My war against the Zoot Suits-part 4-draft
fiction
edward w pritchard
I saw one of my former students today. Marcus Williams. He works down in the County Recorders office. He is assistant manager of tax receipts. I told him he always was very bright.
He and I had a good laugh about the Zoot Suit War that seemed so important back then. I am just about seventy now and Marcus is over thirty. Both too old for warriors.
Marcus showed me some pictures. He has a daughter seven. She is a beautiful little girl. He married Zelda the girl I had tried to keep him away from back in the cafeteria that first year I taught at Goodyear High School. She was the unofficial cause of My war against the Zoot suits back then. Marcus had a picture of me in a suit, him in a zoot suit and Miss Jennings the Math teacher in her navy blue skirt. It's been a long time since I thought of Miss Jennings the math teacher.
I needed some concessions on paying my property tax this quarter. Actually I needed to make only a partial payment. Budget problems in my household. Marcus took good care of me. He always was one of my favorite students.
end
Sunday, July 31, 2011
My war against the Zoot Suits-part 3-draft
My war against the Zoot Suits-part 3-draft
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's been a long time since I wore a suit to work. The classic 1950's men's business suit is now de rigeur for us teachers and substitute teachers here at Goodyear High School. We are at war with some of our students; they wear zoot suits we wear business suits. Students look like Cab Calloway and teachers look like the classic 1950's organization man.
I have a meeting after school with Marcus Williams. Marcus is the leader of the students who call themselves Pachacos. Marcus was that first student cruising the cafeteria that I saw talking to the seventh grade female student that initiated the Zoot war. I am trying to prepare for our meeting but I am having trouble concentrating. Marcus is very astute and I must prepare properly; he is not really a kid, he's twenty or so and under normal circumstances would be in College.
I can't concentrate because of Miss Jennings the math teacher in my hall here. Apparently she likes older men in business suits. I am way too old for her but when I first saw her in that navy blue skirt I lost focus on teaching and I have been obsessing on her. To support us men teacher's in our war with the student Zoot suit wearers; some of the female teachers have started wearing very tight long skirts. Most don't look as good as Miss Jennings, who teaches two doors down the hall from me. She stands outside her door between classes and I watch her a lot.
I have to prepare for my meeting with Marcus Williams the leader of the zoots. Best try not to think of Miss Jennings. She's too young for me really.
end part 3
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's been a long time since I wore a suit to work. The classic 1950's men's business suit is now de rigeur for us teachers and substitute teachers here at Goodyear High School. We are at war with some of our students; they wear zoot suits we wear business suits. Students look like Cab Calloway and teachers look like the classic 1950's organization man.
I have a meeting after school with Marcus Williams. Marcus is the leader of the students who call themselves Pachacos. Marcus was that first student cruising the cafeteria that I saw talking to the seventh grade female student that initiated the Zoot war. I am trying to prepare for our meeting but I am having trouble concentrating. Marcus is very astute and I must prepare properly; he is not really a kid, he's twenty or so and under normal circumstances would be in College.
I can't concentrate because of Miss Jennings the math teacher in my hall here. Apparently she likes older men in business suits. I am way too old for her but when I first saw her in that navy blue skirt I lost focus on teaching and I have been obsessing on her. To support us men teacher's in our war with the student Zoot suit wearers; some of the female teachers have started wearing very tight long skirts. Most don't look as good as Miss Jennings, who teaches two doors down the hall from me. She stands outside her door between classes and I watch her a lot.
I have to prepare for my meeting with Marcus Williams the leader of the zoots. Best try not to think of Miss Jennings. She's too young for me really.
end part 3
My war against the Zoot Suits-part 2-draft
My war against the Zoot Suits-part 2-draft
fiction
edward w pritchard
The Zoot suit War started quietly in the cafeteria at lunch at Goodyear High School. I was on lunch duty and I was watching one of the seniors cruise the lunch room looking to pick up girls. He was handsome and seemed charming from what I could overhear. His line wasn't working too well with the girls his own age and he began to hit on the new seventh and eight grade girls who had been transferred up to the High School when the junior high school was closed in an effort to consolidate operations to focus resources on raising the standardized test scores. Eventually the senior who was about nineteen was hitting on thirteen year old girls who seemed to enjoy the attention.
To protect the younger girls, as the special project for the year, I initiated the policy that the male students had to wear suits to school. Men's suits to help them behave properly toward the younger female students. It seemed like a good idea; I see now my idea was misdirected meddling. Things went very wrong.
The male students in protest started to wear zoot suits.
What's a zoot suit? It's a flamboyant long coat with baggy pegged pants. What accessories go with it? The hat is called a pork pie hat, and one wears a long long key chain . Shoes have thick soles. The look was perfected by Latino's in the 1940's and in their honor our students here called themselves Pachocos. Our Pachocos were impeccably groomed and they moved about with a glide and if they were standing still they tended to pose.
Like the 1940's, oh did our male students look cool and oh did their game fascinate the girls. We had a mess on our hands and I was in the center of it. I had disrupted the learning environment with my meddling and as our students solidified against our authority , in zoot uniform, actually a costume: the stage was set for a confrontation. In the 1940's they called them the zoot suit riots, here and now they are known as the zoot suit wars. The only piece missing was for the teachers and administration here at the school to don a uniform and a persona of our own in solidarity and after that happened things moved quickly to the denouement.
end part 2
end part 2
fiction
edward w pritchard
The Zoot suit War started quietly in the cafeteria at lunch at Goodyear High School. I was on lunch duty and I was watching one of the seniors cruise the lunch room looking to pick up girls. He was handsome and seemed charming from what I could overhear. His line wasn't working too well with the girls his own age and he began to hit on the new seventh and eight grade girls who had been transferred up to the High School when the junior high school was closed in an effort to consolidate operations to focus resources on raising the standardized test scores. Eventually the senior who was about nineteen was hitting on thirteen year old girls who seemed to enjoy the attention.
To protect the younger girls, as the special project for the year, I initiated the policy that the male students had to wear suits to school. Men's suits to help them behave properly toward the younger female students. It seemed like a good idea; I see now my idea was misdirected meddling. Things went very wrong.
The male students in protest started to wear zoot suits.
What's a zoot suit? It's a flamboyant long coat with baggy pegged pants. What accessories go with it? The hat is called a pork pie hat, and one wears a long long key chain . Shoes have thick soles. The look was perfected by Latino's in the 1940's and in their honor our students here called themselves Pachocos. Our Pachocos were impeccably groomed and they moved about with a glide and if they were standing still they tended to pose.
Like the 1940's, oh did our male students look cool and oh did their game fascinate the girls. We had a mess on our hands and I was in the center of it. I had disrupted the learning environment with my meddling and as our students solidified against our authority , in zoot uniform, actually a costume: the stage was set for a confrontation. In the 1940's they called them the zoot suit riots, here and now they are known as the zoot suit wars. The only piece missing was for the teachers and administration here at the school to don a uniform and a persona of our own in solidarity and after that happened things moved quickly to the denouement.
end part 2
end part 2
Saturday, July 30, 2011
My war against the Zoot Suits
My war against the Zoot Suits
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am just a substitute teacher here in my elderly years; low status, low income. This Fall term I got a long term assignment because the regular Social studies teacher was in a car accident on her way home from teaching the first day of the school year. She would be off with a broken hip for five or more months.
It is at an inner City school here in Akron, Ohio with the normal problems of not enough students achieving an acceptable passing rate on the state mandated standardized tests. I am about normal as a teacher in skills but because of my voracious reading habits on historical materials and my writing social studies is a very easy class for me to teach. As such I was a little bored in my new assignment and as people are want to do in such situations I began to mettle a little. As I was by chance the teachers union representative for special projects this year, because the Lady with the broken hip had volunteered for the non paid extra duty last Spring; I had a circumstance to become involved in the students lives in an extra ordinary way for the next five months.
Through a series of events, initiated naively by me, I became at war with about twenty per cent of the older male students here at Goodyear High school in what was later to be called "My war against the Zoot Suits.
Here's what went down that Fall of 2011;
end part 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
I am just a substitute teacher here in my elderly years; low status, low income. This Fall term I got a long term assignment because the regular Social studies teacher was in a car accident on her way home from teaching the first day of the school year. She would be off with a broken hip for five or more months.
It is at an inner City school here in Akron, Ohio with the normal problems of not enough students achieving an acceptable passing rate on the state mandated standardized tests. I am about normal as a teacher in skills but because of my voracious reading habits on historical materials and my writing social studies is a very easy class for me to teach. As such I was a little bored in my new assignment and as people are want to do in such situations I began to mettle a little. As I was by chance the teachers union representative for special projects this year, because the Lady with the broken hip had volunteered for the non paid extra duty last Spring; I had a circumstance to become involved in the students lives in an extra ordinary way for the next five months.
Through a series of events, initiated naively by me, I became at war with about twenty per cent of the older male students here at Goodyear High school in what was later to be called "My war against the Zoot Suits.
Here's what went down that Fall of 2011;
end part 1
Friday, July 29, 2011
Moody's might downgrade the United States debt rating
Moody's might downgrade the United States debt rating
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's stranger than fiction. You can't make this stuff up. Moody's might downgrade the United States debt rating in the next few days. Moody's, the rating agency today sits in judgment on all us Americans collectively for our inability through our governmental representatives to pass a debt extension bill in the Congress and Senate by August 2, 2011. A downgrade would raise the cost of US bonds and the higher interest costs would eliminate lots of worthwhile programs to help struggling US citizens, such as handicapped children, homeless people, disabled veterans and other worthy recipients.
Meanwhile Moody's apparently have been forgiven for the fiasco they helped cause in 2008 with the sub-prime crisis, structured finance crisis, and various other chicaneries they did and that were overlooked from 2002 through a few months ago.
The fallen woman[ Moody's] has been cleaned up, put on a new dress and came into the church and is preaching to the congregation [US tax payers] about how to behave. A corporation [Moody's] has no soul, no shame, and no conscience. It's just sad. It has the feel of the final days of the Roman empire about it.
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's stranger than fiction. You can't make this stuff up. Moody's might downgrade the United States debt rating in the next few days. Moody's, the rating agency today sits in judgment on all us Americans collectively for our inability through our governmental representatives to pass a debt extension bill in the Congress and Senate by August 2, 2011. A downgrade would raise the cost of US bonds and the higher interest costs would eliminate lots of worthwhile programs to help struggling US citizens, such as handicapped children, homeless people, disabled veterans and other worthy recipients.
Meanwhile Moody's apparently have been forgiven for the fiasco they helped cause in 2008 with the sub-prime crisis, structured finance crisis, and various other chicaneries they did and that were overlooked from 2002 through a few months ago.
The fallen woman[ Moody's] has been cleaned up, put on a new dress and came into the church and is preaching to the congregation [US tax payers] about how to behave. A corporation [Moody's] has no soul, no shame, and no conscience. It's just sad. It has the feel of the final days of the Roman empire about it.
Frankie's Room-with footnotes
Friday, July 29, 2011
Frankie's room-with footnotes
Frankie's room
fiction
edward w pritchard
Frankie's room done in posters,
Hendrix, Brownmiller, and Einstein; [1]
Frankie's room empty now.
Frankie's room smells of cinnamon incense, [2]
peace movements, war protest, and little girl's idealism. [3]
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone.
Frankie's room have yellow spotted fishing lure on shelf, [4]
Frankie catch bigger fish than me in Canada.
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone, cancer take my daughter.
Frankie's room very clean now, not like before,
My wife keep her daughter's room and whole house very clean now,
me sit in Frankie's room and reminisce lots of times.
Frankie's room is empty now, my girl is gone, cancer takes my only daughter.
House empty now, house very clean.[5]
fiction
edward w pritchard
Frankie's room done in posters,
Hendrix, Brownmiller, and Einstein; [1]
Frankie's room empty now.
