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Sunlight Through The Shadows
Volume II, Issue 4 May 1st, 1994
Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen
Editorial: Mother's Day 1994...................Joe DeRouen
Staff of STTS.............................................
Special Survey for STTS Readers
>> --------------- Monthly Columns ---------------------<<
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS News.....................
The Question & Answers Session............................
My View: BBSing In a Hostile Environment.......Joe DeRouen
Upcoming Issues & News....................................
????????????? Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS
>> --------------- Feature Articles --------------------<<
Generation X Gains an Icon..................L. Shawn Aiken
Musings........................................Joe DeRouen
? Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS
>> ------------------- Reviews -------------------------<<
(Software) National Parks.................Louis Turbeville
(Software) Menu Wizard v4.0...............Louis Turbeville
(Software) Kith and Kin...................Louis Turbeville
(Movie) Bad Girls............................Bruce Diamond
(Movie) No Escape............................Bruce Diamond
(Movie) Serial Mom...........................Bruce Diamond
(Book) The Secret History/Donna Tartt.........Steve Powers
(Book) The Stone Bruise/James C. McCormick....Steve Powers
(Book) Billy/Albert French....................Steve Powers
(Book) The Tracks of Angels/Kelly Dwyer.......Steve Powers
(Book) Pure Baseball/Hernandez & Bryan........Steve Powers
(Book) A Lesson Before Dying/Ernest Gaines....Steve Powers
? Advertisement-T&J Software
>> ------------------- Fiction -------------------------<<
A Good Mother, Mother Goode.................Franchot Lewis
The Long Fly Ball..........................Daniel Sendecki
? Advertisement-Chrysalis BBS
>> ------------------- Poetry --------------------------<<
Mom..........................................David Ziegler
Sensual Beast.......................................Tamara
For Andre Brereton.........................Daniel Sendecki
When we say....................................J. Guenther
? Advertisement-Texas Talk BBS
>> ------------------- Humour --------------------------<<
Top Ten List...................................Joe DeRouen
>> --------------- Advertisements ----------------------<<
Channel 1 BBS
Exec-PC BBS
T&J Software
Chrysalis BBS
Texas Talk
Planets: TEOS Tournament
>> ----------------- Information -----------------------<<
How to get STTS Magazine..................................
** SPECIAL OFFER!! **.....................................
Submission Information & Pay Rates........................
Advertiser Information (Businesses & Personal)............
Contact Points............................................
Distribution Sites........................................
Distribution Via Networks.................................
...Advertisement for STTS BBS's Planets: TEOS Tournament..
End Notes......................................Joe DeRouen
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Welcome
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine! In this issue, as well
as in the future, STTS will strive to bring you the best in fiction,
poetry, reviews, article, and other assorted reading material.
STTS Magazine has no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative
concepts, and the unique execution of those concepts.
STTS wouldn't have been possible without the aid, support, and guidance
of three women:
Inez Harrison, publisher of Poetry In Motion newsletter. Her's was the
first electronic magazine I ever laid eyes upon, and also the first such
magazine to publish my work. She's given me advice, and, more
importantly, inspiration.
Lucia Chambers, publisher of Smoke & Mirrors Elec. Magazine and head of
Pen & Brush Network. She gave me advice on running a magazine,
encouragement, and hints as to the kind of people to look for in
writers.
Heather DeRouen, my wife. Listed last here, but always first in my
heart. She's proofread manuscripts, inspired me, listened to me, and,
most importantly, loved me. Never could I find a better woman to live
life by my side, nor a better friend.
Now that that's said and done... Again, welcome to Sunlight Through The
Shadows Magazine! I hope you enjoy it.
Joe DeRouen
STTS Editorial
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
The May issue, like other issues in the past, will deal with a theme.
This issue, it's Mother's Day.
Mother's Day is May 8th, of course. It's a day meant to celebrate
motherhood, from the youngest mother of newborns to the oldest mother of
mothers herself.
Sure, mother's day has been commercialized beyond all recognition.
Isn't that the way it is with most holidays in America? But just
because it's been commercialized doesn't mean that it isn't important,
and doesn't mean that we should ignore it.
Mother's everywhere should be held up in the highest esteem and the
institute of motherhood rejoiced. We should do this every day but, of
course, we don't. The least we can do is celebrate the act of giving
birth on this one day, on May 8th.
Sadly, it isn't always this way. In this day and age of the no-nukes
(non-nuclear) family, we don't always have a mother with whom to
celebrate. If we *do* have one, there's a good chance she lives a few
thousand miles away. There's also the chance that you're estranged from
your mother, holding a grudge from days of dysfunctionality long past.
Mother's Day, really, is the celebration of motherhood. If your mother
happens to live a few thousand miles away (mine does) send her a card.
Call her on the telephone. If you can afford it, send flowers or a
gift. Let her know she's appreciated.
My mother lives in Oregon and I haven't seen her in nearly two years.
She's my only parent (my father died in 1981) and though we've had our
problems - a lot of problems! - she's very important to me. I'll be
making that call, sending that card, having the florist deliver those
flowers.
After all, it's Mother's Day. Isn't that what it's all about?
Joe DeRouen, May 1st 1994
The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows
------------------------------------------------------------------
The Staff
---------
Joe DeRouen............................Publisher and Editor
L. Shawn Aiken.........................Fiction, articles
Heather DeRouen........................Book Reviews
Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews
Gage Steele............................Monster BBS Columnist
Tamara.................................House Poet
Joe DeRouen publishes, edits, and writes for STTS magazine. He's had
poetry and fiction published in several on-line magazines and a few
paper publications as well. He's written exactly 1.5 novels, none of
which, alas, have seen the light of publication. He attends college
part-time in search of that always-elusive english degree. In his
spare time, he enjoys reading, running his BBS, collecting music,
playing with his five cats, singing opera, hunting pseudopods, and
most importantly spending time with his beautiful wife Heather.
L. Shawn Aiken dropped out of college when he realized that they
couldn't teach him the two things he wanted to do; live successfully,
and write. He had to find out these things all by himself on the
road. Thus he became a road scholar. After spending his life hopping
country to country, state to state, he now feels confident in his
abilities and is working on his literary career. His main endevour is
to become successful in the speculative fiction area, but he enjoys
writing all forms of literary art.
Heather DeRouen writes software for the healthcare industry, CoSysOps
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS, enjoys playing with her five cats,
cross-stitching, and reading. Most of all, she enjoys spending time
with her dapper, charming, witty, and handsome (not to mention modest)
husband Joe. Heather's help towards editing and proofreading this
magazine has been immeasurable.
Bruce Diamond, part-time pseudopod and ruler of a small island chain
off the coast of Chil?, spends his time imitating desk lamps when he
isn't watching and critiquing movies for LIGHTS OUT, his BBS movie
review publication (now syndicated to over 15 boards). Bruce started
reviewing movies for profit in 1978, as part of a science fiction
opinion column he authored for THE BUYER'S GUIDE FOR COMICS FANDOM
(now called THE COMICS BUYER'S GUIDE). LIGHTS OUT, now a year old, is
available through Bruce's distributor, Jay Gaines' BBS AMERICA
(214-994-0093). Bruce is a freelance writer and video producer in the
Dallas/Fort Worth area.
Gage Steele, illegitimate love child of Elvis Presley and Madonna, has
been calling BBS's since the early seventies. Having aspired to write
for an electronic magazine all her life, Gage is now living the
American dream. Aged somewhere between 21 and 43, she plans to
eventually get an english degree and teach foreign children not to
dangle their participles.
There is very little known about Tamara, and she prefers to let it
remain that way. She's a woman of mystery and prefers to remain hidden
in the shadows of the BBS world. (Enigmatic, don't you think?)
Contributing Writers
--------------------
Mark Denslow...........................Poetry
J. Guenther............................Poetry
Steve Powers...........................Book Reviews
Daniel Sendecki........................Fiction, Poetry
Louis Turbeville.......................Software Reviews
David Ziegler..........................Poetry
Mark Denslow is a student at Saint Charles Borromeo Seminary in the
Religious Studies Division in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He is
working toward his Cerificate in Religious Studies and Roman
Chatechetical Diploma. He hopes to be admitted to their Master of Arts
Degree Program after completing the Cerificate and Diploma. He enjoys
Poetry, Genealogy, Computing, and Religion.
Grant Guenther, sometimes known as J. Guenther, confesses to be from a
long-lost Martian colony, but in-depth investigations reveals that he
was born and raised in a small but well-to-do community called
Hartland in Wisconsin. A senior, he has written several collections
of poems, and won many awards from his high school literary magazine,
including 1st place for poetry and short-short fiction. He is the
editor-in-chief of the school newspaper and writes as a humor
columnist (or at least he thinks so).
Steve Powers is a free-lance writer from Denton, Texas. He writes a
monthly column for Computer Currents and a weekly column for Denton
Record-Chronicle as well as book reviews in the Fort Worth
Star-Telegram and Dallas Morning News. He's currently working on a
novel that he hopes will equal Robert James Waller :) (Not really) He
has three kids who all are anxious to be computer literate but are now
keyboard enamored; they pound on it all the time when dad is not
looking. Steve has a wonderfully tolerant wife who waits patiently for
him to stop fooling with the computer and come to bed.
Daniel Sendecki is a young, emerging, Canadian writer who lives
in Burlington, Ontario. Currently, Daniel is pursuing his writing
interests at home but intends to study literature at McGill
University, in Montreal, Quebec.
Louis Turbeville currently works as a computer analyst for the Air
Force. He's originally from Hawaii (about an 1/8 Hawaiian <everyone
seems to ask>) and has a BBA in Management Information Systems from the
University of Hawaii. Louis is married and has a two year old son who
keeps him busy, especially when he wants to sit at the computer and
write. His interest in writing was nurtured by his wife, a journalism
and english major who's yet to be published and holds this very much
against Louis. <G> He's had a couple of reviews published on
WindowsOnLine Review Magazine and hopes to broaden his base of published
media in the near future.
