Compact Disc Review
Penney Candy Love
Available from Kim Weitkamp at www.kimweitkamp.com. Email: kim@kimweitkamp.com. Snailmail: 855 Atkinson Road, Christiansburg, VA 24073. $15.00, plus $1.00 shipping and handling.
Reviewed By Linda Goodman
There has been a lot of buzz about Kim Weitkamp’s meteoric rise to storytelling stardom, but anyone who doubts that she deserves her success needs only to listen to this CD to put all doubts to rest. With this recording of stories for grownups, which celebrates the different textures of love, Weitkamp establishes herself as a double-threat: a talented singer/songwriter, as well as a first rate storyteller.
Weitkamp’s stories weave precious memories and delightful details together into panoramic pictures that take us on a personal journey into the very soul of family. Like all good storytellers, she evokes both laughter and tears, but her smooth, silky voice, impeccable timing, and dead-on anticipation of her listeners’ needs place her at the pinnacle of her craft. The listener feels like a trusted confidant, lending an ear to a friend who knows that sharing herself and the lessons she has learned are the best gifts one can offer.
Potholders recalls times when money was tight and a young girl had to be crafty to make some extra spending money. A great idea, however, takes an unexpected turn she decides to use a little white lie to advance her money-making scheme. Loving parents use discipline and love to settle the matter, and a song is born: Grease and Old Spice, a tribute to a father who works hard out of devotion to the family he loves.
WZIX, a story that Weitkamp wrote for her mother, shares nostalgic images of 1970 style houses, clotheslines, and children touched by the grown-up love their parents so sweetly demonstrate. When a radio contest offers a chance to win a gift for Mom, a ten-year old girl cannot resist. The result yields a touching moment that honors Mom and eulogizes Elvis with an innocent sincerity that will not soon be forgotten. As I listened to the end of this story, I thought to myself that the story would not be complete unless the listener could hear one of the gospel songs that Elvis had recorded. Weitkamp did not disappoint. Her rendition of In the Garden sent chills down my spine. A Song for Mom follows to bring the story full circle.
Love on the First Floor, set in a nursing home where Weitkamp was once chaplain, is a touching story of love in the twilight years, when life’s candle is slowing burning to its inevitable end. Life may end, but love lives on in the hearts of those who hold us dear, regardless of circumstances that lead to the journey’s end. Whippoorwill with its comforting refrain of “calling me to fly” is the perfect song to finish this story.
Penny Candy Love is a song born from the curiosity of a child who wonders what her parents do on those rare occasions when money is available and children are sent to buy penny candy. Its slick and lusty lyrics leave the listener hungry for Squirrel Nut Zippers and Mary Janes.
Weitkamp is a master at building bridges from story to song to story. Transitions from one to the other are so seamless that the CD feels like a long, enjoyable ride, not a bumpy trip with stops along the way. This feat is especially remarkable when one considers that this is a live recording.
This captivating recording will be a cherished addition to any story lover’s library. My recommendation: do not listen to it alone. Share the wealth, and your friends and family will know without a doubt why storytelling draws thousands of people to a little town in Tennessee each year. This is storytelling at its best.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Rocky Rockwell Remembered
I first met Rocky Rockwell in the mid-nineties when he was putting together a storytelling troupe for the Barter Theatre. Not only did he secure the Barter’s blessing for this venture, he also convinced the theatre to provide a $2,000 budget for each show (no small feat!). Clearly, this man possessed great powers of persuasion.
Rocky was one of storytelling’s greatest advocates. He could not keep a good thing to himself. A long time journalist, he knew a good story when he came across one, but he could also enhance a story with his wit and wisdom in ways that traditional journalism does not allow.
I will never forget taking a group of middle school children to see Rocky at the VASA Gathering in Williamsburg in 2000. They were so taken with his hilarious tale of a Yankee’s visit to rural Mississippi that a few of them asked his permission to tell it themselves. Rocky, of course, granted that permission. He was a generous man.
Rocky was warm and kind. He and his beloved wife, Mimi, often opened their home on eighty-four acres of timberland in a Bristol, Virginia “holler” to travelers in the storytelling realm. Their guests could expect good conversation, a comfortable bed, and, of course, as story or two.
Rocky was on the board of the National Storytelling Network (NSN) for a while. He used that time trying to make the organization more “member friendly.” Many of us appreciated his hard work and determination on our behalf.
Rocky shared his tales at the Corn Island Storytelling Festival, the VASA Gatherings, and at Boston’s Sharing the Fire. Locally, he belonged to the Beaver Creak Storytellers and the Jonesborough Storytelling Guild. His trademark sense of humor always left a trail of laughter in its wake. My favorite Rocky story was the first one that I ever heard him tell: a litany of the trials and tribulations of being old. Only Rocky could make the agonies of aging seem like fun.
I cannot think of Rocky without thinking of his wife Mimi, as well. Married for thirty-four years, they were a loving couple who clearly made a great team, not only as storytellers, but as partners in a life venture that brought joy to others as much as to themselves. Forward-thinking and open-minded, they preferred to celebrate the unique qualities of fellow artists, rather than pass judgment. As a result, there was some rich storytelling in Washington County. The entire community benefited from Rocky and Mimi’s generosity.
My heart goes out to Mimi now. Her best friend, her true love is gone from this earth. This is a tragedy that most of us will face one day, but knowing that does not make an individual’s journey down this lonely road any easier. Mimi is strong. She will take her heartbreak and weave it into a story that will change the lives of all who hear it. She knows how to do that.
In recent years, I have lost a number of the storytelling elders who influenced me as I was coming along on my own journey as a storyteller. Jay Engle, Pete Houston, Pawpaw Pinkerton, and Brother Blue have all completed their journeys. And now Rocky Rockwell, who left this world on Tuesday, May 11, 2010, has joined them. I have no doubt that they are raising a ruckus in heaven right now, a giant hoedown to welcome storytelling’s newest arrival.
I miss Rocky. I miss them all.
Rocky was one of storytelling’s greatest advocates. He could not keep a good thing to himself. A long time journalist, he knew a good story when he came across one, but he could also enhance a story with his wit and wisdom in ways that traditional journalism does not allow.