Frankie's room smells of cinnamon incense, [2]
peace movements, war protest, and little girl's idealism. [3]
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone.
Frankie's room have yellow spotted fishing lure on shelf, [4]
Frankie catch bigger fish than me in Canada.
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone, cancer take my daughter.
Frankie's room very clean now, not like before,
My wife keep her daughter's room and whole house very clean now,
me sit in Frankie's room and reminisce lots of times.
Frankie's room is empty now, my girl is gone, cancer takes my only daughter.
House empty now, house very clean.[5]
Frankie's room
Frankie's room
fiction
edward w pritchard
Frankie's room done in posters,
Hendrix, Brownmiller, and Einstein;
Frankie's room empty now.
Frankie's room smells of cinnamon incense,
peace movements, war protest, and little girl's idealism.
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone.
Frankie's room have yellow spotted fishing lure on shelf,
Frankie catch bigger fish than me in Canada.
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone, cancer take my daughter.
Frankie's room very clean now, not like before,
My wife keep her daughter's room and whole house very clean now,
me sit in Frankie's room and reminisce lots of times.
Frankie's room is empty now, my girl is gone, cancer takes my only daughter.
House empty now, house very clean.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Frankie's room done in posters,
Hendrix, Brownmiller, and Einstein;
Frankie's room empty now.
Frankie's room smells of cinnamon incense,
peace movements, war protest, and little girl's idealism.
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone.
Frankie's room have yellow spotted fishing lure on shelf,
Frankie catch bigger fish than me in Canada.
Frankie's room empty now, my girl gone, cancer take my daughter.
Frankie's room very clean now, not like before,
My wife keep her daughter's room and whole house very clean now,
me sit in Frankie's room and reminisce lots of times.
Frankie's room is empty now, my girl is gone, cancer takes my only daughter.
House empty now, house very clean.
Monday, July 25, 2011
August 2011 budget deadline
August 2011 budget deadline
fiction
edward w pritchard
Mortgage payment, semi annual property taxes and electric bill all due on August 1st. Limited funds due to seasonal shifts in employment in the household. At the national level some sort of debt ceiling crisis is in the news.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Mortgage payment, semi annual property taxes and electric bill all due on August 1st. Limited funds due to seasonal shifts in employment in the household. At the national level some sort of debt ceiling crisis is in the news.
no one to talk to, no choice but to comply
no one to talk to, no choice but to comply
fiction
edward w pritchard
If I was brave, If I was forceful, If I was determined I wouldn't have to kill myself; but if I was brave, forceful and determined I wouldn't have a problem. I would be accepted in the Hitler youth, I wouldn't be tormented for being weak, and my problem would vanish for I would among be the strong myself, a tormentor rather than a victim of daily hazings and bullying. I am too cowardly to kill myself so the beatings continue.
My tormentors have been warned, they may not leave a bruise anymore. Mostly I am now thumped. An open hand to the upper back or the arm. Often, by many. Verbal abuse too, my adult instructors use me as the stock example in most stories of Decadent German youth. Only the Jews suffer more verbal abuse than me, and of course, Jews don't have to be in the Hitler Youth at age 14 nor do they attend the daily party lectures like I do.
My parents have sold me out to the Party. They forced me to join the Hitlerjugen. Without a connection with the Nazi party my life will be difficult says my Father, for the Nazi's will have their way in Germany for the foreseeable future. Both my Mother and Father have forsaken me, their only child, for expediency's sake. It's been ninety days that I have been in the Hitler youth and I was out of step immediately. Implicitly odd balls like me are targeted for abuse to either toughen us up and as an example to the other boys. Also bullying is natural, a logical out-flowing of the the Party's philosophy.
It's nearly impossible to get away from the Nazi philosophy here in Hamburg in 1936. The only break I get from the Hitler youth is when I am at my Grand father's farm.
My Grandfather hates the Nazi's, but he says I have to man up, like he did in World War One. That's why they leave him alone. He is a veteran, and a highly decorated enlisted man. The local Nazi's let Grandfather rant partly because of his war injuries, some to his head. Me I have to carefully follow the party philosophy even in my secret thoughts. Because I am watched I never know who is listening or who is watching my expressions as I go about my day. Only at my Grand Father's farm thirty miles East of Hamburg do I feel safe and secure from scrutiny.
When my Grand Father saw the bruises on my arms he told me the story about his sergeant in World War one. My Grand Father was one of three enlisted men suspected of shooting their platoon sergeant. As the sergeant lead his men from a trench, the sergeant was shot three times from the back. My Grand Father says I must learn to confront my problems with bullying at school that same way.
Grand Father doesn't understand. These Nazi;s are different. They are ubiquitous. Every day there are more and more Nazi's and they become more and more powerful. I am one of them. I told my Grand Father that if I wasn't thought to have the potential to be a valuable party member some day I would be in a work camp or maybe dead by now. As for Grand Father's story about his sergeant, I am sure that the Nazi's have a file on Grand Father and his tenacity is one of the reasons I am thought to have potential and why the Party takes the trouble to groom me for the future. For now, today at least I can relax here at Grand Father's farm. Tom-morrow though it's back to the lectures and the party. Perhaps I can start to pick at some of the younger children when I return to classes. It's a way to direct attention from myself and allow me to fit in better.
What can I learn from Grand Father's story of his sergeant that will help me survive in the Hitler youth? I must have it in me to be able to cope. Grand Father did it, so can I.
fiction
edward w pritchard
If I was brave, If I was forceful, If I was determined I wouldn't have to kill myself; but if I was brave, forceful and determined I wouldn't have a problem. I would be accepted in the Hitler youth, I wouldn't be tormented for being weak, and my problem would vanish for I would among be the strong myself, a tormentor rather than a victim of daily hazings and bullying. I am too cowardly to kill myself so the beatings continue.
My tormentors have been warned, they may not leave a bruise anymore. Mostly I am now thumped. An open hand to the upper back or the arm. Often, by many. Verbal abuse too, my adult instructors use me as the stock example in most stories of Decadent German youth. Only the Jews suffer more verbal abuse than me, and of course, Jews don't have to be in the Hitler Youth at age 14 nor do they attend the daily party lectures like I do.
My parents have sold me out to the Party. They forced me to join the Hitlerjugen. Without a connection with the Nazi party my life will be difficult says my Father, for the Nazi's will have their way in Germany for the foreseeable future. Both my Mother and Father have forsaken me, their only child, for expediency's sake. It's been ninety days that I have been in the Hitler youth and I was out of step immediately. Implicitly odd balls like me are targeted for abuse to either toughen us up and as an example to the other boys. Also bullying is natural, a logical out-flowing of the the Party's philosophy.
It's nearly impossible to get away from the Nazi philosophy here in Hamburg in 1936. The only break I get from the Hitler youth is when I am at my Grand father's farm.
My Grandfather hates the Nazi's, but he says I have to man up, like he did in World War One. That's why they leave him alone. He is a veteran, and a highly decorated enlisted man. The local Nazi's let Grandfather rant partly because of his war injuries, some to his head. Me I have to carefully follow the party philosophy even in my secret thoughts. Because I am watched I never know who is listening or who is watching my expressions as I go about my day. Only at my Grand Father's farm thirty miles East of Hamburg do I feel safe and secure from scrutiny.
When my Grand Father saw the bruises on my arms he told me the story about his sergeant in World War one. My Grand Father was one of three enlisted men suspected of shooting their platoon sergeant. As the sergeant lead his men from a trench, the sergeant was shot three times from the back. My Grand Father says I must learn to confront my problems with bullying at school that same way.
Grand Father doesn't understand. These Nazi;s are different. They are ubiquitous. Every day there are more and more Nazi's and they become more and more powerful. I am one of them. I told my Grand Father that if I wasn't thought to have the potential to be a valuable party member some day I would be in a work camp or maybe dead by now. As for Grand Father's story about his sergeant, I am sure that the Nazi's have a file on Grand Father and his tenacity is one of the reasons I am thought to have potential and why the Party takes the trouble to groom me for the future. For now, today at least I can relax here at Grand Father's farm. Tom-morrow though it's back to the lectures and the party. Perhaps I can start to pick at some of the younger children when I return to classes. It's a way to direct attention from myself and allow me to fit in better.
What can I learn from Grand Father's story of his sergeant that will help me survive in the Hitler youth? I must have it in me to be able to cope. Grand Father did it, so can I.
today's work- summer rerun
today's work
fiction
edward w pritchard
to myself
Two saw horses were in the drive way and an old door was stretched across them. Lance had work for the day and he was bustling about Mrs. Winslow's drive, yard and the entrance way to her house. He measured and cut and leveled and stained and beveled and carried and after 7 or eight hours Mrs. Winston inspected and paid. Mrs. Winston was happy and would have Lance back again in the future for small repairs.
Today was a good day for Lance and it was 4:00 and he checked his cell phone for messages. No work yet for tomorrow. Keep the faith something will come up maybe.
Mrs. Winslow paid in cash $175. Lance took twenty dollars for himself and put the rest deep into the pockets of his wallet for materials and to pay his bills. Driving home he stopped at the Wal Mart and bought his four year old daughter a doll from the Disney Company.
Coming out of the Wal Mart, Lance checked his phone again. No messages yet, no work yet for tomorrow. Maybe something will still come up.
fiction
edward w pritchard
to myself
Two saw horses were in the drive way and an old door was stretched across them. Lance had work for the day and he was bustling about Mrs. Winslow's drive, yard and the entrance way to her house. He measured and cut and leveled and stained and beveled and carried and after 7 or eight hours Mrs. Winston inspected and paid. Mrs. Winston was happy and would have Lance back again in the future for small repairs.
Today was a good day for Lance and it was 4:00 and he checked his cell phone for messages. No work yet for tomorrow. Keep the faith something will come up maybe.
Mrs. Winslow paid in cash $175. Lance took twenty dollars for himself and put the rest deep into the pockets of his wallet for materials and to pay his bills. Driving home he stopped at the Wal Mart and bought his four year old daughter a doll from the Disney Company.
Coming out of the Wal Mart, Lance checked his phone again. No messages yet, no work yet for tomorrow. Maybe something will still come up.
flooded in soup, a night in the suburbs
flooded in soup, a night in the suburbs
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was important to my Sister and it was one of those things that I couldn't say no to. Watching her three kids on a Sunday night while her and her friend went to a concert at a small theater in the city to our North. I would go to the friend's house and stay with my Sister's friend's husband and help watch the kids. They had two children and my Sister three.
We went to basement entertainment room and watched Sunday night NFL football. The children were playing on the floor above us and the two women had left for their concert thirty minutes ago. The husband Herb, told me to just watch the game the children would be fine. My sister's three, 7, 10 and 12, and his 8 and 12. My children were grown but my instincts told me to keep an eye on things.
Herb was difficult to hear. He talked softly and droned on a bit about the utilities industry where he worked. We watched the game and drank a beer, him in his expensive recliner and me on the comfortable couch.
Eventually I went upstairs to check on things. A large two floor split style house with bedrooms on second floor, and living area for the family on the first. The children had emptied maybe twenty games and various toys everywhere. My nephew seven and his friend had torn a lot of posters and things from walls in the kitchen. In the family room, the boxes were strung about everywhere; the Christmas tree was still up, it was August, and the boxes were full of presents that hadn't been put away. The table in the dinning room was piled with neat piles of books, magazines, and the Wife's work supplies; but some of the piles had been neatly moved to the floor so my Sister's daughter ten and Herb's daughter 12 could play monopoly.
Herb was upset that the piles had been moved from the table and that the poster's had been removed from the walls in the kitchen. I worked on putting the game pieces back away and Herb used a stapler to hang the posters back on the walls in the kitchen. The children sat in the upstairs living room quietly and watched a movies on the Net flicks while we worked.