David Ziegler's first poetry was a small collection that he gave away
to a few friends. He then started writing Satirical Prose and found
it a great stress reliever. He lives in Sacramento with his wife
Gloria and two cats. They spend a considerable time traveling which
gives him fodder for the keyboard. Writing to David is a kind of
cleansing it is something that when he has to do it he has no choice.
By the same token, he couldn't write on demand if you put a gun to his
head.
STTS Survey
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Please fill out the following survey. This article is duplicated in the
ZIP archive as SURVEY.TXT. If you're reading this on-line and haven't
access to that file, please do a screen capture of this article and
fill it out that way. If all else fails, just write your answers down
(on paper or in an ASCII file) and include the question's number beside
your answer.
Everyone who answers the survey will receive special mention in an
upcoming issue of STTS.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1. Name: _____________________________________________________________
2. Mailing address: __________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
3. Date of birth: (Mm/Dd/YYyy) _______________________________________
4. Sex: ______________________________________________________________
5. Where did you read/download this copy of STTS Magazine? (Include BBS
and BBS number, please)
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
6. Do you prefer to read STTS while on-line or download it to read
at your own convenience? ( ) On-Line ( ) Download
7. Are you a SysOp? ( ) Yes ( ) No (if "No", skip to 10)
8. If so, what is your BBS name, number, baud rate?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
9. Do you currently carry STTS Mag?
( ) Yes ( ) No ( ) I don't carry it, but I want to
I carry STTS: ( ) On-Line, ( ) For Download, ( ) or Both
10. What do you enjoy the MOST about STTS Mag?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
11. What do you enjoy LEAST about STTS Mag?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
12. Please rate the following parts of STTS on a scale of 1-10, 10 being
excellent and 1 being awful. (if no opinion, X)
Fiction ___ Poetry ___ Movie reviews ___
Book reviews ___ CD Reviews ___ Feature Articles ___
Software reviews --- Humour --- My View ---
Question&Answers ___ Editorial ___ ANSI Coverart ___
MonsterBBSReview --- My View --- STTS BBS News ---
RIP Coverart ___ Misc. Info ---
13. What would you like to see (or see more of) in future issues
of STTS Mag?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Return the survey to me via any of the following options:
A) Pen & Brush Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site
->5320. In any conference.
B) RIME Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320,
in the COMMON conference
C) WME Net - A PRIVATE message to JOE DEROUEN in the NET CHAT
conference.
D) Internet - Send a message containing your complete survey to
Joe.DeRouen@Chrysalis.org
E) My BBS - (214) 629-8793 24 hrs. a day 1200-14,000 baud. Upload the
file SURVEY.TXT (change the name first! Change it to something like
the first eight digits of your last name (or less, if your name
doesn't have eight digits) and the ext of .SUR) Immediate access is
gained to my system via filling out the new user questionnaire.
F) U.S. Postal Service - Send the survey either printed out or on a disk
to: Joe DeRouen
3910 Farmville Dr. # 144
Dallas, Tx. 75234
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS News
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
STTS BBS is ran on TriBBS v5.1 software (registered, of course), a 33Mhz
80386 DX computer, two IDE hard drives (120 meg and 170 meg), a Zoom
14.4k Fax/Modem, and a VGA monitor. Soon, it'll be hooked up via a LAN
to a 50Mhz 80486 DX with half a gig of storage space.
It's run on one phone line, and the number is (214) 620-8793. At some
point in the near future, we hope to add another node as well as a 28.8k
Fax/Modem.
One last thing - it's entirely free. Donations are accepted (so far,
I've only received three) but you can't buy higher access. Access is
completely, 100% FREE.
STTS BBS carries 40+ doors (games and information), a good deal of them
registered. We also carry four networks (RIME, Pen & Brush Net, World
Message Exchange, and PlanoNet) as well as a large file area. The file
area specializes in electronic magazines (carrying the entire back issue
run of several!), texts on all subjects, and shareware text adventure
games. Of course, there's also a wide variety of other programs to be
had, including BBS doors, telecommunication packages, arcade/adventure
games, offline mail readers, and more! Additionally, STTS BBS is a
support BBS for TriBBS software and carries just about all the programs
available out there for TriBBS. STTS BBS is also a regional HUB for Pen
& Brush Net (P&BNet) as well as a HUB for World Message Exchange (WME).
Lastly, we're a member of the American BBS Association.
About 70% of the callers are from Texas, as it's a Dallas-based BBS. The
other 30%, however, are from just about everywhere else. Oklahoma,
California, Virginia, Oregon, Kansas, Illinois - you name it. We've had
several people from Canada and the UK call as well. Most of the long
distance callers are SysOps calling to download STTS Magazine every
month (those that don't get it through the net) but there's several
"just plain users" who call to participate in the message base or
download files.
Each month, we'll discuss additions and upgrades to the BBS as well as
new door games added, nets or conferences added, and just general news
about the BBS. We'll divide it into two sections - BBS News and Net
News. With that said, away we go . . .
BBS News/LORD Tournament news:
The Legend of the Red Dragon (Seth Able's terrific door game) tournament
has come to an end. As of the morning of May 2nd, Grey Slayer (aka
Harlan Pine) managed to slay the red dragon and win the tournament. (As
well as the $25.00 cash prize!) Congratulations to Grey Slayer!
Special mention to Jaren Mc Laud (aka Aaron Walker) are in order as
well. Jaren and Grey traded places several times in the tournament, and
it was only by the narrowest margin on a dragon's scale that Grey edged
Jaren out. They both played extremely well. Again, Grey Slayer,
congratulations!
We're sponsoring another tournament: "Planets: The Exploration of
Space". (Another Seth Able original!) The tournament will officially
begin May 15th, 1994. Those interested should call STTS BBS and
download PLANTOUR.ZIP for more details.
We just added two new *Registered* doors - Video Poker and Money Market,
both from T&J Software. The doors are excellent and you should give
them a try if you haven't already done so.
The most popular download for March was SUN9404.ZIP, the April issue of
this magazine. Number two was SUN9403.ZIP, March's issue of Sunlight
Through The Shadows. Number three was BGI12.ZIP, a very comprehensive
guide for beginners and pros alike throug the internet. The fourth most
popular file was AP130.ZIP, a autopost door for TriBBS. Fifth most
popular was DFW.ZIP, Mark Robbins' long-running and popular Dallas/Ft.
Worth, Texas BBS listing. Two of the top five were prior issues of this
magazine. What could be better than that? <Grin>
The Question and Answers Session
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Each month, we'll ask a (hopefully) interesting question to users on
various nets and BBS's across the world and include the best answers
we get in this column.
This month's question: "What are the best memories you have growing up
of your mother?"
The original message and responses are reproduced here in their
entirety, (Minus some quoting of the original question) with the
permission of the people involved.
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><RECEIVED>
Number : 123 of 123 Date : 04/16/94 01:05
Reply To: 122
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Heather Derouen
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The best memories I have of my mother are when she was working 6:00p.m.
to 2:00 a.m. shift. She'd call at her dinner break and ask me if I
wanted her to wake me up when she got home. If I did, she'd wake me
up, and we'd go to the tennis courts at the park around the corner from
where we lived and play tennis until the sun started coming up. Then
we'd sit and watch the sun rise and visit, and then go home and go back
to sleep. In all my life, she's always taught me to not be afraid of
trying new things or of what people thought about me. I don't think I
really appreciated these lessons until I became an adult, but they are
probably among the most valuable lessons I've ever learned.
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 1651 of 1651 Date : 04/17/94 09:29
Reply To: 1650
Confer : STTS Mag <P&BNet> <P&BNet>
From : Marty Weiss
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
With a lifetime of memories from which to select, here is one
little one.
My mother worked at a candy factory much closer to our
apartment than the grade school I attended. Each day, when I
walked the two miles home for lunch, my mother had already been
there and returned to work. On the kitchen table, would be a
sandwich, a bowl of soup and a cup of tea or hot chocolate. Both
the bowl and the cup would each have a saucer covering them
to keep the contents warm.
---
? SPEED 1.30 [NR] ? "Women and elephants never forget an injury" - Saki
* Pen and Brush * (703) 644-5196
* PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm)
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 1653 of 1653 Date : 04/17/94 18:45
Reply To: 1650
Confer : STTS Mag <P&BNet> <P&BNet>
From : Lyn Rust
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day I left home four days after I'd turned 18, the age of
legal majority in the state we were living in at the time.
---
? SLMR 2.0 ? Help! I want to leave, but I can't find the Exit!
* InfoMat BBS (714) 492-8727 -=- READROOM & Exhibit A Support
* PostLink(tm) v1.11 EXHIBITA (#1153) : P&BNet(tm)
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><ECHO>
Number : 1129 of 1130 Date: 04/17/94 16:06
Confer : Poetry & Prose <WME>
From : Amanda Wright
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know yet, because i'm still a kid.
---
? TriNet: WME: * HillTop BBS * Waupaca, WI * 715-258-9899 * 28K V.FC
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><RECEIVED>
Number : 124 of 124 Date : 04/19/94 23:08
Reply To: 122
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Terry Ingram
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The most vivid images of my mother in the late '40,s
and early '50,s was when she read to me a series of
Edgar Rice Burrough's novels beginning with TARZAN
THE APEMAN while I was convalescing from various
childhood illnesses.
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><RECEIVED>
Number : 125 of 127 Date : 04/21/94 07:26
Reply To: 122
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Travis Jones
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
well what i really rember most was the way she could always make me
feel really guilty, either by her evil looks she could give or the way
she would just slap my face.
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PRIVATE><RECEIVED>
Number : 127 of 127 Date : 04/21/94 09:43
Reply To: 122
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Becky Bullock
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I remember alot about my step-mother . She was good to all of us .
There were 5 of us kids total . But she had lots of problems with my
two step-brothers they both were brats and druggies and always caused
problems. Other the other hand my step-sisters and were pretty good .
We did get into trouble. My step-mother is the best mom that I could
ever dream of and I love her dearly today.
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 96 of 96 Date : 04/19/94 05:05
Confer : STTS Mag <RIME> <RIME>
From : Dean Deleon
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The way she smelled when she kissed and hugged me good-bye just before I
got onto a plane headed for Auckland, New Zealand.