I will never forget taking a group of middle school children to see Rocky at the VASA Gathering in Williamsburg in 2000. They were so taken with his hilarious tale of a Yankee’s visit to rural Mississippi that a few of them asked his permission to tell it themselves. Rocky, of course, granted that permission. He was a generous man.
Rocky was warm and kind. He and his beloved wife, Mimi, often opened their home on eighty-four acres of timberland in a Bristol, Virginia “holler” to travelers in the storytelling realm. Their guests could expect good conversation, a comfortable bed, and, of course, as story or two.
Rocky was on the board of the National Storytelling Network (NSN) for a while. He used that time trying to make the organization more “member friendly.” Many of us appreciated his hard work and determination on our behalf.
Rocky shared his tales at the Corn Island Storytelling Festival, the VASA Gatherings, and at Boston’s Sharing the Fire. Locally, he belonged to the Beaver Creak Storytellers and the Jonesborough Storytelling Guild. His trademark sense of humor always left a trail of laughter in its wake. My favorite Rocky story was the first one that I ever heard him tell: a litany of the trials and tribulations of being old. Only Rocky could make the agonies of aging seem like fun.
I cannot think of Rocky without thinking of his wife Mimi, as well. Married for thirty-four years, they were a loving couple who clearly made a great team, not only as storytellers, but as partners in a life venture that brought joy to others as much as to themselves. Forward-thinking and open-minded, they preferred to celebrate the unique qualities of fellow artists, rather than pass judgment. As a result, there was some rich storytelling in Washington County. The entire community benefited from Rocky and Mimi’s generosity.
My heart goes out to Mimi now. Her best friend, her true love is gone from this earth. This is a tragedy that most of us will face one day, but knowing that does not make an individual’s journey down this lonely road any easier. Mimi is strong. She will take her heartbreak and weave it into a story that will change the lives of all who hear it. She knows how to do that.
In recent years, I have lost a number of the storytelling elders who influenced me as I was coming along on my own journey as a storyteller. Jay Engle, Pete Houston, Pawpaw Pinkerton, and Brother Blue have all completed their journeys. And now Rocky Rockwell, who left this world on Tuesday, May 11, 2010, has joined them. I have no doubt that they are raising a ruckus in heaven right now, a giant hoedown to welcome storytelling’s newest arrival.
I miss Rocky. I miss them all.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Westmoreland Players - Inherit the Wind
Reviewed by Linda Goodman
May is a lovely month to visit the “Rivah”, and the Westmoreland Players have just made the trip even more enticing by mounting their production of Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee’s courtroom drama Inherit the Wind this month.
Inspired by the 1925 Scopes Monkey Trial in Dayton, Tennessee, Inherit the Wind is high drama. The courtroom scene in the second act had me on the edge of my seat, holding my breath, even though I have seen the show several times and knew what was going to happen. The directing, staging, and acting of the Westmoreland Players production is that good! That is the beauty of live theater: different directors and actors bring different talents to the table. No two productions are ever the same.
Mathew Harrison Brady, council for the prosecution, is often portrayed as a one-dimensional buffoon, but Robert Crown skillfully softens Brady’s unshakeable faith by investing him with intelligence and compassion. Whether you agree with him or not, you admire this man who preaches forgiveness alongside obedience; who, while fighting to imprison a local school teacher for teaching Darwin, would counsel a preacher to be tender towards a rebellious daughter.
Don Kenefick, who plays council for the defense Henry Drummond, rises to the challenge of Crown’s bigger than life Brady. The audience can almost see the quick thinking taking place in Drummond’s brain as the judge turns away all the expert witnesses for the defense. Kenefick plays Drummond with a subtlety that makes the inevitable clash between these two titans all the more delicious.
Chad Lewis as Bertram Cates, the defendant, and Christina Thompson as Rachel Brown, his colleague and supporter, break hearts as they try to navigate the uncharted territory between love and duty.
Jason Strong as the cocky Baltimore Sun journalist E. K. Hornbeck, is a man with an ax to grind. How dare these small town yokels challenge science! Strong left me with an image of Hornbeck shaking the dust off his boots as he sprinted back to civilization.
Bob Wilson made the arrogant and self-righteous Rev. Jeremiah Brown an immovable fortress of faith. Not even the pleas of his beloved daughter could sway him from his course, though one could see his heart breaking at her betrayal.
There were several talented children in this cast, but Ray Rubio as Howard Blair, witness for the prosecution, was so natural and likeable on stage that I forgot he was acting.
Glenn and Joy Evans, directors, producers, and designers for this show, revealed a keen eye for set decoration and costuming (I wanted to buy Rachel’s wardrobe). Though there were many actors on a small stage, the set never seemed crowded. Credit is due to the Evans for selecting the marvelous cast and for directing with such sensitivity. Talented actors in the hands of skilled directors are always a treat on stage.
Inherit the Wind will be on stage at the The Players Theater, located on route 360 in Callao, Virginia, through May 23. For performance dates, times, and prices, visit www.westmorelandplayers.org, or call 804-529-9345.
For those of you living outside the Northern Neck area, please know that I travelled 2 hours to see this show and my sister travelled 4 hours. We both agreed that it was well worth the drive.
May is a lovely month to visit the “Rivah”, and the Westmoreland Players have just made the trip even more enticing by mounting their production of Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee’s courtroom drama Inherit the Wind this month.
Inspired by the 1925 Scopes Monkey Trial in Dayton, Tennessee, Inherit the Wind is high drama. The courtroom scene in the second act had me on the edge of my seat, holding my breath, even though I have seen the show several times and knew what was going to happen. The directing, staging, and acting of the Westmoreland Players production is that good! That is the beauty of live theater: different directors and actors bring different talents to the table. No two productions are ever the same.
Mathew Harrison Brady, council for the prosecution, is often portrayed as a one-dimensional buffoon, but Robert Crown skillfully softens Brady’s unshakeable faith by investing him with intelligence and compassion. Whether you agree with him or not, you admire this man who preaches forgiveness alongside obedience; who, while fighting to imprison a local school teacher for teaching Darwin, would counsel a preacher to be tender towards a rebellious daughter.