There was stuff everywhere. I had came in directly to the basement entertainment room with my Sister when we arrived and hadn't seen the mess in the house. Herb's TV room had been straightened for my visit. I was still sorting game pieces when my Sister and Lydia her friend arrived. They had only stayed for half the show but were both in a good mood.
Both women sat at the table and had some flavored coffee for a few minutes before we left. Lydia put the piles of her stuff back on the kitchen table from the floor when she first sat down. Herb told her about the posters in the kitchen. The kids gyrated to the kitchen table to hear about the concert. I kept putting things away until my Sister forced me to go watch the football game again. Just before we left my Sister's husband came by from work. My brother-in-law had gotten off early so I didn't have to drive my Sister home. The kids were all in by the Christmas tree playing with the toys when I left. The two men were in the basement watching the football game and the women were sitting at the table drinking flavored coffee.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
It was important to my Sister and it was one of those things that I couldn't say no to. Watching her three kids on a Sunday night while her and her friend went to a concert at a small theater in the city to our North. I would go to the friend's house and stay with my Sister's friend's husband and help watch the kids. They had two children and my Sister three.
We went to basement entertainment room and watched Sunday night NFL football. The children were playing on the floor above us and the two women had left for their concert thirty minutes ago. The husband Herb, told me to just watch the game the children would be fine. My sister's three, 7, 10 and 12, and his 8 and 12. My children were grown but my instincts told me to keep an eye on things.
Herb was difficult to hear. He talked softly and droned on a bit about the utilities industry where he worked. We watched the game and drank a beer, him in his expensive recliner and me on the comfortable couch.
Eventually I went upstairs to check on things. A large two floor split style house with bedrooms on second floor, and living area for the family on the first. The children had emptied maybe twenty games and various toys everywhere. My nephew seven and his friend had torn a lot of posters and things from walls in the kitchen. In the family room, the boxes were strung about everywhere; the Christmas tree was still up, it was August, and the boxes were full of presents that hadn't been put away. The table in the dinning room was piled with neat piles of books, magazines, and the Wife's work supplies; but some of the piles had been neatly moved to the floor so my Sister's daughter ten and Herb's daughter 12 could play monopoly.
Herb was upset that the piles had been moved from the table and that the poster's had been removed from the walls in the kitchen. I worked on putting the game pieces back away and Herb used a stapler to hang the posters back on the walls in the kitchen. The children sat in the upstairs living room quietly and watched a movies on the Net flicks while we worked.
There was stuff everywhere. I had came in directly to the basement entertainment room with my Sister when we arrived and hadn't seen the mess in the house. Herb's TV room had been straightened for my visit. I was still sorting game pieces when my Sister and Lydia her friend arrived. They had only stayed for half the show but were both in a good mood.
Both women sat at the table and had some flavored coffee for a few minutes before we left. Lydia put the piles of her stuff back on the kitchen table from the floor when she first sat down. Herb told her about the posters in the kitchen. The kids gyrated to the kitchen table to hear about the concert. I kept putting things away until my Sister forced me to go watch the football game again. Just before we left my Sister's husband came by from work. My brother-in-law had gotten off early so I didn't have to drive my Sister home. The kids were all in by the Christmas tree playing with the toys when I left. The two men were in the basement watching the football game and the women were sitting at the table drinking flavored coffee.
end
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
gay marriage, our position
gay marriage, our position
fiction
edward w pritchard
Most people want to conform and the institutions and mores that we saw about us as children have a strong influence on what we see as acceptable behavior. Gay people embrace the normal institutions of our society and marriage is one of the corners stones of stability and many benefits accrue to married couples. A couple, sanctioned by marriage, enjoy many advantages in enduring the slings and arrows of fortune.
Gay people should enjoy all the benefits of the institution of marriage. If someone you cared for should be destined by fate to be Gay wouldn't you wish them every opportunity for happiness? Look into your heart and find the empathy to support the right of Gay couples to marry if they so choose.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Most people want to conform and the institutions and mores that we saw about us as children have a strong influence on what we see as acceptable behavior. Gay people embrace the normal institutions of our society and marriage is one of the corners stones of stability and many benefits accrue to married couples. A couple, sanctioned by marriage, enjoy many advantages in enduring the slings and arrows of fortune.
Gay people should enjoy all the benefits of the institution of marriage. If someone you cared for should be destined by fate to be Gay wouldn't you wish them every opportunity for happiness? Look into your heart and find the empathy to support the right of Gay couples to marry if they so choose.
no full time employees needed anymore
no full time employees needed anymore
fiction
edward w pritchard
No full time employees needed anymore. Employers have to be brutally self interested to survive. Especially if they run a small shop, the kind that is supposed to create all the jobs.They have to stay at arms length from their employees in these times of uncertainty caused by government interference in the economy and wholesale changes in the American way of life.
Expectations of people looking for work haven't adjusted to sea changes in the work-world. We want paternalism at work, we want to be on the team, we want to be special. What a person does at work is a large part of who they are.
It's difficult to change your expectations about a situation. Some would rather sink than adjust. At what point will everyone be effected if many people will not adjust to changes in the employment relationship between employer and employee especially significant to society with small businesses employing ten people or less. How to adapt?
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
No full time employees needed anymore. Employers have to be brutally self interested to survive. Especially if they run a small shop, the kind that is supposed to create all the jobs.They have to stay at arms length from their employees in these times of uncertainty caused by government interference in the economy and wholesale changes in the American way of life.
Expectations of people looking for work haven't adjusted to sea changes in the work-world. We want paternalism at work, we want to be on the team, we want to be special. What a person does at work is a large part of who they are.
It's difficult to change your expectations about a situation. Some would rather sink than adjust. At what point will everyone be effected if many people will not adjust to changes in the employment relationship between employer and employee especially significant to society with small businesses employing ten people or less. How to adapt?
end
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
shell game scam
shell game scam
The NFL players are on strike and them and the owners refuse to have a pro football season this year. How shall we survive. The shell game involves three walnut shells and a pea is placed under one shell.
If lawmakers in Washington DC do not pass a new debt ceiling they will not get paid after August 1, 2011; others may be effected as well. Also known as thimblerig or the old army the shell game is a scam pulled off at resorts and casinos where a rube is targeted based on the basic greed of most people to fall for the trick of quick riches.
Banks are about to fail, Greece, Spain and Portugal and your neighbors are about to default, and twenty five per cent of Americans are under water on their homes. Watch closely, keep your eye on the shell, which has the pea under it. Spin, spin, spin. Good, Good now let's speed things up, watch the price of gold, the yield on a ten year bond, dollar versus Euro ratio, housing prices in selected cities, CNN financial news, your job prospects. What about retirement, where will you spend eternity[ yahoo says ten things to consider before you die unexpectedly]. Is your neighborhood safe. How's your hometown MLB team doing. Watch the shells , are you happy and content yet. Spin, spin, spin, keep your eyes on the shells sonny.
The NFL players are on strike and them and the owners refuse to have a pro football season this year. How shall we survive. The shell game involves three walnut shells and a pea is placed under one shell.
If lawmakers in Washington DC do not pass a new debt ceiling they will not get paid after August 1, 2011; others may be effected as well. Also known as thimblerig or the old army the shell game is a scam pulled off at resorts and casinos where a rube is targeted based on the basic greed of most people to fall for the trick of quick riches.
Banks are about to fail, Greece, Spain and Portugal and your neighbors are about to default, and twenty five per cent of Americans are under water on their homes. Watch closely, keep your eye on the shell, which has the pea under it. Spin, spin, spin. Good, Good now let's speed things up, watch the price of gold, the yield on a ten year bond, dollar versus Euro ratio, housing prices in selected cities, CNN financial news, your job prospects. What about retirement, where will you spend eternity[ yahoo says ten things to consider before you die unexpectedly]. Is your neighborhood safe. How's your hometown MLB team doing. Watch the shells , are you happy and content yet. Spin, spin, spin, keep your eyes on the shells sonny.
Recycling-repost
Recycling- repost
author liked this and posted it again
fiction
edward w pritchard
Here in Louisville, Ohio we are very environmentally conscious. That's why I am taking my brother Few to be recycled. It's not the money.
Few died last night.
Green movement or not I will not pay the transport fee. In it's obsession with taxation my township has imposed a transport fee on bringing bodies in for recycling. At the recycling center, right next to the canister for broken glass and old papers is a chemical reducer to return a body to it's original elements.
I just put my brother Few in the backseat of the car and we are just pulling into the recycle facility. All of the containers are green except the chemical reducer which is a very soft shade of blue. Like moonlight after a storm at sea.
I think i will hire the minister on duty over there in the trailer to perform a brief service. Few was my Brother after all.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Here in Louisville, Ohio we are very environmentally conscious. That's why I am taking my brother Few to be recycled. It's not the money.
Few died last night.
Green movement or not I will not pay the transport fee. In it's obsession with taxation my township has imposed a transport fee on bringing bodies in for recycling. At the recycling center, right next to the canister for broken glass and old papers is a chemical reducer to return a body to it's original elements.
I just put my brother Few in the backseat of the car and we are just pulling into the recycle facility. All of the containers are green except the chemical reducer which is a very soft shade of blue. Like moonlight after a storm at sea.
I think i will hire the minister on duty over there in the trailer to perform a brief service. Few was my Brother after all.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Jesus talks on marketing
Jesus talks on marketing
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's surreal down here where Tennessee, North Carolina, and Southern Virginia come together. Cherokee territory, the Indians who hid in the Mountains to survive the trail of tears. Allegheny mountain folks, different than others. It's hard to sell real estate here anymore; everyone wants to be and go somewhere else.
That's my line commercial real estate sales, for forty years. Since I was eighteen. I drive around a lot looking for listings. I know most everyone down here. I stopped at the closed High Hat diner as I drove by because a young man was cleaning up the yard and property. After talking to him for a while I found out he is Jesus, Jesus come back to earth for a while. He is preparing for some things he said, he is not at liberty to tell why just yet.
Jesus wants to use sweat equity to buy the High Hat Diner. I have put a deal together and I am now on my way to present it to Watkins Burrows over in Marion, Virginia, the owner of several gas stations and restaurants down here. It's not a strong deal. Little cash, none actually going in from the buyer and several months of no rent payments until the new place gets going. Jesus says present the deal to Mr. Burrows; Jesus says when he reopens the New High Hat diner and announces his new business plan people from all over the three State area here will come to him. Sounds unlikely to me, but I am bound by my code of ethics to present all deals. It would be nice to get a fine restaurant going again back in the Mountains. You know one of those kinds of restaurants with an over hang on the front of the small building where if it's raining the passengers don't get wet when you drop them off to go inside and at the counter in front while the Dad pays the bill the children can look at and buy rock samples to take home and keep in their rooms. I just present the deals, I don't judge whether they should be done or not.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
It's surreal down here where Tennessee, North Carolina, and Southern Virginia come together. Cherokee territory, the Indians who hid in the Mountains to survive the trail of tears. Allegheny mountain folks, different than others. It's hard to sell real estate here anymore; everyone wants to be and go somewhere else.
That's my line commercial real estate sales, for forty years. Since I was eighteen. I drive around a lot looking for listings. I know most everyone down here. I stopped at the closed High Hat diner as I drove by because a young man was cleaning up the yard and property. After talking to him for a while I found out he is Jesus, Jesus come back to earth for a while. He is preparing for some things he said, he is not at liberty to tell why just yet.
Jesus wants to use sweat equity to buy the High Hat Diner. I have put a deal together and I am now on my way to present it to Watkins Burrows over in Marion, Virginia, the owner of several gas stations and restaurants down here. It's not a strong deal. Little cash, none actually going in from the buyer and several months of no rent payments until the new place gets going. Jesus says present the deal to Mr. Burrows; Jesus says when he reopens the New High Hat diner and announces his new business plan people from all over the three State area here will come to him. Sounds unlikely to me, but I am bound by my code of ethics to present all deals. It would be nice to get a fine restaurant going again back in the Mountains. You know one of those kinds of restaurants with an over hang on the front of the small building where if it's raining the passengers don't get wet when you drop them off to go inside and at the counter in front while the Dad pays the bill the children can look at and buy rock samples to take home and keep in their rooms. I just present the deals, I don't judge whether they should be done or not.
end
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Marion Harris for the record
Marion Harris for the record
see Bessie Smith sang it second- previous post
fiction
edward w pritchard
These girl singers today when they lose their looks have their money to fall back on. Well I just want to say wow, I have to be better than Bessie Smith to get a kind word said about me?