Dean
---
* CmpQwk #UNREG * UNREGISTERED EVALUATION COPY
? KMail 3.00l
* Northern Maine BBS, Caribou, Maine, U.S.A., 207-496-2391
* PostLink(tm) v1.11 NORMAINE (#749) : RelayNet(tm)
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><RECEIVED>
Number : 128 of 128 Date : 04/22/94 14:52
Reply To: 122
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Jason Malandro
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe,
The best memories I have of my mom are when I was little - say, 6 or 7
- and she would take me to school every day. She didn't work back
then, and we always talked all the way to school and all the way back,
when she picked me up. She died a few years back, and those are the
times I always look back to when I'm sad or missing her.
Jason
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PRIVATE><RECEIVED>
Number : 129 of 129 Date : 04/26/94 00:17
Reply To: 122
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Andrew Deignan
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : May 1994
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Best Memories i have of growing up with my mother..have always been
the days when i was sick and she was there for me
========================================================================
We received a lot of replies this month. Good or bad, everyone had a
mother. Our memories may not always be good - in some cases, we have no
memories at all - but by our very essence of existence we all had
mothers. Everyone seemed to have something to say on the subject, too.
Here's my two cents worth:
What I remember most about my mother isn't the bad things - though there
was a lot of that. I remember the afternoons spent playing chess (I
always won!), her taking care of me when I nearly died of menangetis, I
remember her crying and telling me goodbye as I left home to move to
Texas. I remember times spent goofing off, playing with her and my
sister, and just being around the house. My mother lives in Oregon now
- a few thousand miles from Texas. I rarely see her. Memories are
nice, and a conduit to those memories - my mother herself - are only a
phone call away.
Ah well. See you next month!
My View: BBSing In a Hostile Environment
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
[Each month, a reader/writer is offered the opportunity to give his or
her viewpoint on a particular topic dear to them. If you'd like the
chance to air *Your* views in this forum, please contact Joe DeRouen
via one of the many ways listed in CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this
issue]
Lately, I've seen at least three news programs devote a segment to
pedophilia on BBS's. According to the programs, sleazy perverts would
get on (as they called it) "electronic bulletin boards" and lure
youngsters into their electronic webs of sexual and moral deceit. They'd
talk to the kids on-line and eventually arrange a face to face meeting.
They'd then seduce, molest, or rape the kids into sex.
I'm not trying to make light of the subject by using flippant words or
only devoting a few paragraphs to what were 10 minute news segments. Far
from it. Things like this *are* a problem. People do meet through
BBS's and, occasionally, one of the people on the other end of the modem
connection is a letch. Even more occasionally, they're a dangerous
psychotic that could pose physical or mental harm to another, or more
usually to themselves.
The point I want to make, though, is this - that's a very, very small
minority of what goes on in the BBS world. Sure, there's bad people on
the BBS's. There's probably even a few on your favorite BBS. But there
are everywhere. That's what the news programs and "special reports"
seem to forget.
For every bad thing that happens through a BBS, there are several good
things: friendships develop, marriages are bad, information is exchanged
to form a more cohesive relationship to the people that we interact
with. When compared, the "goodness potential" of BBS's far outweighs
the bad things.
But that doesn't mean we should ignore the bad either. These things DO
happen. People are deceived, kids are molested, women are raped.
Criminals and psychos use BBS's as a medium. Just as they use other
parts of life. Probably no more so, though, and possibly just a bit
less.
Like it or not - and there are silly elitists like my?e?f that really
don't - BBSing is becoming a part of the public at large. With that
public recognition comes a responsibility to deal with the bad while
fostering and nurturing the good. How the public views this (relatively
speaking) new form of communication is really up to us.
How do we do this? If you personally are a victim of a crime, (or know
someone who is) report it. Deal with it. Don't let it happen. And
make sure that the good things - the friendships, the social events, the
marriages, the sense of community, the trading of information - are
heard about just as much as the bad. Maybe even more so. Really,
that's the only way.
Upcoming Issues & News
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
THIS ISSUE...
This issue, we celebrate Mother's Day. Check out Franchot Lewis'
excellent short fiction piece "A Good Mother, Mother Goode" for
evidence. We've also included a nice piece of ANSI cover art
celebrating motherhood, as well as a tongue-in-cheek Mothers's Day gift
ideas top-ten list in the humour section.
NEXT ISSUE...
The June issue issue will feature the return of the music reviews and
will contain more quality fiction, poetry, humour, and reviews.
We'll also focus on the Father's Day with a story or two on that
subject, probably somewhat similar to this very issue you hold in your
little electronic hands.
FUTURE ISSUES...
Look for more monthly columns as well as guest editorials and more
ANSI art.
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Generation X Gains an Icon
Copyright (c) 1994, L. Shawn Aiken
All rights reserved
So have you heard that Kurt Cobain died? If you haven't, you must
have been living under a rock for the last month. Had you heard of Kurt
Cobain before he killed himself? No need to crawl back under the rock. If
you hadn't heard of him, don't feel bad. It was a Generation X thing.
It has been all over the news. It's been flashed over the front pages
of major newspapers. Kurt Cobain, 27 year old lead singer of the Seattle
'grunge' band Nirvana, took a shotgun to his head and pulled the trigger on
April 8, 1994. Hordes of fans stood in stone cold shock. Lead anchormen on
major nightly news shows said "Who was this guy?"
"He was the greatest musician of all time," some said. Others said,
"He was an unwashed, suicidal, long-haired freak." Both of these views miss
the point. He was a music star, and with his death he became an icon.
Strangely enough, it was just what they needed. Generation X.
Twentysomething. The Lost Generation. These people had little of thier own.
Half of them were missing a parent by their high school years due to the
attrition of divorce. The most interesting thing to happen in their formative
years was to hear the screeching of Axel Rose. They looked back at the 60s
and pine with misty eyes. There are no legends from the 80s. There was no
cultural revolution. The 80s didn't have any really eresting clothes. Mix
AIDS into the pot, and they didn't really have a very good time at all. It
was just like the 50s, except in color rather than black and white.
The discontentment grew. They had no cause. They had
no parents. They experimented with 60s clothes, then 70s clothes, but that
was just a fad. All they had was Nintendos, VCRs, and MTV. Hardly anything
to write home about. Just electronic babysitters, really. Then it happened.
Nirvana came out of the Northwest, spurring on not only good music,
but a new clothes style. THEIR clothes. The grunge style. The grunge look.
They latched on tight. And the songs. Oh the songs. Kurt Cobain
wrote songs for THEM. He understood their pain. He knew their loneliness.
After all, he was a latch-key kid himself.
But he was strangely moody. He had stomach problems. He used drugs.
Cobain couldn't handle his success. To put it more concisely - he couldn't
stand it. Was he typical of the generation? Are they not bred for success?
To paraphrase a young comic "My mother worked hard so I wouldn't have to
work so hard. And guess what? I DON'T!"
Are the Japanese right? Are we fat and lazy? Is Generation X
destined to work at Burger King for the rest of their lives? Well, the
parent's of the hippies of the 60s looked in horror at thier own children. Or
at least the next door neighbor's kid.
Generation X is having an identity crisis. Few things that came from
the 80s were valuable enough to keep. Not even the promise of free sex they
were given while they grew up in the 70s was paid up in full. If they have
nothing, how can they be anything? Kurt Cobain's death was something that
Generation X needed. An icon, something to call their own. But this
morbibdity will not last long. Generation X will turn out okay in the end.
It's just a phase.
Musings
Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
[This article originally appeared in Lucia Chamber's Electronic magazine
Smoke & Mirrors]
Where do I get my Muse? Interesting question, and one I thought I'd be
able to answer easily. When Lucia Chambers asked me to write this
article I never even dreamed that it would remain unwritten til just a
few days before the deadline.
I guess my Muse is hiding.
Where do I get my muse? That's a hard question. It's not like "Where do
you get your socks?" You can answer that one easily enough, and still
have time for brunch. My muse doesn't come often enough for me to know
when she'll be paying her respects again, let alone where she came from
in the first place.
Ah, but when she does come - my muse is most definitely of the female
persuasion - she strikes hard and fast. She hides in many guises,
preferring to offer inspiration when it's least expected. Often, too,
when it's least convenient.
She comes to me in different forms, in different ways, whispering sweet
hints of a long-forgotten song, or dancing across my mind's eye in the
flash of an instant. Unfortunately, she's usually whispering in Greek
and often whilst dancing across my mind's eye, she steps on my nose.
More than once, in a fit of uncontrollable sneezing, I've scared my muse
away. It's just as well, anyway; my Greek phrasebook rarely if ever
is of any help, and by the time I *do* manage to decipher exactly what
it is she's saying, she's off doing other things.
And how do I know that my muse is a she, you might ask? Simple: who else
but a woman could tantalize you by revealing only bits and pieces of
herself, yank it all away in an instant, and leave you wanting for more?
Who else could drive you to stay up half the night putting words to an
electronic screen, just waiting for the ones that work? Indeed, I have
no doubt that my Muse is of the fairer sex. For a final bit of proof, I
offer you this: who but a woman could take you to the edge, make you
think that she's finally come, only to leave you with the knowledge that
it was all a fake?
Talk about my Muse coming when it's least convenient. She just came,
inspiring me to write the chauvinistic, risque' bit of drivel you just
read. But what else can I do? To paraphrase an old saying, "My Muse made
me do it."
Whatever problems she causes - she's caused several near wrecks, for
example, as I searched furtively for a pad and paper and failed to
remember that I was in my car at the time - I wouldn't trade her for
anything. Without her.. I couldn't be me.
But that still doesn't explain where my Muse actually comes from, does
it? I suppose that's because I don't really know. She's told me so many
conflicting stories that I can't even begin to sort out the truth. For
all I know, she really *could* be the reincarnation of Elvis.
Stranger things have happened, for my Muse and me.
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Computer Software Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Louis Turbeville
All rights reserved
National Parks - The Multimedia Family Guide
Requires: Windows 3.1, MPC CD-ROM
Commercial Program
Cambrix Publishing Inc.