Don Kenefick, who plays council for the defense Henry Drummond, rises to the challenge of Crown’s bigger than life Brady. The audience can almost see the quick thinking taking place in Drummond’s brain as the judge turns away all the expert witnesses for the defense. Kenefick plays Drummond with a subtlety that makes the inevitable clash between these two titans all the more delicious.
Chad Lewis as Bertram Cates, the defendant, and Christina Thompson as Rachel Brown, his colleague and supporter, break hearts as they try to navigate the uncharted territory between love and duty.
Jason Strong as the cocky Baltimore Sun journalist E. K. Hornbeck, is a man with an ax to grind. How dare these small town yokels challenge science! Strong left me with an image of Hornbeck shaking the dust off his boots as he sprinted back to civilization.
Bob Wilson made the arrogant and self-righteous Rev. Jeremiah Brown an immovable fortress of faith. Not even the pleas of his beloved daughter could sway him from his course, though one could see his heart breaking at her betrayal.
There were several talented children in this cast, but Ray Rubio as Howard Blair, witness for the prosecution, was so natural and likeable on stage that I forgot he was acting.
Glenn and Joy Evans, directors, producers, and designers for this show, revealed a keen eye for set decoration and costuming (I wanted to buy Rachel’s wardrobe). Though there were many actors on a small stage, the set never seemed crowded. Credit is due to the Evans for selecting the marvelous cast and for directing with such sensitivity. Talented actors in the hands of skilled directors are always a treat on stage.
Inherit the Wind will be on stage at the The Players Theater, located on route 360 in Callao, Virginia, through May 23. For performance dates, times, and prices, visit www.westmorelandplayers.org, or call 804-529-9345.
For those of you living outside the Northern Neck area, please know that I travelled 2 hours to see this show and my sister travelled 4 hours. We both agreed that it was well worth the drive.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Crucible at the Sycamore Rouge
Reviewed by Linda Goodman
Yesterday afternoon I made a trip to Old Town Petersburg to catch a matinee performance of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible at the Sycamore Rouge.
Anyone who is familiar with The Crucible knows that it does not have a happy ending. Set during the Salem, Massachusetts witch trials in 1692, this drama portrays innocent people who suffer the consequences after wild tales from children create an atmosphere of mass hysteria. Writing during the mad reign of McCarthyism, Miller structured this play to warn that history does, indeed, repeat itself, far more often than lessons are learned. Parallels can be found in every era.
The set at the Sycamore was plain and suitably stern, creating an atmosphere that was at once sinister and foreboding. Of course, a good cast and crew cannot go wrong with an Arthur Miller script. I am happy to report that this cast and crew did its job well.
While the entire cast was good, there were a few who deserve special mention:
Stephen Ryan, as the Reverend John Hale, skillfully crafted a complex man whose good intentions were turned against him. In his zeal to do the Lord’s work, he supped with the devil, realizing too late that the horror he thought to control was in fact controlling him and everyone around him.
Brittany Simmons, as Abigail Williams, a scorned young woman whose fury would result in the deaths of nineteen innocent men and woman, was a tight knot of self-righteous indignation, pointing her deadly finger at any who dared try to thwart her diabolical scheme to possess the man who spurned her.
Mike Sullivan, as Giles Corey, gave a heartbreaking turn as a man who thought to teach his book-loving wife a lesson, all the while unwittingly signing her death warrant.
Beth Von Kelsch, as Elizabeth Proctor, triumphed as the wronged wife who watches in horror as her husband’s mistakes bring about the ruin of her family. Ultimately, she nobly takes the blame upon herself. “It were a cold house I kept,” she confesses. Ms. Von Kelsch portrayed Elizabeth with just the right mix of strength and vulnerability.
Jefferey Cole, as John Proctor, one of the few sane minds amidst the hysteria, portrays the voice of reason that will not be heard, even though it be shouting. His ultimate sacrifice is his legacy to his children. As an actor, Cole became the character with such ease it was hard to separate the two.
The Sycamore Rouge is a beautifully restored theater and bar. On Sunday, it served drinks and desserts. I recommend the key lime pie.
The Crucible will be showing on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays through May 15. Friday and Saturday shows start at 8:00 p.m. Sunday shows start at 4:00 p.m. Tickets range from $18.00 to $22.00. For reservations, call 804-957-5707 or visit www.sycamorerouge.org.
Yesterday afternoon I made a trip to Old Town Petersburg to catch a matinee performance of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible at the Sycamore Rouge.
Anyone who is familiar with The Crucible knows that it does not have a happy ending. Set during the Salem, Massachusetts witch trials in 1692, this drama portrays innocent people who suffer the consequences after wild tales from children create an atmosphere of mass hysteria. Writing during the mad reign of McCarthyism, Miller structured this play to warn that history does, indeed, repeat itself, far more often than lessons are learned. Parallels can be found in every era.
The set at the Sycamore was plain and suitably stern, creating an atmosphere that was at once sinister and foreboding. Of course, a good cast and crew cannot go wrong with an Arthur Miller script. I am happy to report that this cast and crew did its job well.
While the entire cast was good, there were a few who deserve special mention:
Stephen Ryan, as the Reverend John Hale, skillfully crafted a complex man whose good intentions were turned against him. In his zeal to do the Lord’s work, he supped with the devil, realizing too late that the horror he thought to control was in fact controlling him and everyone around him.
Brittany Simmons, as Abigail Williams, a scorned young woman whose fury would result in the deaths of nineteen innocent men and woman, was a tight knot of self-righteous indignation, pointing her deadly finger at any who dared try to thwart her diabolical scheme to possess the man who spurned her.
Mike Sullivan, as Giles Corey, gave a heartbreaking turn as a man who thought to teach his book-loving wife a lesson, all the while unwittingly signing her death warrant.
Beth Von Kelsch, as Elizabeth Proctor, triumphed as the wronged wife who watches in horror as her husband’s mistakes bring about the ruin of her family. Ultimately, she nobly takes the blame upon herself. “It were a cold house I kept,” she confesses. Ms. Von Kelsch portrayed Elizabeth with just the right mix of strength and vulnerability.
