DASHES DON’T SHOUT

100_9040The Cocheco Arts and Technology Academy, a public charter high school, has begun its new school year in a fresh location after moving from the Washington Street mill where it had resided the past five years. In its location on the top floor, CATA looked more like a lively arts colony than a high school, but the lively part had a downside, I suppose, especially when it came to music.

One of the things I’ll miss is the quirky fire door that had been painted with a wonderfully succinct set of English grammar and syntax rules. In fact, I can think of a number of people who think they’re writers (and have even been paid for their efforts) who could definitely benefit by taking these to heart.

There are parts I love, such as the “helicopter” concept for commas that close a phrase. Although I’ve had to live with newspaper style for much of my career, I’ve long preferred to use the closing comma in a series of three or more items, and from the door I’ve learned the technical term is the Oxford Comma. My!

But I will dispute the claim that dashes shout. I think they breathe. Exclamation points shout.

100_9032

The Punctuation Door to the tower stairway stood next to the Holy Quotes.
The Punctuation Door to the tower stairway stood next to the Holy Quotes.

Mentioning this to one of the students on moving day, I was told she had penciled the rules on the door and then other students painted them. Since their brushes ranged from thin to thick and their abilities varied, the lettering is hardly uniform. I think it adds to the charm.

In the meantime, thanks to Vikki for getting this started. Now the whole world gets to see it.

GODDESSES OF AN EARLIER ERA

As I said at the time, the attempt to gain a clearer picture of my high school and college years took an interesting turn as I considered (let’s call her) AA, and an attraction that never went beyond a few words and our shared hours in Mrs. Hopkins’ horrid English class. AA was, I believe, the one who knew what a choral descant was, perhaps indicating she was Episcopalian. What I remember – and the yearbooks confirm – was that she was squeaky clean, of the pure skin and bright eyes variety. Even Ivory Soap spotless.

I would have also added “virginal,” though I could speculate there was a hidden passionate side – she was, after all, on the elite marching squad, and ambitious enough to hold several offices. Some of the portraits hint at some mischief or playfulness behind those serious eyes and smile. Yet she did not show up on the homecoming or prom courts. I seem to sense she may have already had a serious boyfriend.

Now I find, as AB, a nurse, possibly divorced and looking nothing like the girl I remember, she’s still in that locale and even contributed to a Republican Senate campaign. It’s amazing what you can discover online, if you find the right thread, even without coughing over any money.

This has me thinking again of the missed opportunities and how, maybe, they were essential to my eventual pathway.

I never spoke much to her or to BB or to CC because I felt they were way out of my league. Even DD, whom I did ask out a couple of times, to no avail – usually too late. Now I see how our youth pastor’s comments about another may have actually been an attempt to bridge something on her part, but again I felt all too incompetent and impoverished and minor-minor league constricted. (Yet, as a golden boy in my mother’s eyes, only beauty would do as my consort, at least in my own expectations.)

The swirl around EE, of course, was a situation in which one person finds himself or herself unwitting having a small but pivotal role in a much larger drama. I wonder what I’d say to her now. (That would be an interesting letter to compose: note to myself.) My mother’s values, my own ambitions, my conflicted religious situation, and the raging hormones all tangled.

Suppose I had somehow found myself going steady with any of them? (Much less the twins or FF or GG – which brings up the younger woman syndrome.) Would I have felt more content, to continue studies at Wright State, work at the Journal Herald, settle in Dayton forever? Would I have been Republican, Methodist, or … ? How small that all looks now!

On the other hand, the hippie movement was around the corner. HH (now there, along with JJ, were older women – a grade or two ahead – I could have gone for!) did move, according to the Web, in that direction.

At the time, I thought the girls all possessed a secret wisdom far beyond what we wretched guys – well, for the most part: a few seemed to be on a privileged inside track – could muster. As if they would only show mercy! As if that was what I was reading in their coy glances. Heavens!

OVERLAPPING OR UNCONNECTED CIRCLES

My daughters are quite fond of Venn diagrams as a way of analyzing situations, and lately it’s had me thinking about the Society of Friends, in an abstract sort of way. And from there, it’s had me thinking about a lot of other applications.

Let me explain.

