Once up dug dead men.
Uncle Harris… undertaker. I’d helped him bury people, but never dug one up. I said.. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
Waterline at cemetery.. crews ready. Lady stopped her car and shouted “Stop!” Said there was somebody buried there. Explain cemetery.. pauper’s cemetery. Her grandmother wrote about it in her diary.
By the way… wooden coffins..caved in..not much there.. one silk tie
Somebody gave me a letter from a lady from Jacksonville to her friend in the hospital at Quincy.
“I hope you’re better. Dick and I are praying for you. I know it’s been a long haul.. What? Two weeks having the baby? I know since you lost your first child that you’re probably pretty worried, but I know this one’s going to be okay. I hear he was pretty tiny when he was born, but sometimes those really little ones can surprise you. Dick is out mowing the yard right now.” Me!
From a man describing a piece of land:
“It’s nothing much more than scrub brush. A few houses dot the brush and animals seem to run freely, both domestic and of the wild. The local boys make great sport of chasing rabbit through the place, and one cannot navigate the muddy roads without negotiating your passage with a large hog or two. In fact, in some areas the hogs seem to have the run of the land with no human ownership. Last week I found a large male deer in my back yard. Having no gun with me and badly needing the deer’s meat, I corned the animal then wrestled him for some six hours until I was able to arouse a passing neighbor who soon dispatched the animal with his gun. Few residents are seen wondering the streets at night. Both the residents and the animals seem to own the darkness.” Jonathan Baldwin Turner…talking about the very land we’re sitting on right now.
What would happen to us if people didn’t write things down? I spoke to many of you a few weeks ago about the very best stories coming from your own family. Your own town. Right now, I could go around this room and get a collection of stories that would be much more interesting than the speech I’m giving right now.
Walking Arenzville…hard to do. Keep stopping. Ran into a student from a long time ago. Mr. Breeze…remember Earl? Rough kid in school. Always in trouble. Never learned much about writing. His boy, Billy. Spent many years in the Army. “I’ve had so many stories. Man, I wish I learned to write well. I want to write them down for Billy.” Kentucky.. Billy, “Dad, I’ll bring paper and you just talk all the way.”
Your best material is sitting with you tonight…or perhaps waiting for you at home. I don’t mean, born in Jacksonville, went to high school, got married, but the really interesting stuff. If I would just sit down and let each table talk tonight… Ask questions like… ---Want did you always want to be? ---When was the last time you cried? ---Tell about a time you got into a fight in grade school. ---1st time you fell in love. ---When you were little, what scared you? ---Tell about the day their child (you) was born. ---One thing you wish more people knew about the way you felt.
You’re here today because you know how to write. But don’t stop there. If you only write for school projects, you’re missing the best part. Write and write and write because the world needs to share it’s experiences if it’s going get along… The world needs to know your stories if we’re going to stay a world. Someone is crying By Camille Camels Hump Middle School, Grade 7 A bang, the sound of a gunshot screaming at me engulfing my weakened mind. Drowning me in ice water, an icy hand running down my spine making me shiver. Don't know how much more I can take. Glass brakes, shards of my life fly through the air, but it's not really air anymore. Someone has poisoned it with a scent that burns my nose, like the fires that rage through people's hearts. A child's cry wisps through the wind coating ears with misery, as if I don't have enough already. Was it mine? Can't tell anything anymore. Feet stomp across the ground. Pounding. Men yell, arguing in a different language. A crack slices the air and blood spatters across the already red wall. Too red. Death red. Blinding. There ain't any beauty left in the world. None that I can see. War can do that, it changes colors to black and transforms a mother's lullaby into a scream of hatred. Tears fall down a child's face, forming puddles in the dirt. Too much hate can take away a soul. Someone is crying. What NBC or CNN news report can top that? What newspaper article is more powerful? Keep writing…not because it’s a good idea…but because our world depends on you.
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