Mining Camp Band

Those of us who grew up in the 1950s & 1960s in the U.S. have some definite mental images associated with the history of the western states: the wild west of Gunsmoke & Bonanza & Rawhide, not to mention the countless Western films, both those starring John Wayne & those that didn’t.

But as we know, the history of the western U.S. was different than that—more complex & in many (perhaps evenb most) cases bearing precious little resemblance to the stereotypical screen portrayals—both those from the big & little screens alike.  For instance, some years ago, the nearby town of Council, Idaho received quite a bit of money for a downtown renovation.  The town has been plagued with economic hard times pretty much since its founding in the early 20th century, having suffered from the boom & bust cycle that’s so familiar to much of the U.S. west.  First there was mining; then the railroad; then the sawmill; all of these industries are gone.  Anyway, it was decided that the renovation should have a historic theme, & the local politicos were quite excited about log columns that could be installed along the sidewalk on the town’s main street—a sidewalk populated with shops of various sorts, most of which are even in business at any given time.  The consultants pointed out that such a log cabin-like look in actuality wasn’t historical at all—in the early 20th century, the town had a distinctly Victorian look.  Undaunted by fact, the politicos prevailed & the log posts went up.

I tell this story because of the photo at the top of the post, which was generously given to me by our friend Gayle, who’s one of the local historians.  The photo was taken in the early 20th century in Warren, Idaho, a mining town that was founded in the late 19th century & that still exists today.  Warren is only accessible on a circuitous, washboard dirt road, & its population is listed at between 12 to 16.  It was a gold mining boom town in the past, however, & look at the musical instruments you could find there: a trombone, a neopolitan mandolin (okay, possibly called a “tater bug” mandolin), a cornet, a clarinet, a harp guitar (!) & two violins!  There's even a fancy autoharp on the wall.  Wild west indeed!

Thanks again to Gayle for this wonderful photo.  If you’re interested in western history, please check back next Wednesday & every other Wednesday following for Eberle’s fine series, Adams County Makes the News.

On a completely unrelated note, please tune in tomorrow for Writers Talk with Mairi Graham, an excellent poet.  You won’t want to miss it!

November

the night is longer black automobile hood tattooed with
constellations the digital clock’s red numbers at
2:34 a.m. Nevada salt flats a cyclone fence in headlights spume
from an ancient sea it could be snow strewn across the sand the
highway toward Fallon the night is a remnant of an
ancient lake in eastern Oregon’s high desert the cold ache of
basalt cliffs the Milky Way adrift above the barn & the power line
owls on a church bell owls in a dead gray apparition of
cottonwood an owl exploding from a pasture just beyond the
headlights the night is longer the Time Zone Bridge a-
cross the Salmon River in a thick rain a movie theater black-
out a hotel room in Roseville & soup in a Chinese restaurant in the
rain in a strip mall a bass guitar a bass guitar the night is longer e-
lectric violin a cyclone fence in headlights the apparition of
tumbleweeds tangled in the fence wire sand & spume & a cold ache
the night is longer & filled with dashes & numbers I have to
keep moving a farmhouse with defunct electric furnace I
have to keep moving a glass guitar slide the thick rain the
windshield tattooed with headlights I have to keep
moving the sparks of snow igniting to freezing fire in the Sierras black
pines & trestles the night is longer an empty infinite rearview mirror
I have to keep moving an apparition of Russian olives an
apparition of salt lakes an apparition of a UP
freight’s headlight traveling south there's nothing else

Jack Hayes
© 2010

Don’t forget: you can purchase my book of recent poetry, The Spring Ghazals, at this link.  You can also stay updated on news about the book, as well as tuning into virtual readings & posts about the book’s back story (& more) on my dedicated The Spring Ghazals blog.

Novemb’rish

A happy Monday to you!  It’s time for this month’s Alice in Wonder Band selection, & I must say this pick was easy—it’s one of Eberle’s songs titled “Novembr’ish.”