I wasn't born to a well to do family. This writer guy has that just plain wrong. Don't blame the writer guy though for that; I am a hard singer to research. My life was hard. Early success and then trouble, trouble with men and trouble with the studios and the record labels. It gave me the blues and caused my sadness. I know that that Bessie Smith had a hard life too. Try being a woman in 1920.
I tried to keep my problems to myself. What else do I have to say. Obviously this writer guy likes Bessie Smith, but I think my " After your Gone" is better. My advice to these young girls singers today. Record the standards while you have your voice and before they start to criticize your looks.
end
see Bessie Smith sang it second- previous post
fiction
edward w pritchard
These girl singers today when they lose their looks have their money to fall back on. Well I just want to say wow, I have to be better than Bessie Smith to get a kind word said about me?
I wasn't born to a well to do family. This writer guy has that just plain wrong. Don't blame the writer guy though for that; I am a hard singer to research. My life was hard. Early success and then trouble, trouble with men and trouble with the studios and the record labels. It gave me the blues and caused my sadness. I know that that Bessie Smith had a hard life too. Try being a woman in 1920.
I tried to keep my problems to myself. What else do I have to say. Obviously this writer guy likes Bessie Smith, but I think my " After your Gone" is better. My advice to these young girls singers today. Record the standards while you have your voice and before they start to criticize your looks.
end
Bessie Smith sang it second
Bessie Smith sang it second
fiction
edward w pritchard
Most people take as axiomatic that Black Americans put the soul in twentieth century American music. Comparing just Black and White singers, there is something maybe imparted from the prejudiced and suffering Black people endured throughout the first three quarters of the twentieth century that results in the early blues of Black Americans being superior to that of White Americans singing the same genre of songs. Today we shall test this using Bessie Smith and Marion Harris.
Marion Harris [1896 - April 23, 1944] first sang and recorded "St Louis Blues" and "A Good Man Is Hard to Find", and "After Your Gone", later, [five or ten years], recorded by Bessie Smith. Of good family, Harris performed in vaudeville and pre-1920 became the first female white musician to record the blues. WC Handy the Black composer, who wrote St Louis Blues , said this of Marion Harris "she played the blues so well that people sometimes thought she was colored" So Marion Harris, white blues pioneer recorded the three classic blues songs first and Bessie Smith perhaps the greatest female blues singer ever recorded them second. Who had the superior performances judged by the recordings of these three songs.
Marion Harris has perfect diction on her songs and there is a sadness conveyed that moves the listener. Her performance of "After your Gone" is comparable to Bessie Smith's. However Bessie Smith's performance of St Louis Blues is with out compare and of "A Good Man is Hard to Find" is the standard for that song. Maybe a tie on "After your Gone" and large advantage to Bessie Smith on the other two songs.
Why is Bessie Smith's music the penultimate? Did she bring a suffering to a performance because she was a dark skinned Black woman, a larger woman or was it because of her humble roots. Hard to know. Listen to both singers particularly when you are sad and down yourself. Marion Harris was talented but no singer Black or White compares to Bessie Smith.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Most people take as axiomatic that Black Americans put the soul in twentieth century American music. Comparing just Black and White singers, there is something maybe imparted from the prejudiced and suffering Black people endured throughout the first three quarters of the twentieth century that results in the early blues of Black Americans being superior to that of White Americans singing the same genre of songs. Today we shall test this using Bessie Smith and Marion Harris.
Marion Harris [1896 - April 23, 1944] first sang and recorded "St Louis Blues" and "A Good Man Is Hard to Find", and "After Your Gone", later, [five or ten years], recorded by Bessie Smith. Of good family, Harris performed in vaudeville and pre-1920 became the first female white musician to record the blues. WC Handy the Black composer, who wrote St Louis Blues , said this of Marion Harris "she played the blues so well that people sometimes thought she was colored" So Marion Harris, white blues pioneer recorded the three classic blues songs first and Bessie Smith perhaps the greatest female blues singer ever recorded them second. Who had the superior performances judged by the recordings of these three songs.
Marion Harris has perfect diction on her songs and there is a sadness conveyed that moves the listener. Her performance of "After your Gone" is comparable to Bessie Smith's. However Bessie Smith's performance of St Louis Blues is with out compare and of "A Good Man is Hard to Find" is the standard for that song. Maybe a tie on "After your Gone" and large advantage to Bessie Smith on the other two songs.
Why is Bessie Smith's music the penultimate? Did she bring a suffering to a performance because she was a dark skinned Black woman, a larger woman or was it because of her humble roots. Hard to know. Listen to both singers particularly when you are sad and down yourself. Marion Harris was talented but no singer Black or White compares to Bessie Smith.
end
Friday, July 15, 2011
encore, encore
encore, encore
fiction
edward w pritchard
My neighbor is a good Father. Everyday his son who mostly stays with his Mother, and his Dad, my neighbor throw the ball. The Father is teaching the boy who is five or six how to pitch and the Father plays catcher. The boy often has on his uniform for he is on a team here in the neighborhood. The boy and his Dad don't say much when they practice but they throw the ball back and forth maybe two hundred times or more at a stretch.
I am not sure if the boys younger brother will be taught to throw and pitch. The Mother and Father are getting divorced and the Mother is very busy with work. The younger boy mostly sits on the porch while the older brother and Father silently pitch the ball back and forth. As soon as the Father comes over after his work the little boy runs to the Father for a second and then heads straight to his place on the porch, for the older brother always runs and gets both mitts when he sees his Dad coming by and then he grabs the new baseball they use. After the game of catch is done the younger brother runs over and the Father carries him into the house to say goodbye to his ex-wife.
What happens to these families after the split up?
fiction
edward w pritchard
My neighbor is a good Father. Everyday his son who mostly stays with his Mother, and his Dad, my neighbor throw the ball. The Father is teaching the boy who is five or six how to pitch and the Father plays catcher. The boy often has on his uniform for he is on a team here in the neighborhood. The boy and his Dad don't say much when they practice but they throw the ball back and forth maybe two hundred times or more at a stretch.
I am not sure if the boys younger brother will be taught to throw and pitch. The Mother and Father are getting divorced and the Mother is very busy with work. The younger boy mostly sits on the porch while the older brother and Father silently pitch the ball back and forth. As soon as the Father comes over after his work the little boy runs to the Father for a second and then heads straight to his place on the porch, for the older brother always runs and gets both mitts when he sees his Dad coming by and then he grabs the new baseball they use. After the game of catch is done the younger brother runs over and the Father carries him into the house to say goodbye to his ex-wife.
What happens to these families after the split up?
Thursday, July 14, 2011
drifting through space part 4
drifting through space part 4
read parts 1 through 3 previous
fiction
edward w pritchard
No, No no. Doreen the first cannot choose her mate. It might jeopardize the mission. We do not object to planting ideas in her subconscious to facilitate the special needs of humans. For her to be connected with her daughter during pregnancy and after is a necessary objective. But we ask, wouldn't her nurturing the child for thirteen years in a small spaceship bond the two together.
Let us think upon this and we will get back with Houston space station control directly.
Artificial intelligence assisted logical analysis unit 6
Chicago Illinois,
Jan 22, 2034
Jack Allings PHD, MD
and
artificial intelligence unit 302-Ghe level 1
read parts 1 through 3 previous
fiction
edward w pritchard
No, No no. Doreen the first cannot choose her mate. It might jeopardize the mission. We do not object to planting ideas in her subconscious to facilitate the special needs of humans. For her to be connected with her daughter during pregnancy and after is a necessary objective. But we ask, wouldn't her nurturing the child for thirteen years in a small spaceship bond the two together.
Let us think upon this and we will get back with Houston space station control directly.
Artificial intelligence assisted logical analysis unit 6
Chicago Illinois,
Jan 22, 2034
Jack Allings PHD, MD
and
artificial intelligence unit 302-Ghe level 1
drifting through space part 3
drifting through space
parts 1, 2 and 3 is new
fiction
edward w pritchard
part 1
I am the sixth Doreen and I have been drifting through space for twenty seven years. It's time for me to reproduce soon. I will raise my daughter to age 13 and then she will become Doreen the seventh and I will die. Forty years being deemed the ideal lifespan for a female space explorer headed for the far edge of the Kuiper Belt. That's a journey of 465 years at the chosen speed we travel at for peak efficiency so God willing the eleventh Doreen should be the one to reach the far edge of the Kuiper belt. What awaits my great great great granddaughter at the far reaches of the Kuiper belt is a secret of sorts. We do it for science and for the benefits of humanity back on earth. Our origins as a species lie out in those distant Kuiper belts. It's necessary for eleven of us Doreen's to suffer a bit of loneliness and ennui in space to reach there.
Me I mate soon, and i fulfill my destiny. Drifting through space headed for the Kuiper belts as a space explorer for scientific discovery.
end-part1
fiction
edward w pritchard
part 1
I am the sixth Doreen and I have been drifting through space for twenty seven years. It's time for me to reproduce soon. I will raise my daughter to age 13 and then she will become Doreen the seventh and I will die. Forty years being deemed the ideal lifespan for a female space explorer headed for the far edge of the Kuiper Belt. That's a journey of 465 years at the chosen speed we travel at for peak efficiency so God willing the eleventh Doreen should be the one to reach the far edge of the Kuiper belt. What awaits my great great great granddaughter at the far reaches of the Kuiper belt is a secret of sorts. We do it for science and for the benefits of humanity back on earth. Our origins as a species lie out in those distant Kuiper belts. It's necessary for eleven of us Doreen's to suffer a bit of loneliness and ennui in space to reach there.
Me I mate soon, and i fulfill my destiny. Drifting through space headed for the Kuiper belts as a space explorer for scientific discovery.
end-part1
Part 2
They aren't just lucid dreams. My unborn Granddaughter Doreen the eighth has been coming to see me in my dreams to advise me on how to survive this illness of cancer. It's real Doreen the eighth coming to see me.. I think it is time travel; my Granddaughter Doreen the eighth coming to advise must mean I reproduced like normal for a space-explorer, hence I had my daughter who had her daughter, and since my granddaughter is advising me I must survive this cancer and reproduce. For now I am very sick. Being sick in a small spacecraft traveling toward the Kuiper belts is difficult and discouraging.
I have never been sick before. Genetically I am immune from most earthbound diseases, My artificial intelligence unit helps me cure anything else. Where did this cancer come from. I had a broken wrist once when I was four and My Mother Doreen the fifth was with me. I wish she were here. I would like to ask Mother if she thinks Doreen the eighth coming to me in Lucid dreams to advise me on how to cure the cancer I have that my artificial intelligence can't cure is real. Is it time travel by Doreen the eighth or am I Doreen the sixth imagining the whole thing. The medicine the artificial intelligence is giving me makes me sick and nauseous. Best sleep and rest again.
end part 2
Part 3
I am Doreen the first, the famous original space explorer. The first woman to give up her life for science to travel the rest of my days through space. I left everything I had and knew on earth to travel the rest of my life alone in this small space ship. To the Kuiper belts I go. It sounded exciting at first. To find the origins of our species. Somewhere in the rocks out there at the far edge of our Solar systems was the ultimate answer to how life started originally on earth.