This program is aimed at the National Park enthusiast. It provides
information on all National Parks in the US, Puerto Rico, Guam and the Virgin
Islands. If you plan on visiting many of the National Parks, then this disk
could be of some use. However, if you don't visit many parks this disk will
collect a lot of dust.
The program begins by telling you the mission of the National Parks. Then a
map is displayed of the continental US, Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Guam,
and the Virgin Islands. The continental US is divided into regions. By
clicking on a region or area, you are given an enlarged view of the area with
a listing of all parks in the area. By clicking on a park, you will be giving
the opportunity to review a brief overview about that site. Menu selections
are also displayed to provide information on camping/lodging locations, Must
Do Items, costs, allotted time needed for your visit, highlights, tips on
things to look for, things kids might like to do, access and contact
information.
The program is noticeably slow, even for a CD-ROM program, it lacks many of
the features of a good multimedia program, and does not provide much
educational information that young children (or adults for that matter) would
be interested in. Many of the pictures are low resolution. There are no
options to save to disk or print any of the information on the disk. If you
plan on using this as a reference on the road, be prepared to lug your
computer around, or write down all the information you think you'll need ahead
of time.
From a technical standpoint, there are many feature that could use improvement.
National Parks requires Windows, yet does not implement any of the useful
Windows features. For all intents and purposes, this is just a DOS program
running in a window. The video is very jerky, and sometimes does not fill the
whole viewing screen. What little audio there is runs clean and smooth.
If you are a traveler and visit National Parks on a regular basis, this disk
has some vital information. However, if you do not regularly travel the
country visiting our great National Parks then this disk is not one you will
get much use from. If you're unsure which category you fall into, then wait
for an updated release of this program. Hopefully by then, the publishers will
know what useful, general use multimedia should be.
Computer Software Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Louis Turbeville
All rights reserved
Menu Wizard V 4.0
Menu Program - DOS Shareware Program
SilvaSoft Software
P.O. Box 3401
Kingsport, TN 37664
615-247-7551
With the growing necessity of hard drives in todays computer, it is vital to
have a easy to use, yet flexible hard disk menuing system. Menu Wizard is
easy to use, flexible and offers some extras not normally found in menu
system software, all for the inexpensive price of $15. There are many useful
features included with Menu Wizard. It offers full mouse support. It
supports graphic modes from monochrome to VGA.
The screen saver option is a real gem. The screen saver mode will start
automatically after five minutes on inactivity from the keyboard. You may
also choose to start the screen saver display manually by pressing the F1 key.
For security reasons you may also specify a keyboard lock with the screen
saver. With the keyboard lock on, everytime a key is pressed the user is
prompted for a password.
A four function pop-up calculator is also included. If you have the need to
use a calculator when you're at the menu screen, this is a great function. A
simulation of calculator tape is shown to help track your calculations.
Since Menu Wizard is very dependent on the files you create to specify the
menu selections, included are a few options to update or create menu
selections. Each menu selection displayed on the menu screen has its own
unique file. You can specify what titles you want to appear and if you would
like that menu option password protected. Without the built in editor
options, you would have to exit the screen each time you wanted to adjust a
menu selection.
You may also view files in either Text mode or Hex mode (useful for
programmers). You must know the name and directory of the file you wish to
view. You also have the option of viewing a calander, so you know what the
date and day of the week are at any given time. You can also bring up the
ASCII table to see the values of ASCII character available on the PC.
If you're looking for a good menu system and are constrained by your budget
then give Menu Wizard a try. Menu Wizard is a small and powerful harddrive
menuing system. It may not be as graphical as most commercial, but if you
value functionality over astetics then this program is excellent.
Computer Software Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Louis Turbeville
All rights reserved
Kith and Kin
Genealogy - Windows 3.1 Shareware Program
Nick J Hunter
11 Morlich Park
Dalgety Bay
DUNFERMLINE
Fife KY11 5XW Scotland
Internet: nick.hunter@almac.co.uk
Registration Fee: $40.00
At some point in our live, we wonder exactly who are ancestors.
Most of us don't take the time or energy to track down the important
information and record it in an easy to use manner. Kith & Kin, a genealogy
program, is an intuitive and powerful tool that can take some of the monotony
out of the data entry portion of the task. It allows you to store vital
tidbits of information in a multimedia format, which gives your history more
life than just writing down the information, like a special song, pictures of
family members or wedding vows.
Kith & Kin can be used by the occasional or dedicated genealogy data gatherer.
Data entry is easy. If you are a novice then determining what information to
enter is easy. You chose whether to enter data for an individual or a family
and it prompts you with a form to fill. By filling in the form, you will have
all the vital information you need. The program is intuitive, even for a
beginner in genealogy.
With its graphical layout, determining and viewing relationships is a snap.
The family tree is easy to edit and configure to your viewing pleasure. No
matter how you display your family tree, Kith & Kin keeps all relationships
in tact.
I feel the most useful feature is the ability to embed or link objects to a
person or family group. Objects may be notes, sounds, diagrams or pictures.
This gives a real multimedia feel to the program and your family history.
Inserting sounds or music from an event, like a wedding, adds more meaning to
the final product, more so than just writing down what was said or played.
Seeing a picture of your ancestors and the way they lived will have more
meaning then just plain text, as with most genealogy programs.
Kith and Kin allows you to print all of your work. You could produce a book of
family ancestors to hand out to family members without computers, complete
with maps and diagrams. The program also has file support for the Personal
Ancestral File GEDCOM format. Using this format (a standard) will allow you
to work closely with other family members around the world.
Kith and Kin is a powerful and very easy to use genealogy software for Windows
3.1. Kith and Kin is easy enough for the beginner and casual data collector,
yet has enough bells and whistles to set it apart from other programs. It
will make your work seem like the fun it should be. If you have been thinking
of starting up a genealogy program of your family, then this program is
definitely worth the download.
Lights Out Movie Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond
All rights reserved
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
? BAD GIRLS: Jonathan Kaplan, director. Ken Friedman ?
? and Yolande Finch, screenplay. Albert S. Ruddy & ?
? Charles Finch & Gray Frederickson, story. Starring ?
? Madeleine Stowe, Mary Stuart Masterson, Drew Barry- ?
? more, Andie MacDowell, James Russo, Robert Loggia, ?
? and Dermot Mulroney. Twentieth-Century Fox. ?
? Rated R. ?
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
Sweethearts with six-shooters. Cuties with Colt 45s.
Pretties with pistols. Four rip-roarin' chicks out to tame the
Old West with new ways. The same old Western clich?s, done up in
lipstick and skirts. No, it's not hard to get a handle on BAD
GIRLS; the problem is that once you know the premise (hard to
avoid with this film's media saturation), there's not much more
to discover. The picture isn't particularly fresh, it isn't
particularly bold, but it isn't particularly bad, either. It
just . . . is.
Madeleine Stowe, Andie MacDowell, Mary Stuart Masterson, and
Drew Barrymore star as the titular characters, all prostitutes on
the run after Stowe shoots an Army colonel for getting a little
rough. Their goal, decided on the road, is to develop Anita's
(Masterson) land in the Oregon Territory, a property she owned
with her now-deceased husband. Their first stop is a town where
Cody (Stowe) has been wiring money for years; she's built up a
comfortable nest egg of several thousand which will make for a
good beginning on the West Coast. If they can just get there.
The colonel's widow has hired Pinkerton detectives to track her,
a mysterious man, Joshua McCay (Dermot Mulroney), runs into them
several times, and Cody comes face-to-face with her outlaw-
running past when she collects her money from the bank. By (a
rather credibility-straining) coincidence, her former lover, the
outlaw Kid Jarrett, is robbing the bank. He steals her stake to
get her to visit him, and all hell busts loose. Each side takes
a hostage, McCay jumps into the action, a townie is dragged into
the fray involuntarily, and the only way to get out of this mess
is to shoot your way out. I must say, all four leads do cut
impressive figures as gun-totin' ladies, apparently with shooting
skills to match (at least, that's what the director, Jonathan
Kaplan, successfully portrays), but we've seen it all before.
We've just seen it with a different hormonal mix.
Even though Kaplan is dishing up the same tired Western
situations (jailbreaks, holdups, runaway wagons, hell-bent-for-
leather riding, fast draws and slow drawls), there's something
every so slightly refreshing to see the guns in female hands.
There's an appeal beyond the novelty, perhaps because the
feminist thread to this revisionist Western is highlighted by two
scenes, and then dropped to the background. Kaplan and the
scriptwriters mercifully avoid the long, dreadful, ideological
speeches that tend to dominate some films, whether they're
championing the cause or not. It's the same basic dictum of
storytelling you'll find in every Writing 101 class: show, don't
tell. The human animal learns more by example than by lecture,
and by showing four capable female characters in BAD GIRLS, the
filmmakers can say more about feminism than in a semester-long
course on the subject. Masterson sums up the subject in the
film's best line: "If your laws don't include me, then they
don't apply to me." It's just too bad that those words are
wrapped in a standard Western plot with a cutesy, counter-pro-
ductive title.
RATING: $
Lights Out Movie Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond
All rights reserved
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
? NO ESCAPE: Martin Campbell, director. Michael Gaylin ?
? and Joel Gross, screenplay. Based on the novel THE ?
? PENAL COLONY by Richard Herley. Starring Ray Liotta, ?
? Lance Henriksen, Michael Lerner, Stuart Wilson, Kevin ?
? Dillon, and Ernie Hudson. Savoy Pictures. Rated R. ?
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
Put aside your negative reaction to the generic title and
take your shock socks to a wild ride in the year 2022. Private
corporations are running the prison system (shades of FORTRESS,
1993) and the worst of the worst get dropped on Absalom, a prison
island that's ringed by radar, patrol boats, and choppers. NO
ESCAPE, starring Ray Liotta and produced by Gayle Anne Hurd
(James Cameron's former producer and partner on ALIENS, T2, and
THE ABYSS), combines the best elements of PAPILLON, LORD OF THE
FLIES, and ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK to serve up a satisfying futuris-
tic action thriller.
