. for A Writer’s Tale.

THESE THREE PIECES, TWO POEMS AND A WORK OF PROSE FICTION, were published in Helicon, the literary magazine of Glenbrook High School in 1961, when I was in the 9th grade. Somehow, I won a five dollar prize for one of them.

These are printed here exactly as they were published, in spite of my strong urges to revise them.

And I’m printing all three pieces, in spite of my almost overpowering urge to omit the Sousaphone poem.

Enjoy.

Or not.

He Never Lost His Head

Tim Harvey’d been a sad boy; He’d run away to sea. Now’s commander of a man-owar, Wounded and on his knee. The hull was blown to pieces. And most his crew was dead,

But ol’ Tim Harvey, Well, he never lost his head. He upped and fired the cannon And he sank the enemy. He hopped into a dinghy And he made far out to sea.

His food was almost not And the sun was bloody hot. And though his body Was filled with lead, Ol’ Tim Harvey, Well, he never lost his head. For days he made his way Through tossed-up water and nightblack sky,

Water smooth as glass And a sun that burned him fast, Till finally he spied a tropical isle And swam sharky waters for about a mile. He reached the beach Torn, half-dead, But Ol’ Tim Harvey, Well, he never lost his head.

Now big, fierce natives With spears and gleaming knives, Up and come a’ runnin’, To where Tim Harvey lies. They danced their wild dances As they poked him with their lances. Then they speared him nice and neat Until his heart had ceased to beat.

And then…  Tim Harvey, Well, he lost his bloomin’ head.

 

Ode to a Wayfaring Sousaphone (Tune of “Deep in the Heart of Texas”)

Your big round lips, Like paper clips, Boom, boom, boom, boom, They taste like iron filings. Your brassy skin, It feels like tin, Boom, boom, boom, boom, It’s filthy as a piston. Your lousy breath Will be my death, Boom, boom, boom, boom, Why don’t you brush your mouthpiece? Your voice is loud, It stuns a crowd.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, It’s low and sick and fuzzy. You’re big and broad. Oh yes, oh Lawd, Boom, boom, boom, boom, Ye gad! You sure are homely.

365 Days A Year

A TALL, RED-FACED BOY FINALLY REACHED HIS HOUSE AFTER A MILE’S walk from the high school. He opened the back door into the kitchen. His mother and Mrs. MacHony sat at the table sipping coffee.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. MacHony. Hi Mom.”

“Hello Sidney,” came from both.

“Think I’d better do my homework. Got an awful lot tonight.”

Sidney carried his three books upstairs to his room. He turned on the light, for the sky ‘was already becoming gray at five o’clock. The industrious student threw his geometry book onto his desk, first. He always did the homework that he hated most, first. After scanning three of the assigned problems, he decided to do one. He knew that he would receive total credit for working only one of the fifteen problems assigned. Problem finished, though undoubtedly wrong, he slammed the book shut and threw it aside.

History. Nothing but a long reading assignment. He could get away with skipping it.

English. Read twenty pages in the reading book. He cleared a pile of Miscellaneous Paraphernalia from his bed, then sprawled out on the bed, on his stomach. Boring story.

Every story in the book seemed boring.

The conversation in the kitchen suddenly toned down to whispers. Sidney’s eyes scanned the pages, but his ears closely followed the conversation. Secret tones were a sign that the two gossipers were saying something that they did not want a third person to hear.

“You know, you’re absolutely right. They are pampered too much.” The unwanted third person recognized his mother’s whisper.

“Yeah, they been sheltered, you know? When my husband was just in grammar school he got up at five to deliver papers!”

“John says the same thing. He says that these teenagers don’t know what ‘work is.

Actually, I believe that they don’t understand what a cruel world they live in. Some day they’ll come to a rude awakening. It’s extremely sad; everything is just handed to them.”

“That’s the business, gal.”

“My Sidney complains about shoveling an inch of snow. He makes excuses right and left.

Really! After all the things we do for him with no payment at all! He get’s $2.00 a week for doing absolutely nothing.”