To make a Venn diagram, you begin by drawing a circle to represent something. For example, if we’re looking at a group of people, we could draw a circle to represent families with children living at home. If a large proportion of the members fits this category, we’ll make a relatively large circle. Next we can draw another circle to represent households with children living elsewhere – say off at college or raising children of their own. There might be some overlap to show families who fit both categories, as well as no overlap for others. But a third circle of members who have no children at all would stand entirely apart. Adding another qualifier, such as “members living in Dover” or “households living under the poverty level,” would have us draw a circle that would spread over sections of the other three, and its size would reflect the amount of dual identity; often, we would shade that swath to help it stand out graphically. The emerging diagram begins to give us new perspectives on what had originally been defined by the single matter of membership, and we can begin to adjust our programs and mission to better match its needs.

*    *   *

Ideally, I’d say, Friends have assumed that the local Quaker meeting, as a community of faith, would emerge as a set of concentric rings, like the ripples radiating from a single pebble tossed in a still pond. At the heart of it would be our individual faith experience, surrounded by meeting for worship, meeting for the conduct of business, family, the body of Friends as Monthly, Quarterly, and Yearly Meeting, community, occupation, and larger society. In that, we would be in a state of essential unity or even Gospel Order.

In reality, of course, we’re much more like a handful of stones tossed out, and each of us creates a different set of ripples. They overlap for us, because we’re radiating on the same pond we call Dover Meeting, at least where I am. Conceptually, though, not all of our circles are radiating out across the water. Imagine instead that some are angled out into the air – our jobs or classrooms, for instance, or families where one spouse is active in Meeting and the other is not. This is certainly a much more complex model, leaving us many possibilities for being disconnected with the rest of the surface.

Looking at Meeting itself, and expecting the Meeting for Worship and/or the Meeting for Worship for the Conduct of Business to be our central focus, we might expect to see a host of other circles all converging on that point, to create something resembling a flower. Looking at attendance at Monthly Meeting, however, I would suggest some other model would be more accurate, and maybe some of the circles do not touch each other at all. Indeed, some people observing Friends Meetings have suggested there are circles with no overlap: Christocentric versus universalist, or social activists versus spiritual monastics – or whatever. What moves and motivates one Friend may leave another untouched. Still, where exclusivity is perceived, I would urge us to look closer, to find elements where overlap might actually exist and where the remainder of one circle might energize and support the remainder of another. I believe there we will find the key to a revitalized sense of urgency among Friends, and the ability to shake the earth for miles around.

*    *   *

The reality is that none of us identify ourselves by a single category. We apply many, and some are more important than others. For example, I’m a Quaker and also male, married, stepdad, retired from full-time employment, a published poet and novelist, a so-so baritone in a very fine chorus, a contradancer … well, it becomes a very long list and in my daily actions, some of my interests overlap with those of others I encounter.

My wife and I love those parties that mix three or four circles of very interesting people and then seeing the interaction that ensues. When it works, everyone seems to come away enlivened and enriched.

In a way, that’s part of what I’ve been trying to do with the Red Barn. Yes, I do try to rotate the entries among my 11 categories each month or so – American Affairs, Arts and Letters, Home and Garden, Newspaper Traditions, Personal Journey, Poems, Poetry Footnotes, Personal Journey, Postcards, Quaker Practice, and What’s New. But in reality, there’s a lot of overlap. The Home and Garden projects often stimulate the Poetry, while Newspaper Traditions often reflect American Affairs, yet Arts and Letters may emerge from my Personal Journey or Quaker Practice. And Postcards, meanwhile, reflects whatever shows up in the camera. Hopefully, each reader, initially attracted to one category, may soon be following the others.

See how our circles overlap? Or, for that matter, even enlarge.

GOING PUBLIC

Writers and artists who work alone may know the feeling. It might even fit composers, playwrights, and screenwriters. A piece looks quite different in manuscript or the studio than it does in a small-press journal or small gallery. It looks different, again, in galley proofs for correction or an exhibition. And it’s altogether different in full-length book publication or a major museum.

We could even consider all of the varied emotions that accompany these stages.

When the published novel’s in my hand, I’m not even sure I’d recognize its having any commonality with the manuscript or drafts all those steps earlier.

I suspect the experience for performers – especially those in groups – goes another direction. The rehearsals build a teamwork that’s carried forward to an audience. Could there even be occasions when the finished result is less satisfactory than some points beforehand?

We talk about a creative process, but I’m left acknowledging there are many.

END OF THE LINE

Maybe the last of the high-visibility newspaper chiefs was Dave Burgin, an abrasive, volatile, but brilliant editor who began his legendary career at the New York Herald Tribune in 1963 and then went on to head a dozen-and-a-half major metropolitan daily newspapers, most of them already in their death throes, ranging from the Washington Star to the Orlando Sentinel (his one big success story) to the Dallas Times Herald to the San Francisco Examiner (where he was fired – twice) to the Oakland Tribune. Of course, it’s hard to leave a lasting impact if you don’t stay long in any community.