The prisoners on Absalom have divided themselves into two
camps: the Insiders, a relatively peaceful medieval community
headed by The Father (Lance Henriksen), and the Outsiders, a
loose group of ultraviolent gangs led by the dangerously charis-
matic Walter Merack (Stuart Wilson). Caught in the middle is
Captain J.T. Robbins (Liotta), a military prisoner who has a
"pathological aversion to authority," as described by the sleazy
businessman warden (Michael Lerner). Thankfully, the pseudo-
science of this future world is kept to a minimum -- a double-
speak DNA explanation of Robbins' aversion to authority is
provided in the opening minutes -- and the screenplay gets right
to the action. Robbins is dropped on the island and the Out-
siders find him first. If he can dispatch the gang's bully boy,
Marek tells him, then he'll be offered a position on the "staff."
Robbins not only makes short work of the big guy (in a scene
that's reminiscent of RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK), but he manages to
grab Marek's weapon and escape their camp.
When he reaches the Insiders, his resourcefulness impresses
The Father enough to offer him a position in the village, despite
the suspicions of his security chief (Ernie Hudson). Robbins has
only one thing on his mind, though. Escape. He thinks himself
alone in his quest, but the Insiders show him different. If only
they can hold off the Outsiders long enough to put their plan
into action . . .
NO ESCAPE is a good popcorn movie, with action scenes worthy
of anything in this genre. Ray Liotta makes for a believable
action hero, in the Kurt Russell/Peter Weller/Bruce Willis lean-
and-mean style (as opposed to the plethora of muscleheads that
inhabit this genre). Stuart Wilson makes a delicious villain,
with enough dark humor that's on point (rather than anachronistic
one liners) to keep his edge in the foreground. His jests never
obscure the fact that he's one dangerous hombre, someone you
never turn your back on. I'm rather disappointed that he isn't
used more in the film; his potential for scenery chewing, if kept
in rein, could create a high demand for Wilson as an action
villain. The Insiders village is a remarkably believable
construction, incorporating blacksmiths, weavers, traders, and
other craftsmen in a totally self-sufficient community. It is
well-conceived and executed, a detail that's normally overlooked
in a film of this type. Lance Henriksen is interestingly cast
against type as the spiritual and political leader of this group
of prisoners, but he makes for a convincing father figure. I
think the only problem I have with the film concerns what happens
to the prisoners when they escape. The island prison itself is
illegal; when and if they can bring word of it to the mainland,
that sounds the deathknell for the Warden's business, but what
happens to the prisoners? Most of them are there for rather
heinous crimes (Robbins killed his commanding officer over a
policy disagreement that ended up roasting over 300 innocent
women and children) and despite the cruel and unusual punishment
the island represents, they still have to serve their sentences.
And they won't be as free in any prison as they were on the
island, so why escape? It's a plot hole that kept niggling at me
all throughout the movie, and for days afterward. It's not
enough to keep me from recommending NO ESCAPE, but it is a sign
of what passes for scriptwriting in today's films.
RATING: $$
Lights Out Movie Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond
All rights reserved
????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ? SERIAL MOM: Written & directed by John Waters. Star- ?
? ring Kathleen Turner, Sam Waterston, Ricki Lake, ?
? Suzanne Somers, Mink Stole, Matthew Lillard, Mary Jo ?
? Catlett, Justin Whalen, and Patricia Hearst. Savoy ?
? Pictures. Rated R. ?
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
You've thought about it, 'fess up. The driver who cuts you
off. The neighbor whose dog thinks your lawn is a toilet. The
drunk at the end of the bar. Your ex-spouse. Barney. For the
briefest of instants, you want that sucker stone-cold, stiff-as-
a-board, deader-than-a-doornail wormfood. Then the moment passes
and you snap back to what passes for reality in your world.
That's the premise behind John Waters' cathartically-dark comedy,
SERIAL MOM, starring Kathleen Turner.
We've seen Turner this starkly dangerous before, in WAR OF
THE ROSES, 1989. In fact, she was more menacing in that film,
though she only kills one person, and that through mutual effort.
In SERIAL MOM, though, Turner mows down several people (you'll
find yourself cheering more often than not, which is Waters'
intent, and part of his wry commentary), all the while grinning
her eerie June Cleaver grin and cheerfully recycling household
items to Barry Manilow tunes. She's the model mom, all right,
but modeled after the likes of Charles Manson, Ted Bundy, and
John Wayne Gacy. She's a Henrietta Lee Lucas, a Joan Wayne Gacy,
as the prosecutor tags her at the final reel trial. Yes,
unfortunately, she is caught and arrested, but not until after
she's racked up an impressive body count, is chased out of a
church service, and is hidden by her son (Matthew Lillard), who
thinks his mom is 'way cool because she's a serial killer.
Sam Waterston and Ricki Lake (who got her start in a John
Waters film, HAIRSPRAY, 1988) also star as Turner's husband and
daughter, who can't reconcile their sweet, loving, bird-watching
Beverly with the vicious murderer depicted in the media. For
most of the movie, Beverly dispatches people she more or less
knows: her son's math teacher, her husband's patients, her
daughter's unfaithful boyfriend, and so on. It's when she goes
after a stranger that her world begins to unravel. You'd never
know it to look at her in the beginning moments of SERIAL MOM --
she's the model homemaker, serving breakfast to her family in
full Donna Reed dress. When cops show up at the Sutphin door,
investigating obscene phone calls made to a neighbor, we get our
first inkling of just how twisted Beverly could be.
Turner's broad, hammy style works well here, although she's
a might *too* artificial in the opening scenes, as is the rest of
the family. They know they're lampooning the '50s suburban
sitcoms, and it shows in their empty smiles and studied
mannerisms. Turner was more natural, and as mentioned before,
more natural in WAR OF THE ROSES, but as the film progresses,
everyone relaxes into their roles, and the farcical elements
become supplanted by a clever commentary on the cult of
celebrity. Martin Scorsese made this same point more deftly a
decade ago in THE KING OF COMEDY, 1983, but Waters manages to
update the message (yes, things have changed that much in ten
years) into a sly entertainment for today's audiences.
RATING: $$
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Steve Powers
All rights reserved
The Secret History - Donna Tartt (Ivy Books, $6.99).
No time wasted in this novel; the very first paragraph shocks the reader
into sitting up and taking notice by telling what happened and who did
it.
The rest of the novel is spent backtracking,carefully laying the
foundation for the shocking events that transpire and slowly but
steadily uncovering the hows and whys of the situation.
Richard Papen, nineteen years old and in New England for the first time
to attend Hampden College, is quickly indoctrinated into a group of
Greek scholars, five students who, with their professor, have formed a
rather elite society of sorts.
At first, Richard and his fellow students have a rather ordinary
relationship, one of student-to-student and nothing else. As events
slowly unwind, their lives become entwined with one another in some
truly bizarre ways, eventually leading to a totally unforeseen tragedy.
This is a richly-hued tale, one that revels in strong imagery and a
stirring recognition of how strange the ties that bind people can be.
Absorbing and mesmerizing, Donna Tartt's well-crafted story pulls the
reader along to its fateful conclusion.
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Steve Powers
All rights reserved
The Stone Bruise - James C. McCormick (Baskerville, $23.00).
The Stone Bruise is a sweet, poignant tale of love, honor and integrity.
Real life is mirrored in its pages, from the dreaming of youth to the
sorrow and emptiness that can come with maturity. Emotions and action
are woven together in an affectionate tapestry.
From the idealistic, heady flush of first love to the hollowness of
excessive wealth, The Stone Bruise is a dizzying kaleidoscope that spins
swiftly through the years.
James McCormick has masterfully crafted a story that dips and soars,
following Scott McQuaid from the Depression era of the thirties to the
pinnacle of wealth and power in the eighties.
Scott's beginnings are humble, as he grows up in Ennis, Texas. His
father is a stern man who teaches young Scotty that emotions are to be
kept inside, even as he whimpers and cries over the "stone bruise" of
the title.
The sudden death of Scott's father thrusts him into a role of early
maturity, in which he must support his mother,both financially and
emotionally.
The years fly by with dizzying swiftness as Scott works in California,
joins the Air Force, marries Marjorie Fielding and fathers two children,
Bobby and Gracie.
He earns a business degree at SMU and begins his remarkable climb to the
top of the business world, becoming very rich and powerful.
For all of Scott's wealth, he is not a happy man; his wife becomes an
alcoholic and his children are caught up in the burgeoning drug culture
of the sixties. The exhilaration of achieved dreams turns into a empty
sadness that bruises Scott more painfully than the stone bruises he
suffered as a small boy.
This is a wonderful and captivating book, one that will deeply involve
readers in the ups and downs of the McQuaid family.
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Steve Powers
All rights reserved
Billy - Albert French (Viking, $19.00).
Once in a great while, out of the many books that an avid reader reads,
a novel will come along that burns itself into the mind with images that
are hard to shake. So it is with Billy.
The final scenes of Albert French's first novel are almost a physical
slap in the face, so horrifyingly bleak are they.
Told entirely in a regional, Mississippi dialect, Billy is based on a
true incident that happened nearly sixty years ago. The imagery is
powerful and evocative; it's not hard to see the hot, dusty town of
Banes, to feel the scorching summer sun of 1937 and to sense the utter
bleakness of the unrelenting poverty that saturates the
characters'lives. The setting, the framework only serves to emphasize
the shocking injustice of the climax of Billy.
Billy is a ten-year old black boy who, with his friend Gumpy, has a
fateful encounter with two white girls who harass them, an encounter
that ends with Billy killing one of the girls with a pocket knife.
Events move swiftly after this, with Billy standing trial as an adult
and being sentenced to die in the electric chair. The very last scene,
contrasting a young boy who only wants to go home to his mother with the
shocking image of the electric chair that awaits him is one of the most
heart-wrenching descriptions I have ever read.
Read this novel carefully; the images may stay for a long time.
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Steve Powers
All rights reserved
The Tracks of Angels - Kelly Dwyer (G.P. Putnam's Sons, $22.95).
In her first novel, Kelly Dwyer has produced a beautiful, spellbinding
story. The Tracks of Angels is the tale of Laura Neuman, eighteen years
old and alone in the world.
