And I Was There

I had just turned 19, when my division, the 25th infantry division, left Korea and settled in the luxurious confines of Scofield Barracks on the Island of Oahu, Hawaii. It was quite a change from life on the DMZ in Korea, to a comfortable cot in Paradise!  But somebody had to do it, and so there we were. What an adjustment!

We had been in our new digs probably only about two months or so when my buddy, Bruce and I, another GI pooled our resources and bought 1947 four-door Chevy. It was perfect, except it had no reverse gear nor first gear, it did have a windshield but, as I recall, no other windows. It was perfect, for Hawaii when you’re 19. Continue reading

Writing – Self-Taught?

Writing comes from writing. Have you heard that, before? At the core of decent writing is experience. Here’s another euphemism: “To write well, you must listen well.” By that I mean, listen to your heart and your mind, and do not let thoughts escape into Netherland – capture them while they are fresh. They are bits of inspiration to build upon.

Before I go any further, I must make one thing clear – Writing has very little to do with age! True, your experience in life can inform your writing, but you are never too old to string words together, to convey thoughts, ideas and love. So, I say it again: You are never too old! Continue reading

Blink of an Eye

I was a freshman in college when I first “got the bug.” I was committed to being a different person than I was in high school, so when I saw an announcement for play try-outs, I stepped forward. To my surprise and both amazement and apprehension, I landed a speaking role in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.  Being part of the drama group was exciting, and I learned so much more than just my lines in the play. From the talented group of upperclassmen, I learned ballet moves, about dramatic use of my body, and about how diction does more than communicate words. I got the bug.

Another Shakespeare play where I nailed one of the leads, and still another production written by one of the seniors. And my addiction to the stage grew, as did a bit of my ego. Not only that, but people knew me on campus! That invisible me from high school was gone!

When I finished college, I still had the bug, But I had to earn a living and support my family, and so I carried on.  First as a teacher, then as a counselor, then as a professor of psychology and then, shockingly, a college and university administrator.  But the bug was always there, in the back of my mind.

Civic theaters were everywhere, first in Muncie, then in Bloomington. Later, in Cincinnati. I had leads or roles, or was an extra in seven different productions including A Christmas Carol, Our Town, and an obscure production of the Seven Sins of Sarah. The critics said I was great as Bo Decker in the production of Bus Stop, and my dreams were elevated to a different stage, on the Great White Way.

But then, the blink of an eye.  I auditioned for Hello Dolly! and, of course, landed one of the principle male leads. My ego was at capacity!  Rehearsals were a breeze. The dress rehearsal went like clockwork. Some of my fellow actors stumbled, forgot their lines, but not yours truly. What is that saying about pride? Oh, yeah, now I remember, “Pride comes before the fall.” Should have taken that to heart.

Opening night. Packed house. My wife, my father and mother and a few friends were in the audience. Curtain up! Play begins. I am in the wings ready for my cue. There it is! My feet rush out carrying me onto center stage, my face, my body and my arms are all doing their part. My mouth is open as if I am speaking loudly, but…no words! None, not even an anguished screech! My mouth is empty. My brain is empty, except for the image of my family sitting out there. I could not come up with my lines.

Got the picture. Me, the Master Thespian, standing center stage, frozen in the image of one making a dramatic proclamation…and no sound. Not from me, nor the audience, nor from the prompter. Finally, in a whispered voice, the actor next to me fed me my lines until I became, once again, animated, and Hello Dolly continued.

A career changing moment, a blink of an eye. No Broadway, no silver screen, just the same old me. Oh, sure, we had three more productions of the play and I was…shall we say, adequate, but the ghost of opening night was always there. The blink of an eye and everything changed, yet nothing changed.

Here’s the crazy part, I still have that bug, but now I have that blink. Sadly, the blink has veto power. Break a leg? That would have been better than the blink.

-30-

Never Too Late?

I always wonder about that. Is it ever too late to follow a thought, an inspiration, a dream? How about those ideas that are thrust before your eyes from unexpected places, or those even expected, but surprising places?  How about a fortune cookie? Ever take those seriously? I am addicted to Dove dark chocolate minis with the foil inspiration wrap. Here’s one: “Don’t talk about it, just be about it.” Here’s another: “Don’t stop until you are proud.”  But this is the one that keeps me going, “You are never too old, and it is never too late.” Yeah!

It was inspiration that led me into biblical research that resulted in my first published book, A Life for Barabbas. It was in that story that my psychology background joined my faith in imagining a continuing life for Barabbas, touching historic facts in Christian history.

What about all that? This is how I would describe the process of writing my book, Middle of Nowhere: Continue reading

Christmas Gift

Can you recall that moment when early in the morning you crept around the corner and, there before your eyes was an amazing sight, one you did not expect.  Oh, yes, you knew the tree would be there, but, in your child’s mind, you simply could not process all the gifts beneath the tree.