Jefferey Cole, as John Proctor, one of the few sane minds amidst the hysteria, portrays the voice of reason that will not be heard, even though it be shouting. His ultimate sacrifice is his legacy to his children. As an actor, Cole became the character with such ease it was hard to separate the two.
The Sycamore Rouge is a beautifully restored theater and bar. On Sunday, it served drinks and desserts. I recommend the key lime pie.
The Crucible will be showing on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays through May 15. Friday and Saturday shows start at 8:00 p.m. Sunday shows start at 4:00 p.m. Tickets range from $18.00 to $22.00. For reservations, call 804-957-5707 or visit www.sycamorerouge.org.
Monday, April 19, 2010
2010 Sounds of the Mountain Music and Story Festival
Festival Review by Linda Goodman
I just returned from a weekend at Camp Bethel in Fincastle, Virginia, home of the Sounds of the Mountains Music and Story Festival.
I must warn you: Driving to this festival can be dangerous to your health. Once you exit off of the highway to route 11, the mountain scenery is so breathtakingly beautiful that there is an overwhelming urge to enjoy the view, at the expense of keeping your eyes on the narrow, winding roads.
The staff at Camp Bethel could not been more hospitable. They answered questions with a smile and left no doubt that they were happy to have us. Camp Bethel is a Christian Camp, sponsored by the Church of the Brethren, that services many children who could not otherwise enjoy the camping experience. This festival helps them raise money to do just that.
The Friday night concert began at 7:30 and featured Alan Hoal, Beth Horner, Kevin Kling, and Bill Harley. One of the main reasons that I go to festivals is to hear tellers that I have not hard before. After I heard this set, I felt as though I had struck gold. Alan Hoal, Kevin Kling, and Beth Horner were all new to me. Also in the line-up was Bill Harley, one of my favorite tellers from way back. I was enthralled with each one and could not wait to see what they would do on Saturday.
Alan Hoal proved himself to be a master of tall tales, as well as a philosopher. Alan is the founder of Sounds of the Mountains, and I am sure that the weeks leading up to the festival were extremely busy ones for him. Having been involved in storytelling festival and conference production myself (Three Apples Storytelling Festival, Sharing the Fire), I know only too well how hectic and stressful the weeks (and months!) leading up to such an event can be. After such a grueling prelude, being able to tell a story with the ease and comfort that Hoal exhibited is no small feat. I look forward to hearing him again.
Listening to Kevin Kling was like watching an episode of 24: you could not let your mind wander for even a minute! He told stories of his childhood, of his days hopping freight trains, and of his hitchhiking experiences. He was even brave enough to bare his soul and share the story of his disability and how he came to terms with it. He is a master wordsmith who is highly intellectual, yet accessible. He had people laughing hysterically. He had people wiping away tears. He is an endearing man who captures the hearts of his listeners and makes them believe in the impossible. I have heard people rave about him for years, and now I am raving, too. His stories will stay with me for a long time.
Beth Horner is a delight. She reminded me of a pixie with spunk! Every where I went, there was a buzz about her Civil War story, Silver Spurs (I missed this set – darn it!). I was captivated by her tale of a simple folk singer who wrote a song that saved the Missouri River from being defiled with sewage. I cannot get the chorus out of my head:
“Columbus is building a sewer,
Filled with do-do-do-do-do-do-do”
Beth is now on my radar. Whenever she tells at a site near me, I will be there.
Bill Harley never fails to delight. I first heard him tell was at the Connecticut Storytelling Festival in 1990. After 20 years, you would think that he would have run out of steam, or at least slowed down. Quite the opposite is true, however. He is a little grayer now, but when he takes the stage he is once again that mischievous little boy, that angst-filled teenager, or that befuddled parent trying to figure out how to temper discipline and love when relating to his offspring. He will always be one of storytelling’s grand jewels.
Tim Livengood’s witty pirate version of Cinderella was a tour de force that garnered gut-busting laughter and awestruck wonder. How does he maintain that persona for eighteen full minutes? He is a powerhouse of talent.
Tim and I were at the festival as VASA tellers. I usually do not perform in showcases at festivals, as past experience has taught me that such performances are usually just an attempt to stroke the organization (in this case VASA) as compensation for its support. Such showcases are usually scheduled during lunch or dinner time, or against a national teller that everyone wants to hear. Festival showcase attendance is often so low that it is embarrassing. I am happy to report, however, that Sounds of the Mountains treated its VASA tellers well this year. This is in large part due to the brilliant Kim Weitkamp, the weekend’s emcee (none better!) who ingeniously rearranged the schedule so that the VASA tellers were tagged onto the end of a set featuring Beth Horner and Kevin Kling. The audience, therefore, stayed put, listened to, and (I think) even enjoyed Tim and me. Kim Weitkamp: THANK YOU! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!!
Next year’s Sounds of the Mountains Festival will be held during the weekend of April 15-16. It will be the festival’s 10th anniversary, and the featured tellers will be Sheila Kay Adams, Donald Davis, David Holt, Andy Offutt Irwin, and Baba Jamal Koram. I have personally heard all of these tellers except for Andy, and I can vouch for the fact that the ones I have heard are top drawer. Everyone that I know who has heard Andy says that he is the best of the best, so I feel certain you will enjoy him, too.
There are several affordable hotels within 15 miles of Camp Bethel. If you like to camp, you can even spend the weekend on the campground. Mark you calendars so that you don’t miss this storytelling gem.
I just returned from a weekend at Camp Bethel in Fincastle, Virginia, home of the Sounds of the Mountains Music and Story Festival.
I must warn you: Driving to this festival can be dangerous to your health. Once you exit off of the highway to route 11, the mountain scenery is so breathtakingly beautiful that there is an overwhelming urge to enjoy the view, at the expense of keeping your eyes on the narrow, winding roads.
The staff at Camp Bethel could not been more hospitable. They answered questions with a smile and left no doubt that they were happy to have us. Camp Bethel is a Christian Camp, sponsored by the Church of the Brethren, that services many children who could not otherwise enjoy the camping experience. This festival helps them raise money to do just that.