In November of 2002, Eberle & I were considering what new material we might have for the Alice in Wonder Band in 2003.  Eberle had the idea of writing show pieces for our two main soloists, Lois Fry on violin & Art Troutner on oboe. 

The piece Eberle wrote for Lois has already been featured; it’s called “The Wind in the Willows,” & it was the Alice in Wonder Band song of the month here on Robert Frost’s Banjo in April—those who are curious can check it out here. 

But Art’s song was written first, in the month of November—a transitional time in Indian Valley, Idaho—one that can sparkle with a glorious & crisp Indian Summer, or can drag on thru wet & gray drear or can even see an early cold snap & snow.  My memory tells me that November 02 was of the somber variety, & perhaps that’s reflected in the thoughtful & contemplative music.

Like “The Wind in the Willows,” “Novemb’rish” is a trio, with Art on oboe & Eberle & I in supporting roles on the piano & electric bass respectively.  This recording was made in June 2004—& remember, this recording, along with the rest of the Alice in Wonder Band’s Elephant Cloudland cd is available as a free download on Bandcamp right here!

Hope you enjoy the song.

Photo of the Week 11/7/10*

Tractor & Outbuilding

Indian Valley, Idaho

November 5th

Please check out today's post at The Days of Wine & Roses; it's the final post before the blog is retired! 


More poetry? Be sure to check in on The Spring Ghazals! There's a new virtual reading. 


There won't be a Monday post on Alcools. The next translation isn't completed yet (again).


& tomorrow on Robert Frost's Banjo? This month's Alice in Wonder Band selection.

Stay tuned....

If you're curious about the asterisk in the title, this photo was taken in 2009.  It's been a strange week!

Homegrown Radio 11/5/10

Happy Friday, folks!  I’m very excited about this month’s featured artist on Homegrown Radio, Bernie Jungle.  As I mentioned last week, Bernie is an extraordinary guitar player, as well as being a gifted singer & songwriter.  Bernie Jungle has always been in demand for his musical gifts, & has been a member of many bands—these include Warm Wires, The Lipsey Mountain Spring Band, The Great Auk, & Thunderbleed, AKA Blind Vengeance.  You can purchase his solo cd 4 Songs  on CDBaby here, as well as his cd with Peter Altenberg, Slumped Forward; & you can hear Bernie’s work with Carrie Bradley (also of Homegrown Radio fame!) right here on The Great Auk’s MySpace page.   You can also read Bernie's interview on the Robert Frost's Banjo Musical Questions series at this link.

Let’s see what Bernie has to say about this week’s song, “Sifting Through:”

it's a song about looking at the past and also about forgetting that we're aging

started when i saw a photo of a friends' brother who had passed away
in the picture he was probably 14 and had this amazing glint in his eye
started to think about that and other old photo's that i've got
and about how when growing up,  a friend of mine thought that when a plane flew really high in the sky
when you can't hear a sound but only see the con-trail
that it meant that someone had died
(we were both in probably 3rd grade when he told me that while we sat on a swing-set looking at the sky)

that has always stuck with me and finally made it into a song

and the rest of the song is about attraction and aging
and about being confused about falling in love

Here are the lyrics:

Sifting Through
If only the glint in an eye of a photo from seventy-two
If even a splash of that red from the fifties
When a plane high above in the sky
makes you think of the ones that you knew
I’ll be sifting, through


There’s time to be lost
And time to make sound with the bones in your body
This river has cost you dear

He sent her a poem through the air to her eyes but she didn’t receive
Then he looked in the mirror, and finally agreed
He was thinking that hearts can be had, and behave and beholdenly be
He was thinking of hearts, while drifting at sea

There’s time to be lost
And time to make sound with the bones in your body
This river has cost you dear

If only the glint in an eye of a photo from seventy-two
If even a splash of that red from the fifties

©2010 Bernie Jungle
 
Intrigued?  Here’s the song!