Dwyer's debut is an auspicious one, as she crafts an unforgettable
novel, told in clean, spare prose that shifts effortlessly between past
and present. The mood created wraps the reader in a cocoon just this
side of sentiment, creating a sense of wonder and sorrow.
Laura's childhood and adolescence is described almost bitterly, with an
undercurrent of pain flowing through the narrative.
As the narrative returns to the present, a sense of hope seems to float
tantalizingly just around the corner, blanketed with an intense
loneliness alleviated somewhat by the adventure of venturing into the
unknown territory of young adulthood.
Fleeing a painful past, Laura arrives in Boston on a Greyhound bus.
Laura chooses Boston as the place to start a new life because it lies
across an entire continent from her childhood home in southern
California. She feels that perhaps physical distance will ease hurtful
memories stemming from her mother's long battle with cancer, losing the
battle when Laura was twelve; and another tide of stinging remembrances
caused by her father's paralysis caused by an automobile accident,
leading to a plan to end his life and involving Laura in that plan.
In a long, slow process, Laura begins to create her own roots in Boston.
She rents a tiny apartment, and lying about her previous job experience,
lands a waitressing job in a Italian restaurant, in quick order. She
makes friends with an artist named Nadia and meets the mysterious David,
two people who have a profound influence upon her new life.
She invests in a secondhand encyclopedia and begins to pore over its
contents letter by letter in a desperate attempt to expand her mind.
Even as she feels a burgeoning sense of self, she still feels the sharp
tendrils of her past experiences curling around her, especially her role
in helping to end her father's life. Reflecting upon the environment she
was raised in, a household with two distinct religions and parents with
often differing opinions, she realizes that she lacks a spiritual
identity.
This search leads her to imagining into life an angel, one who is there
in the darkest of nights, when she is alone in her room. Only this
angel is not quite the glorified image of angels that we traditionally
perceive.
This angel is world-weary, and while listening patiently to her
questions, admits that there are no easy answers, one whose wings are
frayed and one who comes to be very real to her in her search to make
sense of her confused life, "...sometimes at the very edge of sleep I
could almost, just faintly, hear the rustling of wings."
With the help of her imaginary angel, the fabric of her life begins to
knit together, giving her a solidity that she had not felt before, an
image far from her former image of herself as a small, lost and lonely
figure in a large town where she knew no one.
Like the strains of a haunting melody, this book will burrow beneath the
reader's emotions to nestle deep in the heart. The emotions are oh so
bittersweet and evocative, causing some very real twinges of
recognition.
In Laura Neuman, Kelly Dwyer has created a character who shows how much
our memories and past experiences, like a stone thrown in water, casts
huge ripples into our futures.
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Steve Powers
All rights reserved
Pure Baseball - by Keith Hernandez and Mike Bryan
(HarperCollins $21.00)
As sure as the return of the swallows to Capistrano, the coming of
spring brings a flood of baseball books. One such book is Pure Baseball.
Most baseball books stay with tried-and-true topics. They may be
biographies of superstars, accounts of championship seasons or a foray
into the golden past. Pure Baseball dares to be different.
Keith Hernandez, a former major league baseball player with 17 seasons
of experience behind him, offers his candid insights into the game of
baseball. A front page blurb promises "pitch by pitch for the advanced
fan," and the book delivers on that promise. This is, indeed, for the
advanced fan, the fan who honestly desires to delve beneath the surface
to understand the reason for every pitch selection, to understand
managerial strategies in certain situations, to understand why the
fielders move around against particular batters and to understand many
other subtle and not-so- subtle nuances of the game. This book moves
beyond the world of the casual fan, who observes a baseball game largely
on the surface, although they may understand some very broad strategies
that "everybody in the park knows".
Keith Hernandez, with his inner knowledge of baseball and the ability to
simplify even the most complex baseball decisions, teaches the advanced
fan to do more than just watch a baseball game. He shows fans how to
observe it, to notice all the little things that can make a big
difference in the ultimate outcome of the game.
Hernandez focuses on two games played in the early part (June) of the
1993 season: Philadelphia versus Atlanta and Detroit versus the Yankees.
His pitch-by-pitch analysis of both games is fascinating, at times
zeroing in on the smallest detail. For instance, in describing
Philadelphia catcher Darren Daulton's pursuit of a behind-the-plate foul
ball, he explains why Daulton waits until the last minute to yank off
his catcher's mask (to make sure he doesn't trip over it).
The depth of his explanations are, at times, astounding. Baseball may
be only a game, but it's a very complicated one, criss-crossed with
multiple layers. Take the situation of bringing the infield in on a
certain hitter. Hernandez shows that this sets off an entire chain of
reactions. The opposing manager must respond with a move of his own and
has several to choose from, depending on who's at bat and the status of
the game. However, Hernandez doesn't allow the reader to become
confused; he gives clear, concise explanations of the intricate
reasonings of all involved.
Hernandez's observations are totally straightforward and honest. He does
much more than explain strategy; if he disagrees with a manager's move,
he doesn't hesitate to voice his feelings. This candidness is present
throughout the pages of Pure Baseball; it makes for a lively and
entertaining book, keeping it from falling into the yawning trap of dry
statistics so many baseball books fall into.
This effort stands head and shoulders above the current crop of baseball
books. Dedicated baseball fans will come away with a new understanding
which will greatly enhance their viewing of the game.
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Steve Powers
All rights reserved
A Lesson Before Dying - Ernest J. Gaines (Knopf, $21.00).
Set in a small Cajun community in Louisiana in the late 1940s, Ernest
Gaines's first novel in ten years is a wrenching, emotional novel.
Black life in this time period is painted in a searingly honest manner,
effectively conveying the stifling, oppressive conditions blacks were
forced to endure.
A young black man, Jefferson, is unwittingly involved in a deadly
shootout. Although he protests his innocence, he is sentenced to death
for his part in this botched robbery.
During the trial, his lawyer compares him to a hog, saying that
Jefferson lacks even a smattering of intelligence. Jefferson's
godmother, deeply grieved at this, petitions Grant Wiggins, a local
teacher, to go and meet with Jefferson and help him "...to die like a
man," and not a hog.
At first an unwilling participant, Grant reluctantly agrees, under
pressure from his aunt. From this beginning, Gaines fashions a touching
story of the relationship that builds between Grant and Jefferson and
how Grant's own life is changed by this relationship.
Peeling away the surface to penetrate into the heart of what it means to
be human and coming to grips with living and dying, Gaines's novel is
deeply moving. It has made several best books lists (including my own)
and deservedly so.
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A Good Mother, Mother Goode
Copyright (c) 1994, Franchot Lewis
All rights reserved
A GOOD MOTHER, MOTHER GOODE
by Franchot Lewis
Maggie Goode and her little grandson rode out of Anacostia
on the Green Line, they were on their way down town to shop, and
were seated opposite two young girls, ladies, who were just
out of their teenage years, wearing T-shirts and jeans. The
T-shirts advertised a rap group, the Wasted, Wretched, Dreadful
Dead, and the girls defied you to think they were talking about
anything less important than a music video until the bigger one
cheerfully explained to the slender one why she was pregnant again.
It didn't have anything to do with anything, just that it was
something that people like them did.
"That baby's going to stare at you if he learned what idiocy
you're up to?"
The pregnant girl's head bobbed, agreeing entirely. She said,
she has been trying without any success to make herself believe
that the child she was bearing was part of some great plan. "The
fact is," she said, "Mark wants a son." Mark was her live-in boy
friend. She sighed, "Starting out with two kids is -" She
stopped, frowned - "This won't be another girl."
Maggie stared at them. They stared back. At first the pregnant
girl looked puzzled. The puzzlement quickly turned to defiance.
The other girl, with a sweep of the eyes, mumbled towards Maggie,
"What's wrong with her?" Maggie considered moving her grandson
to another seat. There was one far back in the car. If she moved,
she would have to stand. She glanced at her grandson, to see if
he was listening to the young women. He was looking out the
window, into the dark tunnel, at the flashing green lights passing
by. Fifteen seconds passed and the train began to come into a
station. The women stood and walked towards the door as though
they planned to alight at the station. Maggie relaxed, the women
were about to leave.
As she waited for the train to stop and the door to open, the
pregnant girl leaned against a rail and sighed a bit wearily, "I
never thought I would get pregnant again?"
Her friend asked, "Why?"
"The pain. I knew it hurt before I had my first but I never
thought that it would hurt like it did."
"It hurts," her friend said.
"I know," she laughed, "my baby girl almost killed me, I
screamed, hollered, nuts. I hope this one won't hurt like that,
I'm going to tell that girl when she grows to some size: girl,
you almost killed me, you had your mama crying, girl, screaming
like the pain wasn't going to ever stop."
"Yeah?"
"Did yours hurt too?"
"Yes, they all do, but when it's over, the pain goes and you
forget about it like it never hurt at all."
"Yes?"
Maggie shook her head, said to herself, "The hurt never stops;
God made mothers to cry."
The train stopped, there was a wait before the doors opened.
When the door did opened the pregnant girl said, "I was beginning
to wonder if they'd were going to let us off this darn train,
that driver better go back into training."
"Come on, girl friend," her friend said. "It all works by
computers."
The two girls left. Mist was dripping behind Maggie's eye
glasses. Her grandson glanced up, "Grandmom?" Maggie was silent;
her grandson waited for about a second, looking at his grandmother;
then the train was starting up, a few more seconds, and it was
weaving through the tunnels, making noises, going heavy on the
track, passed the Navy Yard, on its way downtown, through the gray
light of the tunnel under the Capitol's streets. Suddenly, Maggie
squeezed her grandson's arm, hard, and he gaped, mouth opened
wide, eyes in a stare, sore arm, and she cried, softly, "Sorry,
Baby." She let go, "Eddie?"
"Grandmom?"
"I'm sorry."
"My arm's all right," he said.
She nodded. He looked away, at the tunnel lights passing by
the window.
****
"Christ ... Christ! We're in Hell. We're broiling. Yes,
broiling."
Maggie stared at a balding head, a man who still sometimes
courted her after a yard of years, her fellah with a humor that
was sometimes ill, but never meant anyone any harm, her husband.