The Friday night concert began at 7:30 and featured Alan Hoal, Beth Horner, Kevin Kling, and Bill Harley. One of the main reasons that I go to festivals is to hear tellers that I have not hard before. After I heard this set, I felt as though I had struck gold. Alan Hoal, Kevin Kling, and Beth Horner were all new to me. Also in the line-up was Bill Harley, one of my favorite tellers from way back. I was enthralled with each one and could not wait to see what they would do on Saturday.
Alan Hoal proved himself to be a master of tall tales, as well as a philosopher. Alan is the founder of Sounds of the Mountains, and I am sure that the weeks leading up to the festival were extremely busy ones for him. Having been involved in storytelling festival and conference production myself (Three Apples Storytelling Festival, Sharing the Fire), I know only too well how hectic and stressful the weeks (and months!) leading up to such an event can be. After such a grueling prelude, being able to tell a story with the ease and comfort that Hoal exhibited is no small feat. I look forward to hearing him again.
Listening to Kevin Kling was like watching an episode of 24: you could not let your mind wander for even a minute! He told stories of his childhood, of his days hopping freight trains, and of his hitchhiking experiences. He was even brave enough to bare his soul and share the story of his disability and how he came to terms with it. He is a master wordsmith who is highly intellectual, yet accessible. He had people laughing hysterically. He had people wiping away tears. He is an endearing man who captures the hearts of his listeners and makes them believe in the impossible. I have heard people rave about him for years, and now I am raving, too. His stories will stay with me for a long time.
Beth Horner is a delight. She reminded me of a pixie with spunk! Every where I went, there was a buzz about her Civil War story, Silver Spurs (I missed this set – darn it!). I was captivated by her tale of a simple folk singer who wrote a song that saved the Missouri River from being defiled with sewage. I cannot get the chorus out of my head:
“Columbus is building a sewer,
Filled with do-do-do-do-do-do-do”
Beth is now on my radar. Whenever she tells at a site near me, I will be there.
Bill Harley never fails to delight. I first heard him tell was at the Connecticut Storytelling Festival in 1990. After 20 years, you would think that he would have run out of steam, or at least slowed down. Quite the opposite is true, however. He is a little grayer now, but when he takes the stage he is once again that mischievous little boy, that angst-filled teenager, or that befuddled parent trying to figure out how to temper discipline and love when relating to his offspring. He will always be one of storytelling’s grand jewels.
Tim Livengood’s witty pirate version of Cinderella was a tour de force that garnered gut-busting laughter and awestruck wonder. How does he maintain that persona for eighteen full minutes? He is a powerhouse of talent.
Tim and I were at the festival as VASA tellers. I usually do not perform in showcases at festivals, as past experience has taught me that such performances are usually just an attempt to stroke the organization (in this case VASA) as compensation for its support. Such showcases are usually scheduled during lunch or dinner time, or against a national teller that everyone wants to hear. Festival showcase attendance is often so low that it is embarrassing. I am happy to report, however, that Sounds of the Mountains treated its VASA tellers well this year. This is in large part due to the brilliant Kim Weitkamp, the weekend’s emcee (none better!) who ingeniously rearranged the schedule so that the VASA tellers were tagged onto the end of a set featuring Beth Horner and Kevin Kling. The audience, therefore, stayed put, listened to, and (I think) even enjoyed Tim and me. Kim Weitkamp: THANK YOU! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!!
Next year’s Sounds of the Mountains Festival will be held during the weekend of April 15-16. It will be the festival’s 10th anniversary, and the featured tellers will be Sheila Kay Adams, Donald Davis, David Holt, Andy Offutt Irwin, and Baba Jamal Koram. I have personally heard all of these tellers except for Andy, and I can vouch for the fact that the ones I have heard are top drawer. Everyone that I know who has heard Andy says that he is the best of the best, so I feel certain you will enjoy him, too.
There are several affordable hotels within 15 miles of Camp Bethel. If you like to camp, you can even spend the weekend on the campground. Mark you calendars so that you don’t miss this storytelling gem.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
The Adventures of Peggy Quiggly - Chapter 2
Chapter One was posted to this blog on February 28.
Chapter Two
A Means to an End
Peggy got home from school that afternoon in a superb mood. She did not even mind doing her homework. “Advanced Algebra is so easy,” she said to herself. “I don’t understand why my classmates think it’s hard.” Once her homework was finished she read her library book, The History of the Cockroach Since Prehistoric Times, by Bart Noble, until her mother called her for dinner.
“Mom, this was the best dinner ever!” Peggy exclaimed after cleaning her plate.
He mother was confused. “Peggy, I usually have to force you to eat liver and onions. Not to mention the spinach. Just what are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yes,” echoed her father, “just what are you up to, Peggy?”
Peggy wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Mom, Dad, I have to tell you something very, very important,” she said in her most demure and respectful voice.
“Go on honey, we’re listening,” said her mother..
“Well, Mom…Dad,” Peggy was so excited she was finding it hard to speak, “ today Mr. Squiggy was telling me that scientists have discovered this new, pollution-free planet that is able to sustain human life. The government is going to send twelve families to go live on it. Just think! A pollution-free planet! That means that it would be an ideal home for people like me, with asthma! So…I was thinking that our family could go, because I really want my asthma to get better, and I want to get away from all of the mean people here. I was also thinking,” she added sheepishly, “that if we go, we could take Mr. Squiggy with us. He wants to go so badly, but he doesn’t have any family. Please can we go?” Peggy finished talking and looked at her parents expectantly. The only thing she saw was her parents’ dumbstruck faces.
Just then the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” said Peggy.
“Hello, Peggy! I’m very anxious to know how your parents feel about our plan.” It was Mr. Squiggy.
“Hey, Mr. Squiggy,” Peggy whispered into the receiver. “I was just asking my parents about it. They haven’t answered me yet, but it looks good. Can I call you back?”
“Sure,” Mr. Squiggy answered, “Just call me back as soon as you can. I won’t be able to sleep until I know.”