Pic of Bernie within the graphic is by Amy Snyder

Writers Talk with Jacqueline T. Lynch

I'm very happy to introduce today's featured Writers Talk interviewee, Jacqueline T. Lynch.  Before getting into Ms Lynch's curriculum vitae, I want to say on a personal note that Jacqueline is one of the first cyber friends I made thru the Robert Frost's Banjo blog, & she has remained a steadfast supporter of the blog & my various ventures.  When I drove to New England this spring I even had the pleasure of meeting Jacqueline!

Jacqueline T. Lynch has published articles and short fiction in regional & national publications, including the anthology “60 Seconds to Shine: 161 Monologues from Literature” (Smith & Kraus, 2007),  North & South, Civil War Magazine, History Magazine & several plays with Eldridge Publishing, Brooklyn Publishers, & Dramatic Publishing Company, one of which has been translated into Dutch & produced in the Netherlands.    Her novel “Meet Me in Nuthatch” is now available as an ebook through Amazon.com & Smashwords.

She also writes three blogs:

Another Old Movie Blog: A blog on classic films.

New England Travels: A blog on historical and cultural sites in New England.

Tragedy and Comedy in New England: A blog on theatre in New England, past and present.

website: www.JacquelineTLynch.com
 
Please check out Chapter 1 of Jacqueline T. Lynch's novel, Meet Me in Nuthatch on the Writers Talk blog.  & so: here's Jacqueline!

When did you first realize your identity as a writer?

I was about 14 years old.  It was a Thursday.  No, wait, a Friday.  I don’t remember.  The realization came to me unexpectedly, because I can be kind of obtuse.  I always wrote from a very young age: stories, poems, notes on things that interested me.  But, for all that, I never intended to be a writer.  When I was a child, I wanted very much to be a zoologist.  I was a devotee of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and I loved its host, Marlin Perkins.  I think it was that dapper white mustache and the squared-off handkerchief in his breast pocket.   Sexy.  Then I saw myself as Jane Goodall, sitting on an African hillside at dawn in my khaki shorts and shirt, taking notes on chimpanzees.

It was the note-taking, the analysis that appealed (besides the whole animal thing).   I did it all the time.  I’m still a chronic jotter-down of things.  I actually wrote compositions on things that interested me as a child, just for fun, not for school.  It was how I explained things to myself, how I explored the world.

Then when I was 14 I graduated to the adult section of the city library from the children’s department, and started in on their shelf of Agatha Christie and Ellery Queen.  I got hooked on mysteries, and starting writing one myself, longhand on notebook paper.  I don’t think I ever finished it.  It was harder than I thought it would be.  But something clicked, something blew me away about the process of setting, and character, and dialogue, people doing and saying things that I could control, but could never say and do myself. 

I wanted to do that for the rest of my life. 

So here I sit, in my khaki shorts, typing a play script on a laptop, with one eye cast towards the male house sparrow sitting on my neighbor’s fence.   I have an urge to note it in a logbook.

Describe the creative process involved in any one piece you’ve written—this could be book, a story, a poem, an essay, etc.

One slapstick comedy I wrote called “Delusions of Grandeur” sprang purely from a comment I’d heard about a parent telling her teenager that the she had to be out of the house when she reached 18.   I suppose I could have found more serious and socially conscious message here, but instead, I found silliness.  Deadlines can be funny when they’re not scaring the socks off you.

Writing a play is probably like surfing or riding a roller coaster.  I say probably, because I neither surf nor ride roller coasters, but the excitement is immediate, the need for balance crucial, and you get right into the action.  There is no slow development as you get through a novel; you have to hit the ground running knowing everything about the characters and expressing it through their own voices, which must be unique and individual.  Every action on stage must be deliberate and for a specific reason.   It’s all the character as expressed through dialogue, the author gets no omniscient voice.  And because the play never really comes alive until the director and the actors get a hold of it, the writer becomes suddenly part of a team.   That’s the most thrilling of all.