I can recall that moment.  I knew the tree was there.  After all I had help decorate it.  I had helped string colored popcorn into garlands, and craft paper strips into chains, and these constituted some of the tree decorations.   I can still hear my older sister scold me, repeatedly, “don’t just throw tinsel at the tree, hang each on a limb”.  But I was this little child and I wanted to get the decorating done and get on to the fun part. Continue reading

To Commit or Resist

Over the years, a close friend and critic (my daughter), has given me several books on the creative process, books by interesting authors she has known, including a self-directed workshop book that promised to make an artist out of me.  And all the while sending me messages or thought-o-grams that said “Dad, start writing!”  Well, finally, I did!

One of her gifts to me is a book entitled The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield.  He’s the guy that wrote “The Legend of Bagger Vance”, my favorite golf tale.  I have to admit that my first reaction to receiving Steve’s book was a deep sigh and a roll of my eyes.  However, reviewers really like this book, calling it “powerful”, “cogent”, “smart”, “a vital gem”, and, to quote Esquire, “…a kick in the ass.” So, I began to read and started an interesting journey into what causes me to write or not! Continue reading

The Foot-Locker

It was the middle of December, 1952, when my remarkable year of discovery came crashing to an end. So many things had happened since my high school graduation and my years in college. High school had been unhappy time for me and as I thought about going to college, my Youth Pastor, took me aside and shared some sage advice: “College is a new start, Stanley. What you may have thought of yourself up to this point, is behind you. What is through that new door is anything you want to make it. You can be who you want to be. Don’t take with you anything dark that you imagine you used to be. Be the one you want to be.” Continue reading

Making the Team

In high school I learned that I made the basketball team!  I had worked hard and had made it!  As the first game of the season approached, I was thrilled to know that I would start!  A couple of errant passes, a missed layup and a foul, and  I found myself on the bench.  Crushed!

While in college, I had aspirations of becoming an actor.  I auditioned for a part in Shakespeare”s Twelfth Night and was cast in the role of Sebastian, one of the male leads.  A few years later, in another city, I auditioned with the local Civic Theater for a role in Bus Stop, and was cast in in the role of Beauregard ‘Bo Decker, the male lead. My “aspirations” were encouraged. Continue reading

Stanley B

As a child growing up in a neighborhood filled with children, where I was one of the youngest and the smallest, I came to have strong negative feelings about my name, Stanley. The bully-boys in the neighborhood would always say it in a whiny tone, Stannnnleee, oh little stannnnnleee. I hated that, oh I did not like that at all. Why could I not have a name like Bill, or Tom, or even Joe, you know, something strong. But, no, I was Stanley.

The only thing worse than Stanley was George, the other small boy in our neighborhood. George and I became fast friends. For the bullies, it was always Georgie-porgie. He didn’t like his name either, but, what was even worse for him, he was George Junior. We both knew that if that got out he would be “Junior” and that would have scarred him for life.

Continue reading

Two Little Boys, Two Kitchen Matches – What Could Go Wrong?

It was an absolutely beautiful fall day. The hollow behind our church and down the trail, was ablaze with brilliant colors: Reds and oranges and yellows.

I had followed the trail down to the creek below, but always with my father or one of my sisters. This time, it was just my friend George and I, poised at the top of the trail. Both of us were eight years old and had been told never to go down the trail alone. But we weren’t alone, we had each other, and the trail, under the canopy of all those pretty leaves, was calling us. Continue reading

How Did She Do That?

One year ago, January 23, 2016, Joanne, the love of my life, the loving mom to our four kids and extended family, and friend to all, died.  Nearly five years earlier, she had been diagnosed with interstitial lung disease, most likely caused by an allergic reaction to the drug amiodorone. This disease causes scarring of the lungs and has a progressive effect on lung function, leading to death.  There is no known cure. Her prognosis was three to five years.

How does one react to the realization of such a prognosis?  How does one live each day with that in your life, just down the road a piece?  How does that effect how you interact with family and a wide circle of friends?  For her, it was her grace, love and calmness that were on display.  A close friend once observed that Joanne was the “personification of grace”, and she was!  As time passed I had cause to ask: “How does she do that?” Continue reading

To a Cancer Survivor

A letter to a cancer survivor from one just diagnosed with lung cancer, June, 2014.

Hope you had a great time camping with the kids.  I know they look forward to those trips and time away from the daily routine is important.  Especially after all that you have been through.

I wanted to tell you about a recent experience I had. Very early one morning, after I finished my morning readings, I was recalling the words that Dr. Smith had said to me just two days before.  He told me I had lung cancer and it was advanced and “hot” and he would need to operate soon!  My wife, Joanne, and I were shocked!  I immediately thought about the worse that could happen.  The doctor detailed what the surgery would mean and the length of recovery.  We left that consultation feeling dazed and numb. Continue reading