Peggy hung up the phone and returned to the dinner table. “Mom, Dad, that was Mr. Squiggy on the phone. He is so excited about going to the new planet! You can’t disappoint him. He’s an old man. He might keel over!”
Peggy’s father, Robert Quigley, gently took her hand. “Peggy,” he said, “I know you really want this, but you mother and I have jobs here. And your brother Jonas is working on his Eagle Scout badge in space ship engine repair. We can’t just leave this all behind. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we can’t go.”
“But, Daddy,” countered Peggy. “You always say that we should try new things. This is the newest thing of all. Why shouldn’t we do this together? Don’t you want my asthma to get better?”
“You know I do, honey. Your health is of the utmost importance to me. Maybe next time,” replied her dad.
“But what if there isn’t a next time? How can you do this to me! My health is a lot more important than any old job, or even an Eagle Scout badge! You and Mom never do anything for me!” shouted Peggy
“Now that’s enough, young lady!” her mother scolded her. “You are not going to get away with being disrespectful to your father! I do not want to hear another word about this new planet because we are NOT going! Now go to your room until you have adjusted your attitude!”
Peggy ran upstairs in tears. I have the meanest parents in the world, she thought to herself, as she was getting ready for bed. As she was putting on her pajamas, the phone rang. “I hope that’s not Mr. Squiggy again,” she sniffed. “How will I ever tell him that we can’t go?”
It was not Mr. Squiggy. It was her best friend Catherine Mill. “Hey, Cathy,” said Peggy, between sniffles. “How’s it going?”
“Terrific!” screamed an excited Cathy. “I am thrilled to death! Did you hear about the new planet that was on the news? My father put in an application for us to be one of the 12 families that will be settling it, and guess what! We were accepted! Isn’t that the best news ever? I wish that you could go, too.”
Peggy didn’t know what to say, when suddenly she thought of an idea. “Well, Cathy, maybe I can go. My parents can’t go because my stupid brother Jonas is being selfish, as usual. But they told me that if I can find a good family that is willing to take me along, a family that they know, they will give their permission to let me go with them. What do you think? Do you think your parents will let me go with you?”
Cathy was almost speechless. “You mean your parents would let you go off into outer space without them? That is very hard to believe, Peggy. Are you sure you heard them right?”
“Well,” Peggy lied, “my parents said that it would be a great opportunity for me to get some relief from my asthma. The planet is pollution-free, you know. And they’ll make it up on the next shuttle.”
“Hold on,” said Cathy, “I’ll go ask my parents. The shuttle leaves in two days, and if they say yes, make sure you’ll be ready to go.” The phone line was silent for a minute, and then Cathy was back. “My mom wants to talk to your mom.”
“Okay,” said Peggy.
Peggy heard Cathy’s mother’s voice, “Meggie?”
Peggy did a perfect imitation of her mother. “Hello, Gloria. Aren’t our little girls excited about this new planet?”
“Of course they are, Meggie. Who wouldn’t be? But is this on the level? Are you really willing to let Peggy go with us to settle this new planet?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“Oh, Gloria,” Peggy purred, “we will be so distraught without her, but can you imagine how her asthma will improve in a pure environment, such as the one on this new planet? How could any parent deny her child an opportunity to improve her health? Can’t you just imagine how much better her life will be if she can get rid of all that annoying wheezing and coughing?”
“Oh, my, yes,” said Mrs. Mill. “I would certainly do that for Cathy. Of course, Cathy is in perfect health and has no annoying habits at all. Well, then, if you are sure that this is for the best, have her ready quickly. We leave the day after tomorrow. I will send you of list of what she will need to pack”
Peggy thought fast. “Well…just have Cathy give the list to Peggy at school tomorrow. That way you can spend your time getting everything together. You know that you and I cannot see one another without yammering on for hours.”
“Good idea,” agreed Mrs. Mill. “You think of everything, Meggie.”
“One more thing, Gloria,” Peggy quickly added, “Peggy’s grandfather, Mr. Peter Squiggy, would like to accompany her on this trip. Peggy is so close to him. She wouldn’t get homesick at all if he were with her. Do you think he can go as part of your family?”
“Mr. Squiggy? The school janitor is Peggy’s grandfather?” Mrs. Mill was aghast.
“Well, yes, Gloria, he is,” Peggy quickly explained. “Mr. Squiggy is my father. I can’t believe you did not know that.”
“Meggie, I thought your father was a scientist,” replied Mrs. Mill.
“He’s …. a retired scientist, Gloria,” Peggy told her. “He works as a janitor now so that he has something to do in his free time. I can’t believe that you didn’t know that! Haven’t you ever noticed the resemblance between the him and Peggy?”
“Now that you mention it, Gloria,” Mrs. Mill mused, “I have. Well, I am sure that a scientist, retired on not, will be welcome on this trip. We will be happy to sponsor him.”
“Thank you, Gloria,” Peggy crooned. “How will I ever repay you kindness?”
“That’s what friends are for, Meggie. Good night.” Mrs. Mill hung up the phone.
Great! thought Peggy. I will tell my parents that I’m just going for a sleepover with Cathy, but I’ll really be going with her and her family on the space shuttle. I’ll call Mr. Squiggy right away.
Mr. Squiggy was ecstatic. “I am so honored that your parents trust me enough to take care of you, Peggy. I promise that I won’t disappoint them.”
“I know you won’t, Mr. Squiggy,” Peggy assured him. “My parents think that you’re the best!”
“Wow!” Mr. Squiggy exclaimed. “And they haven’t even met me yet! I should come to your house tomorrow and thank them personally.”
“No need to do that!” Peggy hastily interrupted.. “They read all about you in the school paper.”
“They did?” Mr. Squiggy was astounded. “When was I in the school paper?”
“Gotta go, Mr. Squiggy!” Peggy screeched. “I’ve got a lot of packing to do.”
Oh my gosh! What am I doing? Peggy thought to herself after hanging up the phone. I’m going to cure my asthma, that’s what! There’s nothing wrong about that. My parents never said I couldn’t go. I’ll miss them, though. I really will. Peggy fell into a dead sleep. She had no worries at all.