He had just stood guard outside the bathroom door like it was an
official building that required a pass for entry. The occupant
of the bathroom was Maggie's and his only son, Thatch, the
father of their grandson, Eddie.
Maggie's husband was sixty three but acted forty, or thirty,
sometimes. But, when their son, Thatch, last came for a visit,
Maggie's husband acted ancient, and Maggie's husband didn't want
the son in the house.
"Because? He's a thief, he steals; robs from his own mama's
pocket book, robs me."
"No, that's in the past; Thatch says -"
"Don't tell me what that sucker says, I know -"
"He's our son, your son, mine."
"We've had to put him out, you know? Three times, four times
already?"
"He's stopped."
"When?"
"You have to give him a chance to redeem himself."
"Still another chance?"
"He's our son."
"So he comes to you on his knees, begging, crying, 'Mama,
let me back in, you've gotta let me come back home for a visit,
to talk to you,' is that how he put it?"
"Edward!"
"Don't holler, woman."
"He's been to the treatment program."
"Again? I talked to him yesterday on the street. I am not
going to let him in the house. I walked pass him and sniffed. He
had a distinct odor and it was not a faint smell. The scent was
strong enough to leave a whole street full of junkies lit."
"He promised."
"The last time you left him here by himself, he sold our CD
player and our VCR, and he would have taken the tv but a floor
model is too heavy for him to carry, thank goodness that boy
doesn't do any heavy lifting."
"He's our son."
"We've got to be firm about this, strong. It is for his good
too."
"Damn, that tough love, Hell. I'm not going to keep him
locked out."
"Maggie -"
"He's coming to visit today -"
"Aw -"
"He's coming."
"Look, if he steals anything, you are going to have to replace
it. If he takes anything of mine, you are going to have to pay me
back. I'm going to be here while he's here, I don't want him here
when I'm not here."
Thatch came and Edward stayed home from work and followed him
around the house, from room to room, standing guard while Thatch
was in the bathroom. As Thatch was leaving Maggie told him, "I'm
leaving a light on in the window. I'm going to leave it there like
a lantern hung on a post."
"Yeah, " Edward said. "Be sure to call first before you come;
give us a six-month notice."
Maggie thumbed her nose at Edward. Thatch said, softly, with
a smoothness that seemed to have been practiced for a century, "I
understand where Dad is coming from; Jesus loves him, and I love
him too."
A week later, Thatch was arrested; the charge, trafficking in
narcotics. The first Maggie heard of the arrest was when Edward
saw it in a newspaper and showed her the article.
"That couldn't be Thatch?" she cried.
Edward groaned, "It's him, the sucker."
The next day Maggie went to visit Thatch's wife, Ava.
"Gee, I'm just getting it," Ava said. "Thatch won't be coming
home for a darn while. I'm so glad you've come. We've been having
it real, dirt ball bad. No money. Talking to you is what I've
always wanted, but Thatch has been so independent, didn't want to
ask for help. Too proud to ask his people, you know? He was odd.
Sometimes we had nothing, not enough to give to Little Eddie, and
Thatch would, you know?"
"Things should have been different ..." Maggie wept and
continued to cry, softly.
"Thatch could be a louse ... "
"Didn't you try to help him too?"
"Yes. He wasn't a louse all the time, only a short while.
Pretty soon it would dawn on him that he had a child depending on
him, and he would get a job, a piece of a job, like he did last
summer that lasted all summer long. People aren't hiring now, you
know? I would get a piece of a job, myself, anything to bring
money in, and pay somebody to take care of Little Eddie while I
worked."
"Here, take this."
"Gee, Thatch never would take anything from you or ask."
"It's for Little Eddie."
"I've always told Thatch that he has the darnedest attitude."
A week passed, another visit at Ava's:
"Yes ... Come on in. The day goes so fast. Maybe I'm pregnant
again or something. I get so sleepy, and then I'm not your normal
housekeeper. Thatch always said that. He thought you kept the best
house in the world, was a saint, too, in too many ways. Forgive me,
but I would always get so grouchy when Thatch would talk about the
way I keep house. But you aren't interested in hearing about how I
spent my day, you've come to see Little Eddie. I'm not a very
interesting person. Who wants to listen to me, right? Eddie's in
his room sleeping like a dog. He had been barking all day, like I
was not here but a million miles away, now he's tired himself out
and have gone to sleep. Uh? I fed him. What? The refrigerator? What
are you doing? Okay, I was about to go shopping. Things cost.
Money doesn't go so far. What? I feel like telling you about
myself. Yeah? You don't know me. Or do you? What did Thatch tell
you?"
"I don't know what you mean?"
"Oh, I should tell you about his idea of romance? Some time I'll
tell you, maybe? Maybe I will how he was not really a nice person
at all, but just a wild man out of his mind half the time, who
pretended to like his wife and himself. I tried to understand him
and got knocked up side the head for my efforts. He could get mean,
frightfully. I was scared of him, sometimes. Wait! Listen! Hear
me. What it is, is that you're still in denial about his meanness.
Thatch got that stuff up in him, he smoked that shit and drank
Hennesey, and he acted like a beast up from a tree, not like that
nice son that you knowed and owned."
That night in bed Maggie's husband woke, heard Maggie sobbing.
"Crying again?"
"Quit, leave me alone," Maggie kept sobbing.
"Can't. I'm worrying if I don't do something, I'll drown, I'm
already being soaked. May I turn on the light so we can talk, yes?
No? We'll talk in the dark. You can't see this, but my sleeve is
wet clear through. This arm I keep near you is water drenched.
But I don't mind getting wet. All I mind is being drowned. I'd
like for us to talk. I wish we could back the car up outside D.C.
Jail, tie a line to the bars and the car and ugh! Let the boy
escape. It's a good healthy feeling to want this. But I'm afraid
it can't be done."
"Shut up!"
"No."
"I'm not thinking about Thatch, it's Little Eddie, you fool."
"What's wrong with little Eddie?"
"That girl, I want to choke her."
"Ava?"
"Have you ever talked to her? I have? For hours and hours.
You were right about her. When you first laid eyes on her, you
asked what Thatch ever saw in her. Breasts, degenerated sex, you
said, she was a hussy. I said, give the kids a chance."
"Maggie -"
"She brings the worst out of me, the worst thoughts, my darkest
thoughts."
"Maggie -"
"She's on that stuff; she's neglecting Little Eddie. She's
taking the money I give her for him and is not using it on food,
but that stuff. "
"Maggie, you've gave her money?"
"I could kill her."
"You gave her money, no?"
"For her bills. Her bills and her bills. The same bills over
and over again."
"Why don't you ask her to let you watch Little Eddie for a
while?"
"I did."
"And?"
"And no!" Ava said. "Never! Little Eddie is my baby. He is
all I have. I don't want to live without him. He is mine."
The next morning came - before the morning, the dawn, and
before the dawn, Maggie was up. From her street of houses on a
hilltop, silence. It was too early for her middle class neighbors,
even the birds on the roofs were asleep. Maggie stopped, pondered,
before she broke the silence by starting up her still sleeping
husband's town car. The car seemed to turn over slowly, and once
going, move slower. The drive seemed to be longer. A drizzle
began; the windshield's slap-happy wiper sprung into action;
Maggie winced at its unhappy echo.
In front of the apartment building where her grandson lived,
Maggie parked. The drizzle had lifted. The morning light looked
still-born, too many choking clouds lingered. She grabbed the
sacks of food and cleaning tools, and locked the car. She climbed
three flights of stairs, quickly, she stepped with a fair spring.
She knocked on the apartment door, called her son's wife's name,
demanded to be let in. The door opened - her grandson, demanding
a hug and breakfast and getting picked up, lifted in the arms of
his amazed, angry, stuttering grandmother who toted him about the
apartment's front room and yelled about his clothing, a long dirty
shirt that looked more like a smock than sleep wear for a little
boy.
He did not know where his mother was. Maggie had, had that
feeling of danger and dread. It had awaken her, made her fill the
car with stuff and run in the still night time to see her grandson.
Perhaps it was seeing the boy in a smock that decided it for
Maggie: her son's wife had to be made to give up the boy.
Maggie washed her grandson. She couldn't find any clean clothes
for him, so she dressed him in his least dirtiest clothes. She
served him the cold cereal from the kitchen cupboard, and then
remembered the food she had brought and cooked crisp bacon and
eggs which she did not serve him, he had fallen to sleep.
She cleaned the apartment and waited for her son's wife to
return, and prepared things to say.
"You ought to be in a cage, your arms tied to the rafters and
you whipped."
"You're tripping?"
"I should report you."
"Me? That's a laugh. What for?"
"You know mighty well what for? Leaving a child alone,
sneaking out to show your tail off to some scum in all your naked
slutty glory."
"I guess that's right. I'm just as bad as your jailbird son."
Laughter, mocking laughter - Maggie heard a herd of heifers,
their hoofs hitting hard against her forehead. The light of a
brightening morning woke her. Her grandson, a lively boy, was
awake romping, stumping on the floor. The sun has crept out, her
son's wife has not return.
Maggie asked her grandson, "Do you want to go to grandmom's
house?"
Five days. FIVE DAYS passed - and thumping on Maggie's front
door, and a dusty woman with waggled steps waddled into the house
and stood.
"Where is Little Eddie?"
Maggie had let her in but wouldn't let her pass the hall.
The woman, her son's wife eyeballed Maggie, peering out the corner
of her eyes, "I'm warning you, I won't leave without Little
Eddie."
"Where have you been for five days? Where did you sleep last
night? In a hay-stack? There are clump balls in your hair."
"I want my son."
Maggie smiled and sighed: "I'm pretty tired of you, dear. I'm
going to keep my grandson. You haven't an idea in that hay-stack
head of yours to raise him -"
"I've always wanted to tell you off, Mrs. Church Woman, Perfect
Mama."
"I try to be a good mother."
"I hate you."
"Why? Because you don't try to be a good mother?"
"If you try to keep Little Eddie, I'm going to whack you."
"It's come to threats of violence? You'll take the fall for
I'll never let you take Little Eddie."