Still, one boss I had always returned in amazement after a visit with Burgin. Said he was the only person in the entire business with a real vision for a future or the changing needs of younger readers, along with the reasons they were avoiding newspapers en masse. He, too, saw the value of the weird comic strip “Zippy” for his Bay Area readership and was willing to run it page-wide on Page A2. Not that it would fly quite the same in Dallas.

One of his lasting bits of wisdom was the question, “What do I have in the paper today that will bring a reader back tomorrow?” I’ve looked at a lot of newspaper copy with that question over the years and felt we were missing the answer.

Actually, it’s a good question for a lot of businesses. I think it’s even a matter of getting down to the basics.

FREE OF THE ENTOURAGE

Most newspaper writing and editing is done is large, open newsrooms rather than small, private offices. It’s amazing to think anyone can actually concentrate and work amid the surrounding mayhem, especially when the scanner is blaring police and fire dispatches and the television’s on overhead. (Well, I took to streaming opera and music by living composers to blot out that hysteria.)

Still, a few management-level editors had offices, and we’d get visitors who’d head there or to the conference room for private meetings. Usually, the men would be in navy blue suits, along with a woman or two in high heels. That is, they’d arrive and depart as a team. Since New England Cable News also had a presence in our newsroom, I’d sometimes get a phone call from my younger daughter, the political activist. “Do you know who’s standing behind you?” No, I hadn’t looked. I was too busy working. And she’d call out the candidate’s name.

Not that they were all politicians. Sometimes they were business executives or lobbyists of one stripe or another. Even the writers and artists seemed to travel in packs. And often a face would look familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Let me add that many of them look quite different in person than they do on video.

Late one afternoon, though, I looked up from my terminal and noticed a dignified solitary personage striding into the room. He was taller than I’d suspected but the face was one I soon identified. David Broder, a Washington Post columnist my college professor had called the best political reporter in the country decades earlier, an evaluation that remained dead right.

I didn’t interrupt with a greeting as he walked past. Respected his space and thinking. But I was far more impressed than I’d been by any of the celebrities who had posed behind me.

RAT-TAT OSCAR

The title of a chapter in Bill Adler Jr.’s Outwitting Squirrels says everything: “Know the Enemy.” (My copy was a Christmas present, one of many squirrel-related items the family wraps and presents me, in their own vein of humor.) While Adler’s focus is on the difficulties squirrels cause bird feeders, including me, the bush-tailed mammals can be a homeowner’ nemesis – “tree-climbing rats,” as one friend insists – causing a number of fires as they gnaw through wiring and insulation. Ditto for the electrical utility.

In combat, however, one side can begin to resemble the other: their actions and thoughts parallel and overlap. A canny devil may even earn respect.

Many of the poems in a series I call Rat-Tat Oscar poems originate in my encounters with squirrels as part of my second marriage – evicting them from the walls of the house, from their raids on the bird feeders and garden, and eventually from the haunts in the barn – and are spurred by my wife’s quip, watching me transport them away in a Have-a-Heart trap, that I was operating a squirrel taxi. They can drive a man to madness or violence.

The poems also draw on annual Christmas letters to friends and family over two-and-a-half decades, turning the encounters to a would-be squirrel’s perspective. Of course, my wife and children will also insist I’m often more than a tad squirrelly.

Surprisingly, there’s not a lot about squirrels in mythology. Maybe the most prominent one is the Norse Ratatoskr, along with a handful of Native American stories. Maybe they had as much trouble making sense of squirrels in the universe as I do.

OPA!

The Friday and Saturday of every Labor Day weekend here features Dover’s Greek Heritage Festival, which is much more than a fundraiser for the Assumption Orthodox church.

It’s more a community-wide FUN-raiser, with traditional food (the teenage workers in the kitchen, reflecting the instruction of patient grandmothers, is something I wish we had in our own congregation), conversation and mingling, cultural displays, crafts for sale, and best of all, live music and dancing.

But oh, my, am I really there dancing in that YouTube clip? All the dancers wearing white aprons, by the way, had dashed out from the kitchen, taking a break before returning to the cooking and cleaning. But, heavens, I still look like a New England contradancer. Lighten up! I really was having fun, but I’ll promise to stand straighter and smile more this time. OK?