Chapter Two
A Means to an End
Peggy got home from school that afternoon in a superb mood. She did not even mind doing her homework. “Advanced Algebra is so easy,” she said to herself. “I don’t understand why my classmates think it’s hard.” Once her homework was finished she read her library book, The History of the Cockroach Since Prehistoric Times, by Bart Noble, until her mother called her for dinner.
“Mom, this was the best dinner ever!” Peggy exclaimed after cleaning her plate.
He mother was confused. “Peggy, I usually have to force you to eat liver and onions. Not to mention the spinach. Just what are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yes,” echoed her father, “just what are you up to, Peggy?”
Peggy wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Mom, Dad, I have to tell you something very, very important,” she said in her most demure and respectful voice.
“Go on honey, we’re listening,” said her mother..
“Well, Mom…Dad,” Peggy was so excited she was finding it hard to speak, “ today Mr. Squiggy was telling me that scientists have discovered this new, pollution-free planet that is able to sustain human life. The government is going to send twelve families to go live on it. Just think! A pollution-free planet! That means that it would be an ideal home for people like me, with asthma! So…I was thinking that our family could go, because I really want my asthma to get better, and I want to get away from all of the mean people here. I was also thinking,” she added sheepishly, “that if we go, we could take Mr. Squiggy with us. He wants to go so badly, but he doesn’t have any family. Please can we go?” Peggy finished talking and looked at her parents expectantly. The only thing she saw was her parents’ dumbstruck faces.
Just then the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” said Peggy.
“Hello, Peggy! I’m very anxious to know how your parents feel about our plan.” It was Mr. Squiggy.
“Hey, Mr. Squiggy,” Peggy whispered into the receiver. “I was just asking my parents about it. They haven’t answered me yet, but it looks good. Can I call you back?”
“Sure,” Mr. Squiggy answered, “Just call me back as soon as you can. I won’t be able to sleep until I know.”
Peggy hung up the phone and returned to the dinner table. “Mom, Dad, that was Mr. Squiggy on the phone. He is so excited about going to the new planet! You can’t disappoint him. He’s an old man. He might keel over!”
Peggy’s father, Robert Quigley, gently took her hand. “Peggy,” he said, “I know you really want this, but you mother and I have jobs here. And your brother Jonas is working on his Eagle Scout badge in space ship engine repair. We can’t just leave this all behind. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we can’t go.”
“But, Daddy,” countered Peggy. “You always say that we should try new things. This is the newest thing of all. Why shouldn’t we do this together? Don’t you want my asthma to get better?”
“You know I do, honey. Your health is of the utmost importance to me. Maybe next time,” replied her dad.
“But what if there isn’t a next time? How can you do this to me! My health is a lot more important than any old job, or even an Eagle Scout badge! You and Mom never do anything for me!” shouted Peggy
“Now that’s enough, young lady!” her mother scolded her. “You are not going to get away with being disrespectful to your father! I do not want to hear another word about this new planet because we are NOT going! Now go to your room until you have adjusted your attitude!”
Peggy ran upstairs in tears. I have the meanest parents in the world, she thought to herself, as she was getting ready for bed. As she was putting on her pajamas, the phone rang. “I hope that’s not Mr. Squiggy again,” she sniffed. “How will I ever tell him that we can’t go?”
It was not Mr. Squiggy. It was her best friend Catherine Mill. “Hey, Cathy,” said Peggy, between sniffles. “How’s it going?”
“Terrific!” screamed an excited Cathy. “I am thrilled to death! Did you hear about the new planet that was on the news? My father put in an application for us to be one of the 12 families that will be settling it, and guess what! We were accepted! Isn’t that the best news ever? I wish that you could go, too.”
Peggy didn’t know what to say, when suddenly she thought of an idea. “Well, Cathy, maybe I can go. My parents can’t go because my stupid brother Jonas is being selfish, as usual. But they told me that if I can find a good family that is willing to take me along, a family that they know, they will give their permission to let me go with them. What do you think? Do you think your parents will let me go with you?”
Cathy was almost speechless. “You mean your parents would let you go off into outer space without them? That is very hard to believe, Peggy. Are you sure you heard them right?”
“Well,” Peggy lied, “my parents said that it would be a great opportunity for me to get some relief from my asthma. The planet is pollution-free, you know. And they’ll make it up on the next shuttle.”
“Hold on,” said Cathy, “I’ll go ask my parents. The shuttle leaves in two days, and if they say yes, make sure you’ll be ready to go.” The phone line was silent for a minute, and then Cathy was back. “My mom wants to talk to your mom.”
“Okay,” said Peggy.
Peggy heard Cathy’s mother’s voice, “Meggie?”
Peggy did a perfect imitation of her mother. “Hello, Gloria. Aren’t our little girls excited about this new planet?”
“Of course they are, Meggie. Who wouldn’t be? But is this on the level? Are you really willing to let Peggy go with us to settle this new planet?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“Oh, Gloria,” Peggy purred, “we will be so distraught without her, but can you imagine how her asthma will improve in a pure environment, such as the one on this new planet? How could any parent deny her child an opportunity to improve her health? Can’t you just imagine how much better her life will be if she can get rid of all that annoying wheezing and coughing?”
“Oh, my, yes,” said Mrs. Mill. “I would certainly do that for Cathy. Of course, Cathy is in perfect health and has no annoying habits at all. Well, then, if you are sure that this is for the best, have her ready quickly. We leave the day after tomorrow. I will send you of list of what she will need to pack”
Peggy thought fast. “Well…just have Cathy give the list to Peggy at school tomorrow. That way you can spend your time getting everything together. You know that you and I cannot see one another without yammering on for hours.”
“Good idea,” agreed Mrs. Mill. “You think of everything, Meggie.”
“One more thing, Gloria,” Peggy quickly added, “Peggy’s grandfather, Mr. Peter Squiggy, would like to accompany her on this trip. Peggy is so close to him. She wouldn’t get homesick at all if he were with her. Do you think he can go as part of your family?”
“Mr. Squiggy? The school janitor is Peggy’s grandfather?” Mrs. Mill was aghast.
“Well, yes, Gloria, he is,” Peggy quickly explained. “Mr. Squiggy is my father. I can’t believe you did not know that.”