Could you describe your relationship to the publishing process (this can be publishing in any form, from traditional book publishing to blogging, etc)
 
I’ve been a published and produced playwright for several years.   I’ve enjoyed working with my editors and publishers very much.  I would like to publish a novel, and by the time this piece is posted, I will have likely self-published as an e-book a humorous novel called “Meet Me in Nuthatch.”

The traditional publishing process is formal, a many-layered, highly structured game.  There are many advantages to having the support of editors (and obviously, the support of a marketing and publicity department).  My preference for publishing a novel would be through traditional publishing, but self publishing as it is gaining momentum today is intriguing.  I am interested, and would like to be part of, both processes.

Blogging is personal, and its immediate communication to the readership makes it appealing for the sense of freedom it gives.  I enjoy the immediacy of blogging and use it for a kind of writing practice.  It’s also an outlet for other interests.  I write three of them:
Another Old Movie Blog: A blog on classic films.
New England Travels: A blog on historical and cultural sites in New England.
Tragedy and Comedy in New England: A blog on theatre in New England, past and present.

How has being a writer affected your relationships?  
I don’t think it has.  Though I’ve enjoyed working and socializing with colleagues, most of the people closest to me are not writers.  Some of them are awfully good storytellers, though.

How would you describe the community of writers you belong to—if any?  This may be a “real” or “virtual” (in more than one sense) community. 

Since I don’t belong to a writer’s group, I suppose we go back to blogging here.  It’s a delightful community of diversity in experiences and interests.   I visit many blogs, though I regret there isn’t time to comment on all of them as often as I’d like.

What are your future goals in terms of writing?  

I just take life one manuscript at a time.

Bonus Question: If your writing were a musical instrument, what would it be? 

An oboe, I think.  It has a distinct, oddball sound, but one that can be very pleasing, and easily recognizable.   It seems like a minor chord, a less emphatic sound, not flashy or attention-getting, but it still manages to stand out from the rest of the orchestra just by doing its thing, a poignant mixture of somberness and silliness.

I might say a cello, too, for the low undercurrent of the minor chord aspect, but cellos have a greater timbre, and are much harder to take on a bus or subway.  My writing, conversely, does not have as much timbre as a cello, but I’m pleased to say it is much easier to bring with you on public transportation.

Adams County Makes the News - Council Leader #23

World War I
[Here’s the conclusion of the World War I section of the Adams County Makes the News series]

August 30, 1918
LESTER LAYTON WRITES FROM HOSPITAL IN FRANCE
This week Mr. and Mrs. E. C. Baird received a letter from L. K. Layton.  At the time of writing, the young man was in France.  We reproduce the letter herewith and our readers will find it of interest.

July 30, 1918, France
Dear Ma and Daddy:
It has been a long time since I wrote you, but I have not had a chance to write many letters so forgive me this time.  I am in a nice, big hospital.  Did not get wounded badly, but it hurts a good deal just the same.  A little hide is gone from my left arm just above the elbow.  We have the nicest little French nurses.  They just cannot be beat for nursing.  I have for roommates two Frenchmen, wounded while fighting in the same sector that I was in.  I am trying hard to learn French and they, in turn, are trying to learn English.

We are giving the Huns hell—and then some.  I got a few before I got wounded.  It just thrills you with a savage joy to get sight on one and then—bang!  He just goes to sleep, because the old Springfield is right there when it comes to shooting.  Daddy, we have to fight the Huns a good deal like you used to fight the Indians because they are so yellow that you can't see them in a batch of yellow flowers.  The only thing they are good at is retreating, and they make an awful mess of that.  There is only one time when they are good and that is when they are used for fertilizer.

Ma and Daddy, don't worry about me.  Am feeling fine.  Of course, I will be in the hospital for a few months, but I am getting along just fine and I hope this reaches you the same.