I am a farce. I just wanted to escape my life in Middleton Iowa. The personal life is dead for me. It worked. Preston abandoned me for another woman and I couldn't get over it. I volunteered to spend the rest of my life traveling in a small spaceship. My sin, I sentenced ten of my descendants, starting with my daughter to be, her to be conceived artificially and then nine generations of grand and great -daughters doing same.
Why am I telling this. Now they want to know if for my mate I want Preston. Apparently his DNA is on board. That bastard. He wouldn't take my calls at home before I left. He's a lot older than me now. I am getting younger compared to him because of space/time changes caused by space travel. It's not much but it adds up. The main reason our space ships travel so so slow through space is because of space/time changes. We just drift along really. Best not think of Preston again. I have experiments to do and then I have to do my exercises before dinner. I wonder if Space command center Houston would let me talk with Preston just once. I am confused by a few things he said a long time ago. Maybe Houston would OK me talking with Preston if I said I needed to be courted before the insemination. Preston could be charming.. It would be nice to talk about something besides space travel with someone.
end part 3
Monday, July 11, 2011
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
To Pete Johnson piano man, in 1938 Pete played back up for Big Joe Turner on maybe the first Rock and Roll song, Roll Em Pete, later poor Pete died down and out in obscurity
fiction
edward w pritchard
Each sad song was sung before, the couples come and go but the melody is the same.
Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights my way.
I played the boogie and let Big Joe shout and sing and shine
now and then his lyrics would wake audiences from their slumbers, so I played back-up
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
but the singer gets the credit, he is always the star
Me, I just play piano boogie, and my struggle is always there
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
other times my own boogie blues melody lifts me from my sorrow
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
but life is very hard for me
traveling everywhere over this country to play just a little, no contract, no security, no renewals
I wash ice creams trucks and hearses for a little cash between gigs
the crowds always cheer and follow the singer but after the performance the piano man walks home alone
When I got old, I cut off part of my finger fixing the car on the way to play
then I had a few strokes, still I had to play piano to survive,
during the 50's others harvested the crop I worked so hard to plant;
you Big Joe, I am glad you got it on, those innuendos stimulate the crowds
I think I hear your voice Joe
but it's a dream
no one remembers me
Roll Em Pete, Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
I still need the money and I am too old to do much else
so I play piano with just one hand, I had a stroke and everyone's forgotten me,
It's winter, it's very cold and I am stuck in Buffalo, New York
boogie this and boogie that, I am just struggling to get by
Roll Em Pete, walking my path, no sunshine music lights the way
the singers keep a shouting and collect all the dough and the piano players come and go,
the blues had a baby and they called it rock and roll
life goes on, it's all been done before
someone a-new re-records your rhythms, blues becomes rock and roll,
and smiles at the cameras while they can
and everyone remembers the lyrics even after the song is done
but the tune dies there on the keyboard
To Pete Johnson piano man, in 1938 Pete played back up for Big Joe Turner on maybe the first Rock and Roll song, Roll Em Pete, later poor Pete died down and out in obscurity
fiction
edward w pritchard
Each sad song was sung before, the couples come and go but the melody is the same.
Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights my way.
I played the boogie and let Big Joe shout and sing and shine
now and then his lyrics would wake audiences from their slumbers, so I played back-up
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
but the singer gets the credit, he is always the star
Me, I just play piano boogie, and my struggle is always there
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
other times my own boogie blues melody lifts me from my sorrow
Roll Em Pete; Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
but life is very hard for me
traveling everywhere over this country to play just a little, no contract, no security, no renewals
I wash ice creams trucks and hearses for a little cash between gigs
the crowds always cheer and follow the singer but after the performance the piano man walks home alone
When I got old, I cut off part of my finger fixing the car on the way to play
then I had a few strokes, still I had to play piano to survive,
during the 50's others harvested the crop I worked so hard to plant;
you Big Joe, I am glad you got it on, those innuendos stimulate the crowds
I think I hear your voice Joe
but it's a dream
no one remembers me
Roll Em Pete, Walking my path, no sunshine, music lights the way
I still need the money and I am too old to do much else
so I play piano with just one hand, I had a stroke and everyone's forgotten me,
It's winter, it's very cold and I am stuck in Buffalo, New York
boogie this and boogie that, I am just struggling to get by
Roll Em Pete, walking my path, no sunshine music lights the way
the singers keep a shouting and collect all the dough and the piano players come and go,
the blues had a baby and they called it rock and roll
life goes on, it's all been done before
someone a-new re-records your rhythms, blues becomes rock and roll,
and smiles at the cameras while they can
and everyone remembers the lyrics even after the song is done
but the tune dies there on the keyboard
Friday, July 8, 2011
Unemployment; no talent no tap dance
Unemployment; no talent no tap dance
fiction
edward w pritchard
No talent, no tap dance; I had to slide and shuffle down the ramp near Kline's bar at the after party following graduation. I had just became a certified barber here in Juxston, fifty miles to the East of Louisville, Ohio. I felt a fraud because I just couldn't seem to get the knack of cutting hair.
Five years later I was a bulldozer and heavy equipment operator in Canton, Ohio. Hubener trucking company, I got to take my 25 ton truck home after my shift; my landlord Mr. Owens didn't much like that but he was glad to get the rent paid on time for a few months. I hit the corner of Little Drop coffee shop with the back hoe, sacked again. Darn shootin, it's hard to make an honest living with no God given talent.
I remember exactly to the day when my employment problems started. Napoleon's French army was about to enter Moscow. We Russians were leaving the City without a fight. Just like that on September 1st, or second I think, 1812, all us inmates of the madhouse there in Moscow were turned out. Just like that, to protect us from the French armies, I guess. But what was I to do, I had no talents, no God given skills, and along with others I was thought crazy because of it. Should I flee Moscow or wait for the benevolence of the French. I decided to go, Napoleon would be in a foul mood that we had not officially surrendered the City to his Magesty. Then what direction should I go, toward St. Petersberg, to find friends and allies or along the Smolensk road where Napoleon's grand armee had come from after conquering most of Russia.
Well I escaped Napoleon's army but how shall I support myself now. Here in Central Ohio. I've lost my Barber's license, what's to come of me. No talent no tap dance I suppose.
fiction
edward w pritchard
No talent, no tap dance; I had to slide and shuffle down the ramp near Kline's bar at the after party following graduation. I had just became a certified barber here in Juxston, fifty miles to the East of Louisville, Ohio. I felt a fraud because I just couldn't seem to get the knack of cutting hair.
Five years later I was a bulldozer and heavy equipment operator in Canton, Ohio. Hubener trucking company, I got to take my 25 ton truck home after my shift; my landlord Mr. Owens didn't much like that but he was glad to get the rent paid on time for a few months. I hit the corner of Little Drop coffee shop with the back hoe, sacked again. Darn shootin, it's hard to make an honest living with no God given talent.
I remember exactly to the day when my employment problems started. Napoleon's French army was about to enter Moscow. We Russians were leaving the City without a fight. Just like that on September 1st, or second I think, 1812, all us inmates of the madhouse there in Moscow were turned out. Just like that, to protect us from the French armies, I guess. But what was I to do, I had no talents, no God given skills, and along with others I was thought crazy because of it. Should I flee Moscow or wait for the benevolence of the French. I decided to go, Napoleon would be in a foul mood that we had not officially surrendered the City to his Magesty. Then what direction should I go, toward St. Petersberg, to find friends and allies or along the Smolensk road where Napoleon's grand armee had come from after conquering most of Russia.
Well I escaped Napoleon's army but how shall I support myself now. Here in Central Ohio. I've lost my Barber's license, what's to come of me. No talent no tap dance I suppose.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Gardening becomes a compulsion at times
Gardening becomes a compulsion at times
fiction
edward w pritchard
Gardening becomes a compulsion at times. After a storm or a restless night of troubling dreams I have a driving desire to clean and manage the garden along side the garage, near the house but fifty or more feet from the street I live on.
I killed and buried my girlfriend Sheila and put her in the small garden near the lily pond. It's the only time I have ever done anything like that. I am usually not an impulsive type person. I waited nearly a year after her transgressions against me to strike. The police questioned me twice about her disappearance but the case got cold and they quit the search for Sheila's whereabouts after a few months.
The other day I was out there bright and early raking, trimming and sprucing up the garden near the small pond. I had been dreaming about something or other and I awoke with an urge to clean up out there. I usually work very hard on those occasions; it's the third or fourth time I have done such garden work since the murder. My neighbor came over and loaned me a few tools to make the work easier.
It looks real nice out there today. I like to keep it cleaned and neat for Sheila. She use to enjoy gardening around my house when we were together and I know she would appreciate my efforts. Well, I think she would, I came to find out I didn't know her as well as I thought I did.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Gardening becomes a compulsion at times. After a storm or a restless night of troubling dreams I have a driving desire to clean and manage the garden along side the garage, near the house but fifty or more feet from the street I live on.
I killed and buried my girlfriend Sheila and put her in the small garden near the lily pond. It's the only time I have ever done anything like that. I am usually not an impulsive type person. I waited nearly a year after her transgressions against me to strike. The police questioned me twice about her disappearance but the case got cold and they quit the search for Sheila's whereabouts after a few months.
The other day I was out there bright and early raking, trimming and sprucing up the garden near the small pond. I had been dreaming about something or other and I awoke with an urge to clean up out there. I usually work very hard on those occasions; it's the third or fourth time I have done such garden work since the murder. My neighbor came over and loaned me a few tools to make the work easier.
It looks real nice out there today. I like to keep it cleaned and neat for Sheila. She use to enjoy gardening around my house when we were together and I know she would appreciate my efforts. Well, I think she would, I came to find out I didn't know her as well as I thought I did.
end
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Our house abutted against the back of the Crenshaw Muck farm
Our house abutted against the back of the Crenshaw Muck farm
fiction
edward w pritchard
Our house abutted against the back of the Crenshaw Muck farm. We were Negroes but the Crenshaws were white. Originally they encouraged black folks to move up to Ohio to work on the Muck farm. Our entire street is negro. Only no one works on the muck farm that lives here anymore. The Mexican workers came in the 1970's and drove down wages. They don't work on the muck farm either anymore, but their hard work must have paid off for I see them around town with expensive new trucks and the kids always have new clothes. Of course they still have large families and the women are still very pretty and the men are very proud.
This story is about Grandma Sayles who used to watch me because my Mother was sick a lot. I mention the muck farm because Grandma liked to look at a good looking man. She was a good Christian woman but those men when they worked in the heat at the muck farm would be nearly naked. Grandma would watch both the black and brown men get covered in the black dirt as they worked and sometimes if they were working the section of the Crenshaw farm by our porch Grandma would take them cokes with ice and my Mom would say Grandma always found a reason to put her hands across one of their backs when she handed them something. Later when the Latino men came in Grandma watched them more from afar for they made her a little nervous but I could tell she liked how they looked working out there in the hot sun all day.
When I stayed with Grandma Sayles she always worked very hard. She told me that when she was five years old down on the farm in the South she started doing all the cleaning around the kitchen and most of the cooking. I never saw anyone who could work as hard as her around the house. Up early and working, working working. She worked all the time unless someone came by with a new baby to show her and for her to hold or unless she was sitting on the front porch taking a break watching the men work in the field near the house.
When I stayed a few weeks with Grandma Sayles she didn't make me do all the housework or anything like that. But, she did think a young girl should stay busy, to keep her out of trouble. She mostly had me sort buttons. She would buy huge boxes of broken up buttons and unmatched ones at the goodwill and then I would sit on the floor in the living room or on the porch and match them up; sometimes I could find a set of four or five. Grandma would take the five buttons, one good needle and some thread and put it in a small case and sell it in town for one dollar. She did it all the time. I always got a quarter when I was nine or so for my share and we would stop up at McDonald's which was new in town then. Hamburgers were a dime and it's the only time I saw Grandma eat at a restaurant. Mostly she did all the cooking for everyone. It was the best twenty cents I ever spent buying Grandma a hamburger and a coke. She didn't have to cook it or clean up the mess after anyone.