“Meggie, I thought your father was a scientist,” replied Mrs. Mill.
“He’s …. a retired scientist, Gloria,” Peggy told her. “He works as a janitor now so that he has something to do in his free time. I can’t believe that you didn’t know that! Haven’t you ever noticed the resemblance between the him and Peggy?”
“Now that you mention it, Gloria,” Mrs. Mill mused, “I have. Well, I am sure that a scientist, retired on not, will be welcome on this trip. We will be happy to sponsor him.”
“Thank you, Gloria,” Peggy crooned. “How will I ever repay you kindness?”
“That’s what friends are for, Meggie. Good night.” Mrs. Mill hung up the phone.
Great! thought Peggy. I will tell my parents that I’m just going for a sleepover with Cathy, but I’ll really be going with her and her family on the space shuttle. I’ll call Mr. Squiggy right away.
Mr. Squiggy was ecstatic. “I am so honored that your parents trust me enough to take care of you, Peggy. I promise that I won’t disappoint them.”
“I know you won’t, Mr. Squiggy,” Peggy assured him. “My parents think that you’re the best!”
“Wow!” Mr. Squiggy exclaimed. “And they haven’t even met me yet! I should come to your house tomorrow and thank them personally.”
“No need to do that!” Peggy hastily interrupted.. “They read all about you in the school paper.”
“They did?” Mr. Squiggy was astounded. “When was I in the school paper?”
“Gotta go, Mr. Squiggy!” Peggy screeched. “I’ve got a lot of packing to do.”
Oh my gosh! What am I doing? Peggy thought to herself after hanging up the phone. I’m going to cure my asthma, that’s what! There’s nothing wrong about that. My parents never said I couldn’t go. I’ll miss them, though. I really will. Peggy fell into a dead sleep. She had no worries at all.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Theodore Alexander Wright - A Tribute
If Theodore Alexander Wright, my father, were still alive, he would have turned 105 years old yesterday. He was fifty years old when I was born. I was thirty-five years old when he died.
Daddy had an interesting life. The oldest of eleven siblings, he went to work in the coal mines of Virginia City, Virginia at age fourteen, risking his life daily to help support his family. During the Great Depression, unable to find work, he spent a few years as a hobo, hopping freight trains all over North America. On December 7, 1941, the attack on Peal Harbor spurred him to try to join the Navy. He was turned down because he had high blood pressure. “Don’t worry, Bub,” he was told. “The Army will take you.”
Daddy was drafted into the army in 1942, when he was 37 years old. Though he looked forward to action, the military decided that his mechanical skills would be of more use in the states, where he repaired airplanes.
I loved listening to Daddy tell stories, and so did everybody else who knew him. He could hold people spellbound for hours with tales of his travels. He was a walking, talking history book. He had lived a lot of history, and listening to his life experiences taught me more than any textbook ever could. Following his example, I use stories myself to teach, to entertain, and to create community. Storytelling is the best gift my father ever gave me.
I never saw Daddy angry, never heard him raise his voice to anyone. When I misbehaved, the look of disappointment on his face hurt more than any spanking ever could. Daddy would never lay a hand on a child.
I was a sickly child who feared death. Daddy knew that and would sit with me through the night whenever I had a fever. At six feet five inches tall, 230 pounds, he filled the little room that I shared with my sister, Evelyn. He was a mountain of a man.
In his later years, Daddy delighted in his grandchildren. He was especially close to my daughter, Melanie. Since I was a single mother, he took her to her first Father/Daughter dance. Along with my mother, he took care of Melanie while I worked. He walked her to and from school every day. When she got older, she was embarrassed to have to be walked to school, but afraid to walk by herself. Daddy had the plan to solve that problem. He walked several yards behind her and would not turn around to go home until she snapped her fingers in the air, her signal that she close enough to the school to be okay.
When I got married and moved North, Daddy wrote me a letter every week. I still have all of them, and I treasure them. I will pass them on to Melanie one day.
Daddy died of Multiple Myeloma on August 10, 1987. There is never a day that goes by that I don’t miss him. I love you, Daddy.
Daddy had an interesting life. The oldest of eleven siblings, he went to work in the coal mines of Virginia City, Virginia at age fourteen, risking his life daily to help support his family. During the Great Depression, unable to find work, he spent a few years as a hobo, hopping freight trains all over North America. On December 7, 1941, the attack on Peal Harbor spurred him to try to join the Navy. He was turned down because he had high blood pressure. “Don’t worry, Bub,” he was told. “The Army will take you.”
Daddy was drafted into the army in 1942, when he was 37 years old. Though he looked forward to action, the military decided that his mechanical skills would be of more use in the states, where he repaired airplanes.
I loved listening to Daddy tell stories, and so did everybody else who knew him. He could hold people spellbound for hours with tales of his travels. He was a walking, talking history book. He had lived a lot of history, and listening to his life experiences taught me more than any textbook ever could. Following his example, I use stories myself to teach, to entertain, and to create community. Storytelling is the best gift my father ever gave me.
I never saw Daddy angry, never heard him raise his voice to anyone. When I misbehaved, the look of disappointment on his face hurt more than any spanking ever could. Daddy would never lay a hand on a child.
I was a sickly child who feared death. Daddy knew that and would sit with me through the night whenever I had a fever. At six feet five inches tall, 230 pounds, he filled the little room that I shared with my sister, Evelyn. He was a mountain of a man.
In his later years, Daddy delighted in his grandchildren. He was especially close to my daughter, Melanie. Since I was a single mother, he took her to her first Father/Daughter dance. Along with my mother, he took care of Melanie while I worked. He walked her to and from school every day. When she got older, she was embarrassed to have to be walked to school, but afraid to walk by herself. Daddy had the plan to solve that problem. He walked several yards behind her and would not turn around to go home until she snapped her fingers in the air, her signal that she close enough to the school to be okay.
When I got married and moved North, Daddy wrote me a letter every week. I still have all of them, and I treasure them. I will pass them on to Melanie one day.
Daddy died of Multiple Myeloma on August 10, 1987. There is never a day that goes by that I don’t miss him. I love you, Daddy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)