"You know, you can not take somebody else's child, you can
borrow him, but not keep him."
"Exiting, eh?"
Maggie's son's wife's legs made a wobbly move, she balanced,
then dug down into her jacket and found a slip of paper. "Bills,
your son left Little Eddie and me with nothing but his bills.
These bills have to be paid."
Maggie's mouth went dry, and she stumbled over her tongue
until she found one Christian word to say, then found another
and another. "I ought to slap you, " she said. "I gave you money
and you just throw it away, messes it all up. I've been giving
you money, and you mess it up on drugs. You won't get another
penny from me."
"Who's going to pay your son's damn bills? Me? I don't have
any money."
"I won't give you a cent to pay the same bills over and over
again. You have put drugs before your child and yourself. My
grandchild is staying here, you can get your junkie ass out of
my house."
"Shit, you not going to take my baby, you old bitch, you old
dried-up bitch."
"Get out of my house!"
POW!
It was afternoon when Maggie awoke. She sprang up and rushed
from her bedroom towards the room that had been her son's and now
she meant to be her grandson's. Little Eddie was asleep, curled
in a sweet little heap, his brown eyes closed, his resting face in
repose against a fluffy pillow as he was taking his afternoon nap.
He looked so peaceful and safe. She remembered Ava, and was very
angry with herself for letting that junkie sucker punch her on the
jaw. She knew that she must have gone right out cold. But where
was Ava? And who had put her to bed? And given Little Eddie his
nap? Edward. Who else? When Ava came to the house, Edward was
upstairs.
"Edward!"
In the kitchen on the bulletin board she found his note: Gone
to get stuff for you, be right back. PS: Ava's in jail; and you
shouldn't be reading this. Doctor, says you need to stay in bed,
you'll be alright, but you need rest. I'll be back in ten
minutes.
"Ten minutes?" She put a pot on the stove to make tea. Before
the water boiled Edward returned with a bag from the pharmacy.
"Maggie, go back to bed."
She shook her head. Edward smiled, "Don't get into cat fights
with younger women."
"Never in my life."
"Got the tea ready?"
"Ava -"
"Let the cops handle her. She was lit up with drugs. She came
here demanding money and assaulted you. She'll get eighteen months
to three years."
"After that?"
****
For only a moment more did Maggie hate Ava, for the train was
slowing down. It was pulling into a downtown station, and her
grandson with his smooth politeness, smiled, "We get off here
grandmom?" His eyes shown with light and it was unbearable to
hate. His face has features that were half Ava's, and half her
Thatch's. Maggie would have wept, but her grandson's eyes were
staring at her so deeply, and he was desiring so much to get off
the train, that he stood, took her arm and pulled. "Dear,"
she said, "Go easy on Grandmom's arm."
"This is where we get off, isn't it?"
"Yes, dear," Maggie took her grandson's hand and they left
the train. She took him and brought him all new things at stores
where there were so many wonderful things for little boys.
{END}
The Long Fly Ball
Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki
All rights reserved
The Long Fly Ball
So, you're what the town's been buzzin' about. A
sportswriter, huh? My ol' coach once said that if 'n he needed a
brain transplant, he'd a-chosen a sports writer. That's right - cause
he'd o' wanted a brain that's never been used. Ayuh, I see you've
heard that one before.
Excuse my cough - it's that sharp November afternoon.
I'm tellin ya, Autumn steals outta here faster than a split-fingered
fastball. The trees rust like ol' barrels and before ya know it
you're sweeping snow from your stoop. I'm supposin' that you're here
to write about Merle, eh? Damn tragedy, that is. A tragedy is just
about the only thing that woulda dragged a big city boy like yourself
into these parts. Methinks we should sit down. This old man's knees
are screaming like rusty hinges. It's the game, ya know. The game
did this to my body. A friend of Merle? Well...
Here we are. Mind the splinters, now, the bleachers
need a sandin' and are beggin' for a paintin'. My knees? Ya, my
knees ache. My back is just about useless. My eyes - hell, I used ta
count the stitches on a baseball at twenty feet. Nows I squint just
ta read the paper. I'm broken-down. Baseball players, methinks, are
in the same business as whores - we ruin our bodies for the pleasures
o' strangers. You write for one o' those big papers, huh? The
Tribune? Well ain't that a kick in the ass? Sackville ain't seen the
likes of a big shot like you since, well, since Merle and I played.
It don't make a difference to an old man like me
whether you take notes or not. Doesn't make a whole lotta difference.
The funeral? No, I didna go. It was a sad time though. Hell,
Brocklin even decided to close his bar that day and he didna even
close it the day those Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. Baseball, though,
baseball here in Sackville is more 'an just a game, it's more like a
religion. Home plate is like the altar and these bleachers I'd liken
to pews. Mythical proportions? Well, that sounds about right. Was
Merle a hero? Mayhaps...
Merle Kessler was a damn fine ball-player. Coulda
turned pro, some say. Coulda played for the Cubs. Coulda been, but
for the... What's that? The long fly ball? So, I've seen ya gone
and done your homework, son. Ya, Kessler mighta been a hero, but,
between you and me, heroes don't die that way.
It was the brightest, most scorchin' day I can
remember. The Sackville Mudhens was playin' The Cochran Town Chiefs
in the Illinois State Champeenship. A day so hot ya coulda fried an
egg on the blacktop outside o' the stadium. Jesus P. God, it was hot.
You're thinking that I'm just some old washout rattling off my mouth,
I know, but I don't know if there's been a day like that since. Ya
see, Sackville was losing, and ya, Cochran Town - they were the
favourites owin' to the fact that they was from a bigger town an' all.
There were two men on base when Merle Kessler stepped up to bat to
deliver Sackville their champeenship, ayuh. Who was on the mound that
day for Cochran Town? Don't laugh now son, but I think the pitchers
name was Goliath. Thomas Goliath. Ain't that a kick in the ass?
Ayuh, I just mighta likened Merle to David that day.
Merle was a helluva ball player, but he was a wiry little guy, he was
tiny, he was dusty, he was just like... Sackville, ayuh. Well,
the first pitch that Goliath delivered rumbled right through Merle's
strike zone like the Chicago to New York. And hell, the second pitch
-well that was the Express Train, if'n you know what I mean. And
there was all of Sackville piled into this stadium here - with room to
spare, mind you. They were jumping and screaming and yelling. Even
with two strikes down, all of Sackville knew that Merle was a goin' ta
rip that third pitch out into the field. Even with two strikes down,
Merle knew he was goin' ta rip that ball. And when Merle connected
with Goliath's pitch - CRACK - ya woulda thought that all o' Chicago
and mayhaps most o' Illinois had packed themselves into these
bleachers. The ball shot out from Merle'sbat just like a rock from a
sling and climbed into the blazing sky.
That long fly ball looped into center field and...
died. Merle roped that long fly ball was driven right into the
centerfielder's mitt.
Yah, I guess Merle Kessler coulda been a hero. If
that centerfielder had been playing a bit deeper, Kessler probably
would o' played professional baseball. If that centerfielder had
panicked at the crack of the bat, Kessler would've been Sackville's
savior. He would o' made somethin' of himself. If that bastard had
dropped that damned ball, Kessler probably would'na taken up drinking
What's that? What did I do after that game? I went
home to my Diane. I went home to Diane and we had a couple o' kids -
they're both pretty successful ya know. Both o' them moved to Chicago
as soon as they were gone and done with their schoolin'.
Now, son - don't go kiddin' yourself. I know you're
not here to write about a sorry old sack like me. You wanna here
about Merle. What's that? What did he do after that game? Well, he
never played again. No sir, that man took straight to the bottle.
You wanna here about how much Merle drank? Just go an' ask Brocklin.
He'll know. I'm supposin he got to be Merle's best friend over the
years. Ayuh, mayhaps, if Merle Kessler had a girl like my Diane, he
wouldna gone and done that. But it's all about that damn ball. If
that fielder had dropped that cursed ball, none o' this woulda
happened. I'm supposin' if he had let that long fly ball go, Kessler
wouldn't have wrapped his Duster around o' that light polea few nights
ago. No, if that ball had dropped into the soft outfield, Kessler
would've been more than a few lines in your Tribune. Wouldna he?
When did I retire from the Sackville Mudhens? My boy,
I didna play for the Mudhens. No, I never played with Merle, neither.
A friend? No, I'm supposin' I wasn't much o' that, either. Not
family, my boy. I played for the Cochran Town Chiefs.
What's that? What position did I play?
My boy, I played centerfield.
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Mom
Copyright (c) 1992, David M. Ziegler
All rights reserved
Mom
On slippered feet you came to me
bringing hot chocolate and cookies.
To chase away the boogie man
or just to say goodnight.
On slippered feet you came
to tuck me in and read a story;
of kings and princes and far away lands
with happy endings and sweet dreams.
On slippered feet it came
silently in the night.
It came and took you from me
I know not where.
If I were to guess I would say
it took you
to far away lands where princess' ride
full of laughter and sugar plums.
I miss you Mom.
Sensual Beast
Copyright (c) 1992, Tamara
All rights reserved
Sensual beast
firm hands guide me in the dark
past the obstacles of my mind
towards a reality that is here
yet nowhere
From whence did you come
mere mortal man
that ye should knock upon my door
To what adventures do you take me
when you take me in my dreams
Strangers...such familiar strangers
meeting friends and old lovers
for the very first time
Fond memories and vivid nightmares
of many futures past
linger in the folds
of thoughts so newly born
and in the shadows
of my darkest night.
Written 2/14/92 by Tamara
For Andre Brereton
Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki
All rights reserved
For Andre Brereton
------------------
Snowflakes fall to earth
like tired robins, curling
once about a tree
only to make their
nest in the smutty mire of
soot and slush and ice
there is loneliness
lamplight shines like hot butter
over cobblestones
rows and rows and rows
of madly identical
teeth, these stones shining
like enamel the
windows white with frost are blind
with cataracts
Just, now
host of sparrows
take to the evening sky
like frozen gears, so cold, they seize
and fall
What We Say
Copyright (c) 1994, J. Guenther
All rights reserved