Lovingly,
Your Boy, L. K. Layton.

October 25, 1918
SCHOOLS CLOSE BY ORDER STATE BOARD

Last Saturday the State Board of Health issued an order closing all public and private schools of the state.  Dr. Biwer, secretary of the State Board, stated in a telegram to county health officers and school officials that the action had become necessary because in various parts of the state, physicians had “unpatriotically refrained from reporting cases of epidemic influenza.”

The State Board has also suggested to District Court judges throughout the state that the prevention campaign would be aided if courts will voluntarily postpone hearings until the crest of the epidemic.

General reports show that the epidemic is subsiding in the military camps of the country, but is on the increase among the civilian population.  In Idaho the malady has continued to spread until nearly all parts of the state report contagion.

Since the beginning of the epidemic, cases reported from army camps total 283,331, with 14,153 deaths.  This shows that America has lost more soldiers because of this disease than is shown in the lost of those killed and dying from wounds.  Up to the last official report made public on the first of the week, the number killed was 9985, and those dead from wounds, 8460.
August 1, 1919

FRED COOL WRITES FROM FAR SIBERIA

This week E. S. Clapp and Dale Donnelly each received a letter from Fred Cool who left here several months ago to take up Red Cross work overseas.  Mr. Cool is now stationed at Omsk, Siberia. 

June 13
“We are here at last after having been twenty-four days on the road; had a fairly pleasant trip—at least, we are all alive.  As an experience it was a success, although I can’t say that I would like to sign up to do this all the rest of my life.  We arrived here this forenoon and as the telegram announcing our arrival was not received, the people here were not ready for us and we will stay on the train tonight.  One of the men came on board this morning and told me to forget that I could run an auto, as I would probably be placed in charge of a warehouse, so will not have things as easy as I expected.  Hope they do not expect too much, as I do not want to disappoint them.  Have not been up town, but understand there are some 600,000 people there.  Before the war it was a city of 100,000 inhabitants and one of the best towns in Siberia.  The growth is probably due to war conditions and the fact that this is now the capital city.  As far as I can see from the train it looks like many western towns around the railroad yards.  Uptown it will no doubt be quite different.  There are but few papers in this country and they are only one-sheet affairs printed in Russian.  Those who can read the stuff tell me that the papers are of very little interest.  We will get our first mail from home in about two weeks.  It will be sixty days old by that time.”

June 18
“Several hundred wounded have just been brought in from the front, and as many as this hospital will hold were brought here.  Most of them are young men and it is a sad sight to see them being carried in on stretchers or blankets or being helped along by ambulance men.  We get no news, so have no idea how things are going at the front.  I have been directed to take charge of the warehouse here and am now on duty.  We are loading and unloading cars and loading trains for western hospitals.  Will send out three trains this week.  Have about twenty war prisoners to do the work and as we have nothing but our hands to work with we are all very busy.  There is not a truck to be had and the men carry everything on their backs.”

In our mind’s eye we have a picture of the energetic Mr. Cool making those German prisoners step along some and we wonder if he boils ‘em out in sign language or just points his finger and says: “Get a move on.”  The work that Mr. Cool has chosen is of the most practical humanitarian character, and he is to be congratulated upon the fact that his financial circumstances are such as will permit him to so devote his energies.  May good luck attend him.  

October 25, 1918
PREPARING SOLDIER CHRISTMAS PARCELS
Families of men in service abroad are eager to make Christmas overseas as merry as conditions permit.  The War Department, realizing this, has decided that each man may receive from his family, a Christmas package of standard size and approximately standard contents. 

To avoid any duplication and to make sure that each parcel is correctly addressed, a “Christmas Parcel Label” is now being issued to every man abroad.  Every man abroad will mail his “Christmas Parcel Label” to some relative or friend who will be entitled to send him a parcel by complying with the conditions herein set forth. 