I was away at College when Grandma Sayles died. I had a lot of potential and I got several scholarships. After the funeral everyone came over to her old farm by the Crenshaw Truck farm, they had changed the name of the business. I did the cooking and cleaning for everyone. I had to my Mom was sick and my sister who is also in College couldn't figure out how to take the peels off the potatoes. It took me a long time to cook for twenty three people and then clean the kitchen at Grandma's house immaculately like she used to keep it. It was after six in the evening and I sat on the porch and watched the men working on Crenshaw's farm from Grandma's porch after I got all the cooking and cleaning done. The men over there working are now some kind of Orientals but they still look good without shirts sweating in the hot sun.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Our house abutted against the back of the Crenshaw Muck farm. We were Negroes but the Crenshaws were white. Originally they encouraged black folks to move up to Ohio to work on the Muck farm. Our entire street is negro. Only no one works on the muck farm that lives here anymore. The Mexican workers came in the 1970's and drove down wages. They don't work on the muck farm either anymore, but their hard work must have paid off for I see them around town with expensive new trucks and the kids always have new clothes. Of course they still have large families and the women are still very pretty and the men are very proud.
This story is about Grandma Sayles who used to watch me because my Mother was sick a lot. I mention the muck farm because Grandma liked to look at a good looking man. She was a good Christian woman but those men when they worked in the heat at the muck farm would be nearly naked. Grandma would watch both the black and brown men get covered in the black dirt as they worked and sometimes if they were working the section of the Crenshaw farm by our porch Grandma would take them cokes with ice and my Mom would say Grandma always found a reason to put her hands across one of their backs when she handed them something. Later when the Latino men came in Grandma watched them more from afar for they made her a little nervous but I could tell she liked how they looked working out there in the hot sun all day.
When I stayed with Grandma Sayles she always worked very hard. She told me that when she was five years old down on the farm in the South she started doing all the cleaning around the kitchen and most of the cooking. I never saw anyone who could work as hard as her around the house. Up early and working, working working. She worked all the time unless someone came by with a new baby to show her and for her to hold or unless she was sitting on the front porch taking a break watching the men work in the field near the house.
When I stayed a few weeks with Grandma Sayles she didn't make me do all the housework or anything like that. But, she did think a young girl should stay busy, to keep her out of trouble. She mostly had me sort buttons. She would buy huge boxes of broken up buttons and unmatched ones at the goodwill and then I would sit on the floor in the living room or on the porch and match them up; sometimes I could find a set of four or five. Grandma would take the five buttons, one good needle and some thread and put it in a small case and sell it in town for one dollar. She did it all the time. I always got a quarter when I was nine or so for my share and we would stop up at McDonald's which was new in town then. Hamburgers were a dime and it's the only time I saw Grandma eat at a restaurant. Mostly she did all the cooking for everyone. It was the best twenty cents I ever spent buying Grandma a hamburger and a coke. She didn't have to cook it or clean up the mess after anyone.
I was away at College when Grandma Sayles died. I had a lot of potential and I got several scholarships. After the funeral everyone came over to her old farm by the Crenshaw Truck farm, they had changed the name of the business. I did the cooking and cleaning for everyone. I had to my Mom was sick and my sister who is also in College couldn't figure out how to take the peels off the potatoes. It took me a long time to cook for twenty three people and then clean the kitchen at Grandma's house immaculately like she used to keep it. It was after six in the evening and I sat on the porch and watched the men working on Crenshaw's farm from Grandma's porch after I got all the cooking and cleaning done. The men over there working are now some kind of Orientals but they still look good without shirts sweating in the hot sun.
end
God, Jesus and those Guys
God, Jesus and those Guys
fiction
edward w pritchard
Can we know God? God, Jesus and those Guys?
Turns out they are like celebrities. Once in a while they walk among us but then they have to split and go to all the important places they have to get to. Meanwhile we wait and wait assuming we can talk to them whenever they show, feeling real close, good buddies.
Eventually you figure out that God, Jesus and those guys aren't knowable and at the same time they are knowable, somehow or other. They are like celebrities they know us in principle, if they could they would pal around with us and explain things to us, but then they wouldn't be famous if they were with ordinary people like us. They need us bad though for we are like their audience, their public, without us they wouldn't be special, even with all the incredible things they are capable of. So we are kept on a string. Waiting, unsure but more hopeful than not.
So which is the case. Can you know God, Jesus and those guys or not. You have this incredible longing to reunite and get to know them but they are never there for you. You hear about them a lot and who they are and what they do is a couple levels above everything else we know but are they really our close buds?
Can we know or not know God.
Man they cast a long shadow. Their voice just out of reach. Sometimes you can not quite hear it's echo.
Sunny skies and bright times God's whistles far off we hear on the wind.
God dances and creation starts
he gives us the green green earth
but it's not a cycle, over and over
just this once this all goes down
so every one wants to be onstage with God
but then it's our end, time is run out
just before we have an insatiable longing to know God
over and over we call , Om , Om, Om
in a dream we see him move
then it's gone and we forget
nothing, voidless nothing
If God moves, can he suffer?
Sad if he did.
Was God here before himself?
Is everything a manifestation of one ultimate reality?
Om, Om, Om
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
Can we know God? God, Jesus and those Guys?
Turns out they are like celebrities. Once in a while they walk among us but then they have to split and go to all the important places they have to get to. Meanwhile we wait and wait assuming we can talk to them whenever they show, feeling real close, good buddies.
Eventually you figure out that God, Jesus and those guys aren't knowable and at the same time they are knowable, somehow or other. They are like celebrities they know us in principle, if they could they would pal around with us and explain things to us, but then they wouldn't be famous if they were with ordinary people like us. They need us bad though for we are like their audience, their public, without us they wouldn't be special, even with all the incredible things they are capable of. So we are kept on a string. Waiting, unsure but more hopeful than not.
So which is the case. Can you know God, Jesus and those guys or not. You have this incredible longing to reunite and get to know them but they are never there for you. You hear about them a lot and who they are and what they do is a couple levels above everything else we know but are they really our close buds?
Can we know or not know God.
Man they cast a long shadow. Their voice just out of reach. Sometimes you can not quite hear it's echo.
Sunny skies and bright times God's whistles far off we hear on the wind.
God dances and creation starts
he gives us the green green earth
but it's not a cycle, over and over
just this once this all goes down
so every one wants to be onstage with God
but then it's our end, time is run out
just before we have an insatiable longing to know God
over and over we call , Om , Om, Om
in a dream we see him move
then it's gone and we forget
nothing, voidless nothing
If God moves, can he suffer?
Sad if he did.
Was God here before himself?
Is everything a manifestation of one ultimate reality?
Om, Om, Om
end
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Negotiations are at a stalemate
Negotiations are at a stalemate
fiction
edward w pritchard
School Superintendent, Cleveland Ohio was the most difficult job to perform in America. It must be. We had a new superintendent pretty much every other year. Brilliant managers came in with excellent credentials, high hopes and plans and within a year the brutal reality of politics in Cleveland, Ohio wore them down and desperately they moved on to any assignment anywhere to escape.
Dr. Pinson was no exception. Beloved by the teachers and teachers union, friendly with the Mayor and Council, and respected by budgetary types he showed great promise. He shot hoops with students most every day at lunch time when he started his new job.
It was the small but powerful janitorial union that caused Dr. Pinson's downfall as Cleveland board superintendent. Dr. Pinson had negotiated successfully the 2013 budget with all the parties concerned, too numerous to list. Everything was agreed in a series of leveraged deals each dependent on two others.
The janitors union refused to play ball. They must have one more demand met, it was not negotiable. Of course if the janitors got a plum the teachers and the administrators and the suppliers and the students and the parents and the sports boosters and many others must renegotiate. The entire deal, negotiated over six months by Dr. Pinson to open the schools on time this fall hinged on the Janitors demands.
The janitors membership wanted a small underground lair at each school. A sanctuary for the hard working custodial staffs to escape to from time to time during the day. The teachers union on behalf of their members strongly objected. If the sanctuary was to be built they must be able to use it. Budget objected, too many teachers, maybe it could be swung for the janitors who were few in numbers but no one else.
A deal was finally reached, a few schools now have deep underground lairs for janitors to escape to during the school day but under no circumstances at least for this budgetary period may teachers use the sanctuary during their day.
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
School Superintendent, Cleveland Ohio was the most difficult job to perform in America. It must be. We had a new superintendent pretty much every other year. Brilliant managers came in with excellent credentials, high hopes and plans and within a year the brutal reality of politics in Cleveland, Ohio wore them down and desperately they moved on to any assignment anywhere to escape.
Dr. Pinson was no exception. Beloved by the teachers and teachers union, friendly with the Mayor and Council, and respected by budgetary types he showed great promise. He shot hoops with students most every day at lunch time when he started his new job.
It was the small but powerful janitorial union that caused Dr. Pinson's downfall as Cleveland board superintendent. Dr. Pinson had negotiated successfully the 2013 budget with all the parties concerned, too numerous to list. Everything was agreed in a series of leveraged deals each dependent on two others.
The janitors union refused to play ball. They must have one more demand met, it was not negotiable. Of course if the janitors got a plum the teachers and the administrators and the suppliers and the students and the parents and the sports boosters and many others must renegotiate. The entire deal, negotiated over six months by Dr. Pinson to open the schools on time this fall hinged on the Janitors demands.
The janitors membership wanted a small underground lair at each school. A sanctuary for the hard working custodial staffs to escape to from time to time during the day. The teachers union on behalf of their members strongly objected. If the sanctuary was to be built they must be able to use it. Budget objected, too many teachers, maybe it could be swung for the janitors who were few in numbers but no one else.
A deal was finally reached, a few schools now have deep underground lairs for janitors to escape to during the school day but under no circumstances at least for this budgetary period may teachers use the sanctuary during their day.
end
The Church of the highly Motivated
The Church of the highly Motivated
fiction
edward w pritchard
When Matty Watson received her Doctor of Divinity she was driven to succeed and make the new Church the largest in South Eastern Ohio. A tall order for the area was in severe decline, for over fifty years, and the Church had only fifteen full time members.
The Parish were able to pay Dr. Watson only half the normal Minister's salary for now in part because several members objected to a Woman Pastor for this was a conservative area. Original bible belt really, but the fervor of religion often took a back seat to economic concerns in the good neighbors of the County twenty miles off the Ohio River.
Matty Watson had definite ideas of how to transform the new Church and after a few months most everything was left in her hands of how to grow and prosper the Congregation. Her methods were unorthodox but this Church had no national affiliations and except for adhering to the Nicene Creed there was little guidance on how the Church should be governed.
The elders were four. The school teachers wife, busy with her two children, Mr and Mrs. Lawson both over 80, and the pharmacist at the Wal Mart forty miles away over at East Liverpool on the river. Only the Pharmacist objected to the Pastor's philosophies and methods and in time he decided to keep his hands off the day to day running of the Church and allow the new Woman Pastor a chance to sink or swim for a year or so before he spoke out for or against her. He had worked with four Pastors before her in the sixteen years he had been an elder here at this Church, since coming from Fremont Baptist when it closed, and he imagined she would move on quickly because of the meager salary they were able to pay her.
Dr Matty Watson had other ideas and she planned and forged sixteen hours per day to attract new members to the Church. Her brilliant idea was that no member would be recruited to the Church who was not highly motivated to pursue their personal salvation and that of their family members and in time their friends and acquaintances in the community. They must have a strong personal commitment to the Church and they must recruit and proselytize daily to grow the congregation. Church services were held Sunday twice, Monday and Wednesday night at seven PM, and a supper was held, Pot Luck dinner style and was very informal Friday at six. All were expected to attend and recruit aggressively others at work and at the kid's ballgames to come along.
Within a year Dr. Watson's church was the fastest growing congregation in the eleven State area of the Mid-Western United States. Revenues were up, membership was booming and the Church was being added onto for the second time in one year. The pharmacist now works full time for the Church as Youth Minister and the School Teacher's wife is full time membership secretary.
Asked her secret to how to grow a struggling congregation, Dr. Watson told Crane's Pittsburgh business news: "we offer the profound message of Jesus Christ, if someone is not highly motivated to accept and act on what they hear, we do not make call backs."
end
fiction
edward w pritchard
When Matty Watson received her Doctor of Divinity she was driven to succeed and make the new Church the largest in South Eastern Ohio. A tall order for the area was in severe decline, for over fifty years, and the Church had only fifteen full time members.
The Parish were able to pay Dr. Watson only half the normal Minister's salary for now in part because several members objected to a Woman Pastor for this was a conservative area. Original bible belt really, but the fervor of religion often took a back seat to economic concerns in the good neighbors of the County twenty miles off the Ohio River.
Matty Watson had definite ideas of how to transform the new Church and after a few months most everything was left in her hands of how to grow and prosper the Congregation. Her methods were unorthodox but this Church had no national affiliations and except for adhering to the Nicene Creed there was little guidance on how the Church should be governed.
The elders were four. The school teachers wife, busy with her two children, Mr and Mrs. Lawson both over 80, and the pharmacist at the Wal Mart forty miles away over at East Liverpool on the river. Only the Pharmacist objected to the Pastor's philosophies and methods and in time he decided to keep his hands off the day to day running of the Church and allow the new Woman Pastor a chance to sink or swim for a year or so before he spoke out for or against her. He had worked with four Pastors before her in the sixteen years he had been an elder here at this Church, since coming from Fremont Baptist when it closed, and he imagined she would move on quickly because of the meager salary they were able to pay her.
Dr Matty Watson had other ideas and she planned and forged sixteen hours per day to attract new members to the Church. Her brilliant idea was that no member would be recruited to the Church who was not highly motivated to pursue their personal salvation and that of their family members and in time their friends and acquaintances in the community. They must have a strong personal commitment to the Church and they must recruit and proselytize daily to grow the congregation. Church services were held Sunday twice, Monday and Wednesday night at seven PM, and a supper was held, Pot Luck dinner style and was very informal Friday at six. All were expected to attend and recruit aggressively others at work and at the kid's ballgames to come along.
Within a year Dr. Watson's church was the fastest growing congregation in the eleven State area of the Mid-Western United States. Revenues were up, membership was booming and the Church was being added onto for the second time in one year. The pharmacist now works full time for the Church as Youth Minister and the School Teacher's wife is full time membership secretary.
Asked her secret to how to grow a struggling congregation, Dr. Watson told Crane's Pittsburgh business news: "we offer the profound message of Jesus Christ, if someone is not highly motivated to accept and act on what they hear, we do not make call backs."
end
Sunday, July 3, 2011
train whistle late at night
train whistle late at night
fiction
edward w pritchard
Train whistle heard late at night: Gone, Gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond
Stirring from sleep, we hear;
Train whistle late at night, gone.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Train whistle heard late at night: Gone, Gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond
Stirring from sleep, we hear;
Train whistle late at night, gone.
blue blooded friend, Jack the ripper's last victim; Mary Jane Kelly
blue blooded friend, Jack the ripper's last victim; Mary Jane Kelly
fiction
edward w pritchard
Author note-Did Jack the Ripper know his final victim, of five, who he brutally ripped, stabbed and strung her about? Mary Jane Kelly was the only ripper victim killed inside. Author surmises yes Jack did know Mary Jane Kelly. Jack the Ripper speaks why he killed her:
When I looked into it, I came to realize that Mary Jane Kelly was just feeling superior to me. I didn't realize why at first, for I still felt the same way about her. Upon reflection I found Mary to be made up of layer upon layer of blue crumbly sheets of metallic marbling. She wasn't at all like I had come to know her as. When I took action and took Mary Jane apart there was no heart inside of her only stratified dried out hollow tubes of purport masquerading as flesh and blood. A mess I know; but not a blue blood. Still, contagious for a hollow dross sleeps in me.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Author note-Did Jack the Ripper know his final victim, of five, who he brutally ripped, stabbed and strung her about? Mary Jane Kelly was the only ripper victim killed inside. Author surmises yes Jack did know Mary Jane Kelly. Jack the Ripper speaks why he killed her:
When I looked into it, I came to realize that Mary Jane Kelly was just feeling superior to me. I didn't realize why at first, for I still felt the same way about her. Upon reflection I found Mary to be made up of layer upon layer of blue crumbly sheets of metallic marbling. She wasn't at all like I had come to know her as. When I took action and took Mary Jane apart there was no heart inside of her only stratified dried out hollow tubes of purport masquerading as flesh and blood. A mess I know; but not a blue blood. Still, contagious for a hollow dross sleeps in me.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
you have to be alive to stage a come back
You have to be alive to stage a come back
fiction
edward w pritchard
You have to be alive to stage a comeback. Bertha "Chippie" Hill was a blues singer born in 1905 who performed blues music as early as 1920 and sang later in that decade with Louis Armstrong and others. She retired in the 1930's to raise her seven children. Chippie Hill staged a comeback starting in 1945. World War 2 was over and black musicians would dominate American Music for the next several decades.
In 1950 Chippie Hill was struck and killed by a hit and run driver in New York City. She never experienced the growth in popularity that blues music would generate in American culture. Bessie Smith had died in 1937 at age 43 from a car accident and Billie Holiday died in 1959 at age 44. Bessie Smith of course is considered along with Billie Holiday as the greatest of the women blues singers. Chippie Hill's voice and presentation compares favorably to Bessie Smith. All three of these women's music has a deep sorrowful basis that is difficult to duplicate because of changes in American society.
Other women strongly influenced blues music in America as well, notably Ma Rainey who died in 1939 at the age of 52 of natural causes.
As rock music matured in the 1960' several main stream white bands acknowledged the contributions of blues musicians to the American and British music scene. Several Black male blues artists were acknowledged as influences on Rock and Roll music and mainstream artists. Unfortunately for a variety of reasons several of the great Black female blues artist did not survive into the 1960's and later to benefit economically from the Civil Rights induced benefits for blacks in America and the movement to mainstream music for blues artists in general.
Technology exists to record the music of the vanished female blues artist but they are gone and the suffering and sorrow that nurtured their music is gone as well. Never to return. Hopefully talented female musicians now living will record the great blues standards while they can and not let the economics of the music business silence their God given gifts.
fiction
edward w pritchard
You have to be alive to stage a comeback. Bertha "Chippie" Hill was a blues singer born in 1905 who performed blues music as early as 1920 and sang later in that decade with Louis Armstrong and others. She retired in the 1930's to raise her seven children. Chippie Hill staged a comeback starting in 1945. World War 2 was over and black musicians would dominate American Music for the next several decades.
In 1950 Chippie Hill was struck and killed by a hit and run driver in New York City. She never experienced the growth in popularity that blues music would generate in American culture. Bessie Smith had died in 1937 at age 43 from a car accident and Billie Holiday died in 1959 at age 44. Bessie Smith of course is considered along with Billie Holiday as the greatest of the women blues singers. Chippie Hill's voice and presentation compares favorably to Bessie Smith. All three of these women's music has a deep sorrowful basis that is difficult to duplicate because of changes in American society.
Other women strongly influenced blues music in America as well, notably Ma Rainey who died in 1939 at the age of 52 of natural causes.
As rock music matured in the 1960' several main stream white bands acknowledged the contributions of blues musicians to the American and British music scene. Several Black male blues artists were acknowledged as influences on Rock and Roll music and mainstream artists. Unfortunately for a variety of reasons several of the great Black female blues artist did not survive into the 1960's and later to benefit economically from the Civil Rights induced benefits for blacks in America and the movement to mainstream music for blues artists in general.
Technology exists to record the music of the vanished female blues artist but they are gone and the suffering and sorrow that nurtured their music is gone as well. Never to return. Hopefully talented female musicians now living will record the great blues standards while they can and not let the economics of the music business silence their God given gifts.
Friday, July 1, 2011
pretty girl crying in the drive-up ATM line at the bank
pretty girl crying in the drive-up ATM line at the bank
fiction
edward w pritchard
A very pretty girl is crying in the drive-up ATM line at the Bank. Two beautiful children under five calmly wait in the back seat properly placed and seat belted. The car is new. She cries softly as she gets her deposit ready for the machine. A handful of large looking bills. Money looks plentiful to the observer.
Her hair is short and looks recently cut. Too short maybe, in protest, such a pretty face. One tear is visible from my car ten feet away as I watch politely but voyeuristically. What has he done to make her cry.
Probably not much really. It's mid-day Friday before a holiday Monday. He's got to be at work. While she watches the children. She might just be realizing how long she will be doing this for. Her with the children while he is away at work. Him changing or maybe she knows he will never change. What has he done to make her cry.
Him at work. Maybe he will stop and buy flowers. Maybe he will offer to go to her Mother's house for the holiday. Maybe someone will rescue her. Maybe not. She finishes her business at the bank and angles her way across and over the back roads towards no where.
fiction
edward w pritchard
A very pretty girl is crying in the drive-up ATM line at the Bank. Two beautiful children under five calmly wait in the back seat properly placed and seat belted. The car is new. She cries softly as she gets her deposit ready for the machine. A handful of large looking bills. Money looks plentiful to the observer.
Her hair is short and looks recently cut. Too short maybe, in protest, such a pretty face. One tear is visible from my car ten feet away as I watch politely but voyeuristically. What has he done to make her cry.
Probably not much really. It's mid-day Friday before a holiday Monday. He's got to be at work. While she watches the children. She might just be realizing how long she will be doing this for. Her with the children while he is away at work. Him changing or maybe she knows he will never change. What has he done to make her cry.
Him at work. Maybe he will stop and buy flowers. Maybe he will offer to go to her Mother's house for the holiday. Maybe someone will rescue her. Maybe not. She finishes her business at the bank and angles her way across and over the back roads towards no where.
Come Jack, poor Jack part 15
Come Jack, poor Jack part 15
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the Ripper- My my, you do have a sense of humor. What one beer will do to the inhibitions. I am ready to tell you about the slashing now.
end of part 15
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the Ripper- My my, you do have a sense of humor. What one beer will do to the inhibitions. I am ready to tell you about the slashing now.
end of part 15
jack the ripper totally ripped off and off the record
jack the ripper totally ripped off and off the record
This is not part of Come Jack, Poor Jack parts 1 through 14
fiction
edward w pritchard
The premise- Jack the Ripper has agreed to talk on this blog with your author about his brutal crimes committed in 1888 in White Chapel of London England; however Jack the Ripper has become upset with Author's lack of readers. In an effort to create more readership new ideas are being bantered about that will gain readership and popularity for the interviews with the notorious Jack the Ripper.
Author- Ok, I am not sure but here's the first idea: Jack the Ripper and Gandhi the famous pacifist of India will travel the world in endless summers part 5 and share their adventures with the readers of this blog; chasing girls, wise cracking and searching for the ephemeral endless perfect wave. Of course confrontation and strife will occur because of differences in philosophy between the two Brits. In the end they will be reconciled and Jack's murderous ways and slashing and cutting of unlucky middle aged women along the way will be forgiven by Gandhi. The movie ends with sunset and soft surfer music as the guys paddle out for one last ride toward the sandy beach somewhere in Africa.
Author- Second idea to promote readership for the interviews with Jack the Ripper; Dual survival- Jack the Ripper and Queen Victoria will be flown to The Mountains of Montana in winter in the American West. It will be bitterly cold and there will be a basic tension between the couple because of Jack's notorious reputation as a mass murdered. Queen Victoria will be a good sport however and in the end they will successfully conquer their hostile environment.