The relative or friend who receives a “Christmas Parcel Label” from a man in the service overseas will go to the nearest chapter of the Red Cross and upon showing the “Christmas Parcel Label” will receive one carton, 3 x 4 x 9 inches in size.  The carton may be filled with any combination of articles that fit in it and which are not barred from Christmas parcels by the Post Office Department.

November 29, 1918
LAST LETTER FROM EDWARD BURTENSHAW

Although messages of enquiry have been repeatedly sent to Washington during the week, no news throwing light upon the discrepancy between the message announcing the death of Edward Burtenshaw and the letters received from him under a later date has been obtained.  While little hope can be held out that there is error, except as to date, in the message from the War Department, the fact that Mr. Burtenshaw on Tuesday evening received another letter from Edward, under date of October 21, while the message gave date of death as October 6, gives the grave matter a slight degree of hopeful uncertainty.

Mr. Burtenshaw has permitted us to publish the following letter, received from Edward on Wednesday evening.  It will be noted that it bespeaks of mental and physical health and is strong in the spirit of hope and youth.

Army Candidate School, La Volbonne, France, October 21

Dear Mother and Dad:

Well, at last I will write and let you know I am still in the land of the living and will add right now that I am well and feel fine.  It has been about three weeks since I wrote and that was a letter to Alice with a request that she forward it on to you as I had only enough paper from the Red Cross the write one short letter and was lucky to get even that as we had to draw straws to see who'd be the lucky one.  At that time we had just come out of the front lines and expected to go back to rest billets for a few days.  Instead, our Brigade was shot back in the line and we didn't get relieved until several days later.  Finally, when we did come out, it was a continued move for several days as we had to walk back and it was raining all the time.  This and other circumstances made it impossible to get a letter written, and even if I could have had the time, there wasn't an opportunity to have a letter mailed so I've just had to wait until the time presented itself to send you word.

We had just been out from the front three days when the order came detailing Sgt. Schiess and I to attend this school and so I've been going all the time.  However, it is probable I am settled now from anywhere form one to three months, so probably will be able to write a little oftener.  I received several letters from you, including the typewritten one and the one with the addresses in it, but am sorry to say I lost them so wish you would send them again as I didn't remember same.

Oh yes, I saw Vollie Zink up at the front.  He is driving a motor truck; it was a pleasure to see him too.  My battalion relieved his; he looks fine—you can tell his mother that Lee has a "bomb-proof job," so she needn't worry about him.

No, Mother Dear, the censor doesn't bother your letters.  They are not opened from that side of the Atlantic.  I enjoy them so much, too: they are always full of news.  Just keep them up.

I am in a wonderful part of France.  It is very beautiful here and is by far the best part I've been in yet.  You can probably find it on the map and will say am near one of France's largest cities, Lyon, so I have a good place to visit.  The camp we are in was an old French artillery camp and the barracks are very comfortable.  It is all new yet but the prospects are fine.  In coming here we came through miles of vineyards, and they are beautiful at this time of year.  The country is not as devastated either and that helps the looks of things.  We came through the valley of the -----------  and it is very picturesque, old villas and chateaus, just like the old oil paintings you've seen.  There is the most wonderful moon shining out you ever heard of; doesn't look at all like it in the U.S.  It is a regular "harvest moon" and about three times as large as any I ever saw before—that is, it appears that way; you'd think so too.

What do you think of the Boche paper?  I thought I'd write on it as a kind of curio as it will make a good souvenir for you.  Each sheet is an envelope and also the paper upon which the letter is written.  I took it from a bunch of Boche junk and am glad now I did, as I didn’t get much of anything else.

Well, my dears, I must close for this time; the censor will cuss anyway but it's been so long I just had to spill.  I'll tell you all about it after the war.

Best love and kisses,
As ever,
Edward C. Burtenshaw, 14th Co., A.C.S., A.E.F., La Valbonne, France

compiled by Eberle Umbach