Author- third idea to promote readership for the Jack the Ripper interviews on this blog. Jack the Ripper will live on Radio review contemporary American Porno movies recently released. Concentrating on S&[and];M movies. Listeners will call in and participate in lively banner with the famous celebrity. There will be an underlying tension between host and audience because Jack the Ripper will come off as somewhat quaint and Victorian, a little square and old fashion regarding the subject matter. In the end however, the show will be amusing to the passive listener as Jack evolves and masters his new assignment and the material.
Author- what do you think?
Jack the ripper- well, so so I guess
Author- How about Jack the Ripper the musical comedy, based loosely on Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice; the upper class Jack the Ripper will be outwitted time after time by aging Prostitutes who are working class members of White Chapel. An underlying Marxist theme will be present but the focus will be on fast paced comedy and lively music. Many jokes will center on the dictum that no blood will be shed and the drooping limp knife blade of Jack the Ripper which will leave the audience in stitches.
end
This is not part of Come Jack, Poor Jack parts 1 through 14
fiction
edward w pritchard
The premise- Jack the Ripper has agreed to talk on this blog with your author about his brutal crimes committed in 1888 in White Chapel of London England; however Jack the Ripper has become upset with Author's lack of readers. In an effort to create more readership new ideas are being bantered about that will gain readership and popularity for the interviews with the notorious Jack the Ripper.
Author- Ok, I am not sure but here's the first idea: Jack the Ripper and Gandhi the famous pacifist of India will travel the world in endless summers part 5 and share their adventures with the readers of this blog; chasing girls, wise cracking and searching for the ephemeral endless perfect wave. Of course confrontation and strife will occur because of differences in philosophy between the two Brits. In the end they will be reconciled and Jack's murderous ways and slashing and cutting of unlucky middle aged women along the way will be forgiven by Gandhi. The movie ends with sunset and soft surfer music as the guys paddle out for one last ride toward the sandy beach somewhere in Africa.
Author- Second idea to promote readership for the interviews with Jack the Ripper; Dual survival- Jack the Ripper and Queen Victoria will be flown to The Mountains of Montana in winter in the American West. It will be bitterly cold and there will be a basic tension between the couple because of Jack's notorious reputation as a mass murdered. Queen Victoria will be a good sport however and in the end they will successfully conquer their hostile environment.
Author- third idea to promote readership for the Jack the Ripper interviews on this blog. Jack the Ripper will live on Radio review contemporary American Porno movies recently released. Concentrating on S&[and];M movies. Listeners will call in and participate in lively banner with the famous celebrity. There will be an underlying tension between host and audience because Jack the Ripper will come off as somewhat quaint and Victorian, a little square and old fashion regarding the subject matter. In the end however, the show will be amusing to the passive listener as Jack evolves and masters his new assignment and the material.
Author- what do you think?
Jack the ripper- well, so so I guess
Author- How about Jack the Ripper the musical comedy, based loosely on Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice; the upper class Jack the Ripper will be outwitted time after time by aging Prostitutes who are working class members of White Chapel. An underlying Marxist theme will be present but the focus will be on fast paced comedy and lively music. Many jokes will center on the dictum that no blood will be shed and the drooping limp knife blade of Jack the Ripper which will leave the audience in stitches.
end
Come Jack, Poor Jack, part 14
Come Jack, Poor Jack, part 14
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the ripper-What do we have to do to get some readers around here. Everyone must be watching reality shows on American television. Wait I know, six women on an American reality show are transported back to White Chapel, she must avoid a maniacal killer, only one gets out alive, but if she does she gets a new house in Hollywood Hills, and choice of a handsome mate and 1.4 beautiful children.
Author- Don't go on. Readers are fickle
Jack- fickle, they aren't here, try something spectacular, you are interviewing the most famous criminal in History. I expect you to get the word out about me. Contact the Ripperologists in England. Make up something unbelievable. Say I was King Albert back from the dead.
Author- It will be the Fourth of July soon. Readers are on holiday
Jack- now this is sad, I need an audience
end part 14- see more below
Jack the Ripper- [ a few minutes later] Mr. Pritchard, excuse my anger; I know you are trying. Will you try something for me?It will help I think
Author- what?
Jack- you like the Liverpool group, the Beatles, why not watch " Across the Universe" it's a knock off of the Beatles, but enjoyable and entertaining, watch and get some ideas on how to get out a political message and still be interesting. It might help us get some readers.
Author- OK
end part 14
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the ripper-What do we have to do to get some readers around here. Everyone must be watching reality shows on American television. Wait I know, six women on an American reality show are transported back to White Chapel, she must avoid a maniacal killer, only one gets out alive, but if she does she gets a new house in Hollywood Hills, and choice of a handsome mate and 1.4 beautiful children.
Author- Don't go on. Readers are fickle
Jack- fickle, they aren't here, try something spectacular, you are interviewing the most famous criminal in History. I expect you to get the word out about me. Contact the Ripperologists in England. Make up something unbelievable. Say I was King Albert back from the dead.
Author- It will be the Fourth of July soon. Readers are on holiday
Jack- now this is sad, I need an audience
end part 14- see more below
Jack the Ripper- [ a few minutes later] Mr. Pritchard, excuse my anger; I know you are trying. Will you try something for me?It will help I think
Author- what?
Jack- you like the Liverpool group, the Beatles, why not watch " Across the Universe" it's a knock off of the Beatles, but enjoyable and entertaining, watch and get some ideas on how to get out a political message and still be interesting. It might help us get some readers.
Author- OK
end part 14
Come Jack, poor Jack part 13
Come Jack, poor Jack part 13
Fourth of July Readers- go back to original Come Jack, Poor Jack [ June 26, 2011] and start at beginning if you wish, and become a Ripperologist, Jack the Ripper killed and mutilated five women, sad; he was never caught let's figure out who he is: read on.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the Ripper- hey, I like what I said about jack the Ripper and Hitler in part 11. Being around you has turned me into a philosopher. I just hope I don't quit being a man of action and become a thinker.You know some of my victims were very physical types. Sitting here now I am not sure why I did what I did. Sometimes it seems like a dream.
Author- more like a fantasy?
Jack the Ripper- well yes, I didn't know my victims for the most part but I had met them in my thoughts several times before our meeting.
Author- Did you stalk them before the day you murdered the first four victims, the one's you implied you didn't know?
Jack the Ripper- no, there was no need, I just needed a prostitute and there were many out and about in White Chapel. Money talks, they were always at risk so the commotion over my killing spree didn't deter them.
author - it was that easy
jack the ripper- heavens no, one of the prostitutes had a gun in her purse that she held in her hand when I gave her the money. She had been beaten and robbed before; that's one of those anecdotal stories I promised. I'll look foolish here but I just slithered off. She was just too much of a risk for me to go after.
author- yet most of the victims were over come quickly
Jack- I am very violent and savage
author- did you ever attack a man
jack- not in that fashion, I am interested in women
author- but not young pretty one's, most of you victims were older and unattractive
jack- Mary Kelly was 25, 5"7 blond blue eyes
Author- and you knew her before
Jack did I say that
Author-yes
jack- It's hard for me to think of poor Mary now. I left her such a mess. She lost face and all.
Author- you sound sorry
Jack- you are manipulating my words, i want to stop
end part 13
Fourth of July Readers- go back to original Come Jack, Poor Jack [ June 26, 2011] and start at beginning if you wish, and become a Ripperologist, Jack the Ripper killed and mutilated five women, sad; he was never caught let's figure out who he is: read on.
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the Ripper- hey, I like what I said about jack the Ripper and Hitler in part 11. Being around you has turned me into a philosopher. I just hope I don't quit being a man of action and become a thinker.You know some of my victims were very physical types. Sitting here now I am not sure why I did what I did. Sometimes it seems like a dream.
Author- more like a fantasy?
Jack the Ripper- well yes, I didn't know my victims for the most part but I had met them in my thoughts several times before our meeting.
Author- Did you stalk them before the day you murdered the first four victims, the one's you implied you didn't know?
Jack the Ripper- no, there was no need, I just needed a prostitute and there were many out and about in White Chapel. Money talks, they were always at risk so the commotion over my killing spree didn't deter them.
author - it was that easy
jack the ripper- heavens no, one of the prostitutes had a gun in her purse that she held in her hand when I gave her the money. She had been beaten and robbed before; that's one of those anecdotal stories I promised. I'll look foolish here but I just slithered off. She was just too much of a risk for me to go after.
author- yet most of the victims were over come quickly
Jack- I am very violent and savage
author- did you ever attack a man
jack- not in that fashion, I am interested in women
author- but not young pretty one's, most of you victims were older and unattractive
jack- Mary Kelly was 25, 5"7 blond blue eyes
Author- and you knew her before
Jack did I say that
Author-yes
jack- It's hard for me to think of poor Mary now. I left her such a mess. She lost face and all.
Author- you sound sorry
Jack- you are manipulating my words, i want to stop
end part 13
Come Jack, poor Jack, part 12
Come Jack, poor Jack, part 12
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the Ripper- Most of my five victims were extroverts [anachronism]
Author- What?
Jack the Ripper- I listened to that "Eleanor Rigby" it's a sad song but lonely people bring on a lot of their own problems. They should get out more, socialize
Author- Maybe some are afraid of the night
Jack- touche
author- I know I can be a little difficult to be around
Jack- Who you, lost in thought, preoccupied, needing large periods of time alone, No! But I like the fact that you are kind to children
Author - Were you
Jack- Yes, I often gave coins to the destitute children in White Chapel. I use to worry over their fate.
Author-Did you visit the graves of your victims to reenact, or keep souvenirs
Jack the Ripper- I think that profiling by modern detectives is a pile of crap. Back fit explanations by some one trying to look intelligent and see the future and make a good living guessing. According to the pro-filers all us serial killers set fires, we all had a bad childhood. No, I didn't visit the graves, why would I want to do that. My crimes were sexual in nature. I did not want to attract undue attention. I was careful, I planned, I relied on luck but if my luck failed I expected to face severe consequences.
Author- What do you mean
Jack- Don't get arrested in London in 1888 if you have made the police look foolish
Author- I am impressed with the London police. There showed a lot of restraint by not arresting someone based on flimsy evidence
Jack the Ripper- Yes, true, and they let the real killer go
Author -Reiterate
Jack- Not yet, you have not figured out who I was, I don't want to spoil your sport. Try this: concentrate on the first and last murders
Author- so there were only five murders
Jack- I really can't remember
end part 12
fiction
edward w pritchard
Jack the Ripper- Most of my five victims were extroverts [anachronism]
Author- What?
Jack the Ripper- I listened to that "Eleanor Rigby" it's a sad song but lonely people bring on a lot of their own problems. They should get out more, socialize
Author- Maybe some are afraid of the night
Jack- touche
author- I know I can be a little difficult to be around
Jack- Who you, lost in thought, preoccupied, needing large periods of time alone, No! But I like the fact that you are kind to children
Author - Were you
Jack- Yes, I often gave coins to the destitute children in White Chapel. I use to worry over their fate.
Author-Did you visit the graves of your victims to reenact, or keep souvenirs
Jack the Ripper- I think that profiling by modern detectives is a pile of crap. Back fit explanations by some one trying to look intelligent and see the future and make a good living guessing. According to the pro-filers all us serial killers set fires, we all had a bad childhood. No, I didn't visit the graves, why would I want to do that. My crimes were sexual in nature. I did not want to attract undue attention. I was careful, I planned, I relied on luck but if my luck failed I expected to face severe consequences.
Author- What do you mean
Jack- Don't get arrested in London in 1888 if you have made the police look foolish
Author- I am impressed with the London police. There showed a lot of restraint by not arresting someone based on flimsy evidence
Jack the Ripper- Yes, true, and they let the real killer go
Author -Reiterate
Jack- Not yet, you have not figured out who I was, I don't want to spoil your sport. Try this: concentrate on the first and last murders
Author- so there were only five murders
Jack- I really can't remember
end part 12
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